The Prisoner Read Free Page B

‘pardon me,’” Genevieve corrected, deciding this was as good a time as any to begin work on the boy’s manners.
    He regarded her as if she were crazy. “What are you talkin’ about?”
    â€œGovernor Thomson was speaking to you,” she explained, deciding to put the issue of “what” versus “pardon me” aside for the moment.
    â€œWhat did he say?” he asked, not bothering to look at the governor.
    Later she would explain that it was rude to speak of someone who was present as if he weren’t there. “He asked you if you felt lucky to be leaving this place with me,” she said, realizing he would likely not understand the word “fortuitous.”
    Jack shrugged. “Anythin’s better than this pisshole.”
    Governor Thomson’s gray brows shot up and his face reddened with indignation. “Why, you ungrateful little—”
    â€œYou’re quite right, Jack,” interjected Genevieve, untroubled by either the lad’s surly indifference or his colorful choice of words. If anything, she admired him for his honesty. “Anything is indeed better than here.” She smiled at him, then proceeded to study the contract.
    Looking bored, Jack slumped in his chair and began to bang the heels of his filthy, worn shoes against the elegantly carved legs.
    â€œHere now, stop that, you’ll scratch the wood!” protested Governor Thomson.
    Jack shrugged. “It’s just a chair.”
    â€œIt may be just a chair to you, you filthy ruffian, but it is solid mahogany and cost more than you shall ever earn honestly in your entire life!” the governor snapped.
    Oozing defiance, Jack kicked the chair again.
    â€œWhy don’t you wait in the hall, Jack,” suggested Genevieve, trying to avoid an altercation between the two. “The governor and I will have completed our business shortly.”
    Needing no further encouragement, Jack stomped out the door and began to pace restlessly up and down the corridor.
    â€œYou’ll have your hands full with that one, mark my words,” huffed Governor Thomson. “I wager he’ll be back to his lawless, pilfering ways and in here again before the month is through. My recommendation, Miss MacPhail, is that you take a firm position with him—with a regular beating, just to keep him obliging.”
    â€œI am not in the habit of beating my children, Governor Thomson,” Genevieve informed him coolly.
    â€œThe Lord tells us children must be beaten,” Governor Thomson argued. “
‘He who spares the rod hates his son, but he who loves him is diligent to discipline him.’
Let the lad know in no uncertain terms that you own him now. If he gives you one whit of trouble, send him right back to me.”
    â€œWhat did he steal?”
    â€œPardon?”
    â€œYou mentioned in your letter to me that the lad had been found guilty of the crime of stealing. What did he steal?”
    Governor Thomson pulled a pair of spectacles from his jacket and placed them on his nose before opening a file upon his desk. “He broke into a home and stole one pair of shoes, one blanket, one round of cheese, and a bottle of whiskey,” he reported gravely. “He was later found asleep under the blanket in a neighbor’s coach house. The whiskey and cheese were all but gone, the stolen shoes were on his feet, and the lad was thoroughly drunk.” He regarded her seriously over the rims of his spectacles. “I’m afraid there was never any question of his culpability in the matter.”
    â€œAnd for the crime of being cold, hungry, and without decent shoes, he was to be imprisoned, lashed, and sent to reformatory school.” Genevieve’s tone was flagrantly bitter.
    â€œWe live in a lawful society, Miss MacPhail. Where would we be if everyone who was cold and hungry decided they could just walk into someone else’s home or shop and help