And the Morrison's second boy, John William,
once explained to Joe that he wore out his shoes, "running errands for
Granny."
Alice Richards' baby was ailing again. Joe could see Allie walking the
floor, could almost hear her comforting the restless mite in her arms.
Somebody came hurrying down the street and as they passed a street lamp
Joe saw that it was Mrs. Downey, taking Tommy to the dentist. Doc
Mitchell was a nice enough chap but as Joe watched Tommy's legs saw the
air he thought the doctor might be a little mite gentler with the boy
orator. But Doc was getting old and he was probably tired. These
first autumn days before the snap and sparkle and snowy gleam of real
winter sets in always told on the older folks. They sort of seemed
tired and worried and sad.
So Joe stood there, looking at the purple and green and magenta-pink
lights of Martin's drug store, the sleepily winking lights of the
little station and the mellow golden glow of Sophie Forbes' yellow
parlor lamp. Then he turned and looked straight down his own street,
past the post-office, the tin shop, the dry-goods store to the spot
where a faint light seeped through drawn curtains and faint rowdy
noises came from behind closed doors.
It was what he guessed was behind those closed doors that had brought
Joe out of his shop bareheaded and caused him to feel as Doc Mitchell
maybe felt--a little old and sad and tired and even a bit helpless.
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