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MacGrath, Harold, 1871-1932

"Half a Rogue"

He swung his cane, gave
Jove a dozen love-taps and whistled operatic airs. What a charming
young creature it was, to be sure! The brain of a woman and the heart
of a child. And he had forgotten all about her. Now, of course, his
recollection became clear. He remembered a mite of a girl in short
frocks, wonder-eyes, and candy-smudged lips. How they grew, these
youngsters!
He went into the house, still whistling. Jove ran out into the kitchen
to see if by some possible miracle there was another piece of steak in
his grub-pan. A dog's eyes are always close to his stomach.
Warrington, finding that everybody had gone to bed, turned out the
lights and went up stairs. He knocked on the door of his aunt's
bedroom.
"Is that you, Richard?"
"Yes. May I come in?"
"Certainly."
He entered quietly. The moonlight, pouring in through the window, lay
blue-white on the counterpane and the beloved old face.
"What is it?" she asked.
He sat down on the edge of the bed and patted her hands.
"Aunty, old lady, I'm through thinking. I'm going to come home just as
soon as I can fix up things in New York.


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