The Prodigal Girl Read Free Page B

of the texture of the rose. She poised on her little high-heeled silver shoes, fussing with a spray of silk roses on her shoulder and called crossly to her father where he stood staring by the door.
    “Well, is that you, Chester, come at last? You better cut this out! I’ve got to go out this evening, and I can’t be kept waiting all hours! We were just going to eat without you! I didn’t see any sense myself waiting all this time. Come on, Eleanor, he’s here at last, and you better give him a dose of medicine. He looks like a stewed prune. Do get a hustle on, I can’t wait all night!”

Chapter 2
    T he lovely little daughter pirouetted lightly on the lower step of the stair till the light over her head showed full upon her loveliness, accentuated here and there—a touch of carmine on the pouting imperious little mouth; a soft blush on the cheek that he had always called her lovely complexion; a darkening of lash and brow; a shadow under the great blue eyes that somehow wore a dashing look of boldness and impertinence tonight that he had never seen before. It seemed that the hall light was cruel. Those overhead lights were always severe. When she got out to the table he would see her as she really was, and then this horrible fear that was gripping his heart now so that he could scarcely breathe would leave him forever. Just let him get a good look into her dear eyes and see her smile. He wished she wouldn’t call him Chester in that pert tone. It didn’t sound respectful. When she had first taken it up playfully it had been a joke, but tonight—well—tonight it hurt!
    The ghost stepped nearer and gripped him by the throat. He must drive this awful thing away. He must get to the dining room quickly! Perhaps he was going to be sick! He must swallow a cup of coffee. That would make it all right, of course. There was nothing in all this. Of course there was nothing at all—nothing at all!
    Seated at the table, he passed his hand over his eyes and looked about on them all, trying to focus his eyes on Betty’s petulant face. It was plain that Betty was displeased with him. Yet somehow her face did not look quite so disturbing here as it had under the weird light of the hall chandelier. It was better blended, less suggestive of paint and powder. Of course he was quite accustomed to the ever-present powder puff that all girls nowadays played with in public, but it had never entered his head that his daughter wore anything like what people called “makeup.” That was low and common to his thinking, and quite unflattering for a girl of respectable family.
    Chris broke in upon his thoughts with a sudden request for money.
    The father tried to summon a natural voice:
    “Why, Chris, you had your usual allowance, and it is only ten days into the month. What do you want of more money?” he asked, feeling that his voice sounded very far away and not at all decided. His mind really was on Betty.
    But Chris seemed almost to resent his query:
    “Well, I want it!” he said crisply, as if his father had no right to ask the question.
    “What’s the matter with your allowance? You’ll have to give an explanation. What have you done with it?”
    “He–he–he’s lost it playin’ pool!” chimed in Johnny joyously with a grin of triumph toward his older brother.
    “Shut up! You infant! You don’t know what you’re talking about!” said Chris angrily.
    “I do so! I was lookin’ in Shark’s window with Bill Lafferty when you lost. I heard Skinny Rector tell you he’s goin’ ta tell our dad if you didn’t pay up tanight!”
    Chris shoved his chair back noisily.
    “Aw, baloney! Dad if you’re gonta listen to an infant, I’m done! Keep yer money. There’s plenty of places I can get money if you won’t give me what I want! Other boys don’t get this kinda treatment in their homes—want ta know every nosey little thing, and listen to an infant!”
    He complained all the way through the hall in a loud voice, and