The Family
Scott sat down beside him and tried to interest
him in one subject after another, without success.
It occurred to him that he had never before seen
the Professor when he seemed absolutely flattened
out and listless. That was a bad sign; he was glad
they were only half an hour from Hamilton. “The
old chap needs rest,” he reflected. “Rosamond’s
run him to death in Chicago. He oughtn’t to be
used as a courier, anyhow! I’m going to tell Kitty
that we must look out for her father a little. The
Marselluses have no mercy, and Lillian has always
taken it for granted that he was as strong as three men.”
That evening Mrs. St. Peter was standing by the French windows in the drawing-room, watching somewhat anxiously for her husband. The Chicago train was usually punctual, and surely he would have taken a cab from the station, for it was a raw February night with a freezing wind blowing off the lake. St. Peter arrived on foot, however. As he came through the gate, she could see by his walk and the set of his shoulders that he was very tired. She hurried to open the front door, and asked him why he hadn’t come up in a taxi.
“Didn’t think of it, really. I’m a creature of habit, and that’s one of the things I never used to do.”
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