The lad had seen the big
motor-car at the gate; quite naturally he took its driver for a
chauffeur.
Ted looked in at the library door; his uncle was not there. He raced off
upstairs, not noting the change which had already taken place in the
visitor's appearance with the removal of the muddy coat and cap.
Richard Kendrick now looked a particularly personable young man, well
built, well dressed, of the brown-haired, gray-eyed, clear-skinned type.
The eyes were very fine; the nose and mouth had the lines of
distinction; the chin was--positive. Altogether the young man did not
look the part he had that day been playing--that of the rich young idler
who drives a hundred and fifty miles in a powerful car, over the worst
kind of roads, merely for the sake of diversion and a good luncheon.
While he waited Richard considered the hall, at one end of which he sat
in the shadow. There was something very homelike about this hall. The
quaint landscape paper on the walls, the perceptibly worn and faded
crimson Turkey carpeting on the floors, the wide, spindle-balustrade
staircase with the old clock on its landing; more than all, perhaps, on
an October night like this, the warm glow from a lamp with crystal
pendants which stood on the table of polished mahogany near the front
door--all these things combined to give the place a quite distinctive
look of home.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25