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Keyes, Frances Parkinson, 1885-1970

"The Old Gray Homestead"

Of course,
there are others--
"Austin, you are really getting to be the limit. Go tell Thomas I
want him."
"With pleasure. I haven't," murmured Austin, "had a chance to tell him
that so far. He's never been far enough off--except when he was
getting ready to come. That's probably what he's doing now. I'll go
upstairs and see."
Austin had guessed right. Thomas stood in front of the mirror, shining
with cleanliness, knotting a red silk tie. He had reached that stage in a
young man's life when clothes were temporarily of supreme importance.
Gone was the shy and shabby ploughboy of a year before. This
self-assertive young gentleman was clad in a checked suit in which green
was a predominating color, a black-and-white striped shirt, and
chocolate-colored shoes. His hair, still dripping with moisture, was
brushed straight back from his forehead and the smell of perfumed soap
hung heavy about him.
"Hullo," he said, eyeing his brother's intrusion with disfavor, "how
dirty you are!"
Austin, whose khaki and corduroy garments made him look more than ever
like a splendid bronze statue, nodded cheerfully.


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