But
glancing into his study he saw that the lad was completely absorbed. With
knees drawn up, his long lank form all hunched and huddled on the lounge,
hair rumpled, George was reading a book which had a cover of tough gray
cloth. At the sight of it his grandfather smiled, for he had seen it once
before. Where George had obtained it, the Lord only knew. Its title was
"Bulls and Breeding." A thoroughly practical little book, but nothing for
George's mother to see. As his grandfather entered behind him, the boy
looked up with a guilty start, and resumed with a short breath of relief.
Young Elizabeth, too, had a furtive air, for instead of preparing her
history lesson she was deep in the evening paper reading about the war
abroad. Stout and florid, rather plain, but with a frank, attractive face
and honest, clear, appealing eyes, this curious creature of thirteen was
sitting firmly in her chair with her feet planted wide apart, eagerly
scanning an account of the work of American surgeons in France. And again
Roger smiled to himself. (He was feeling so much better now.) So Betsy was
still thinking of becoming a surgeon. He wondered what she would take up
next. In the past two years in swift succession she had made up her mind to
be a novelist, an actress and a women's college president. And Roger liked
this tremendously.
He loved to watch these two in the house. Here again his family was
widening out before him, with new figures arising to draw his attention
this way and that.
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