The Rich Little Poor Boy Part 63

Johnnie went to him, walking with something of a swagger. "Nothin's the matter!" he declared stoutly. "What y' talkin' 'bout? Ev'rything's fine!

Jus' _fine_!"

The frightened look went out of the peering, old eyes. Grandpa broke into his thin, cackling laugh. "Everything's fine!" he cried. He shook a proud head. "Everything's fine!"

Johnnie pulled the chair over the sill, this with something of a flourish. Then, facing it about, "Here's Mister Perkins come t' see y',"

he announced, and sent the chair rolling gayly to the middle of the room, while Grandpa shouted as gleefully as a child, and swayed himself against the strand of rope that held him in place.

"Niaggery! Niaggery!" he begged.

"Sh! sh! Mister Barber's asleep!"

"Sh! sh!" echoed the old man. "Tommie's asleep! Tommie's asleep!

Tommie's asleep! That's what I always say to mother. Tommie's asleep!"

Johnnie came to the wheel chair. Then, for the first time in all the years he had spent in the flat, the tender love he felt for Grandpa fairly pulled his young arms about those stooped old shoulders; and he dropped his yellow head till it touched the white one. Tears were in his eyes, but somehow he was not ashamed of them.

Grandpa, mildly startled by the unprecedented hug, and the feel of that tousled head against his, stared for a moment like a surprised infant.

Then out went his arms, hunting Johnnie; and the simple old man, and the boy who loved him past a great temptation, clung together for a long moment.

If there are occasions, as Father Pat and Mr. Perkins had once agreed there were, when it was proper for a good scout to cry, Johnnie now understood that there are occasions when good scoutmasters may also give way to their feelings. For without a doubt, Mr. Perkins, grown man and fighter though he was (and a husband to boot!), was weeping--and grinning with all his might as he wept! It was a proud grin. It set all his teeth to flashing, and lifted his red-brown cheeks so high that his _pince-nez_ was dislodged, and went swinging down to tinkle merrily against a b.u.t.ton of his coat; and his br.i.m.m.i.n.g eyes were proud as he fixed them upon Johnnie.

"Great old scout!" he said.

When Grandpa had had a gla.s.s of milk, and been trundled gently to and fro a few times, Johnnie stowed him away near the window. "He ain't much trouble, is he?" he asked, carefully tucking the feeble old hands under the cover. He nodded at the sleeping veteran, sunk far down into his blanket, his white head, with its few straggling hairs, tipped sidewise against the tangled, brown head of Let.i.tia.

"No," answered Mr. Perkins. "And you're going to be glad, Johnnie, when the day comes that Grandpa closes his eyes for the last time, that you decided to do your duty. And you'll never have anything selfish or sad or mean to try to forget." He held out his hand and gave Johnnie's fingers a good grip.

With Mr. Perkins gone home to Cis, Johnnie stayed beside the wheel chair. Those yellow-gray eyes were still burning with earnestness, and the bright head, haloed by its hair, was held high. Dusk had deepened into dark. As he looked into the shadows by the hall door, he seemed to see a face--his father's. A moment, and he saw the whole figure, as if it had entered from the hall. It was supporting that other, and more slender, figure.

"I'm your son," he told them. "I'm twelve, and I know what y' both want t' see me do. It's stick t' my job. It'll be awful hard sometimes, and I'll hate it. But I'm goin' t' try t' be jus' as brave as you was."

It seemed to him that his father smiled then--a pleased, proud smile.

At that, Johnnie straightened, his heels came together, and he brought his left arm rigidly to his side. Then he lifted his right to his forehead--in the scout salute.

THE END

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