In the
excitement of the evening I had forgotten him, but now I raised a
warning finger and listened, thinking that I might catch the appealing
cry. And is there any cry more appealing than that of a lonely puppy?
There was not a sound outside, and I turned to Tim.
My brother lighted his pipe, and leaned back in his chair, and looked
at me. I looked at him very, very hard. Then we both began to blow
clouds of smoke in each other's faces. Hardly a word had Tim and I
passed since that day in the field when I drew the long twig that sent
me away and left him behind to keep our home. What a blessing a pipe
is at a time like this! Tim says more by the vigor of his smoking than
Perry Thomas could express in a year's oration. So we enshrouded our
emotions in the gray cloud; but if he did not speak, I knew well what
he would be saying, and the harder I puffed the easier did he divine
what was uppermost in my mind. For we were brothers! This was the
same room that for years had been our world; this the same carpet over
which we had tumbled together at our mother's feet.
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