That was the final straw. Why couldn't
he have made it several quarts of brandy, or even knockout drops?"
"I hope you don't want an innocent child of that age to know about
knockout drops!" said Clarence Rutherford, the ubiquitous.
"Well, there's something wrong with his environment," said Allan.
"We are his environment," Phyllis reminded him. "As far as I know we
are rather nice people."
The Harringtons, John Hewitt, with Gail and her cousin, not to speak
of Joy, were enjoying an unseasonably hot day in the Harrington
garden. They had all been playing tennis, and now everybody was
sitting or lying about, getting rested. The trees kept the morning
sun from being too much of a nuisance, and there was a tray with
lemonade, and sweet biscuits which were unquestionably going to ruin
everybody's luncheon appetite.
"What that child needs," answered his father, taking another glass
of lemonade and the remaining biscuits, "is young life-companions
his own age."
They had all been racking their brains to think of a punishment that
would fit Philip's crime, or at least some warning that would bring
it home to him. He had been led by Viola, subdued and courteous, to
tell Miss Addison that he had deceived her. He did, very carefully.
"But it _might_ of been my father," he explained as he ended.
"Oughtn't we to be glad that it wasn't my father, Miss Addison?"
Miss Addison, quite nonplused by this unexpected moral turn to the
conversation, had acknowledged defeat, and fed Philip largely.
Pages:
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153