"No, child--that is, not much," said old Mr. King, trying to smooth his
brows out. He was thinking--for it kept obtruding at all times and
seasons--of that dreadful scrap of paper that Cousin Eunice had imposed
upon him at the last minute before they sailed, announcing that she had
had her way, and would at last compel acceptance of such a gift as she
chose to make to Phronsie Pepper.
"If it aches at all," said Phronsie, decidedly, "I wish you would let
me rub it for you, Grandpapa. I do, truly."
"Well, it doesn't," said Grandpapa; "that is it won't, now that I have
you with me. I was thinking of something unpleasant, Phronsie, and
then, to tell you the truth, that old Mr. Selwyn tires me to death. I
can't talk to him, and his grandson is a cad."
"What is a cad?" asked Phronsie, wonderingly.
"Oh, well, a boy who isn't nice," said Mr. King, carelessly.
"Grandpapa, why isn't that boy nice to that poor old man?" asked
Phronsie, a grieved look coming into her blue eyes.
"Goodness me, child, you ask me too much," said Mr. King, quickly; "oh,
a variety of reasons. Well, we must take things as we find them, and do
what we can to help matters along; but it seems a hopeless case,--things
were in better shape; and now they seem all tangled up again,
thanks to that boy."
"Grandpapa," said Phronsie, earnestly, "I don't believe that boy means
to be bad to that poor old man, I don't really and truly, Grandpapa,"
she added, shaking her head.
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