Читать книгу The Brother of a Hero онлайн

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While he sits there let us have a look at him. Fairly tall for his fifteen years—fifteen and a half, to be strictly accurate—splendidly healthy and capable in appearance, Rodney Merrill was on the whole distinctly attractive. Perhaps you would not have called him a handsome boy. If not Rodney would have had no quarrel with you since, in a boy’s language, handsome implies some quality of effeminacy most undesirable. He had brown hair, brown eyes—very nice brown eyes they were, too—a fairly large mouth and a full share of freckles in a face that was well-tanned, clear-cut and wholesome. And there was a self-reliant air about him that might have belonged to a much older lad. He was neatly if not strikingly dressed. A plain gray suit of flannel, a straw hat, brown shoes and black stockings, and a rather effective negligee shirt of alternating rose and green stripes on a gray ground made up his attire. Perhaps I ought to make mention of the black and white scarf from which just at present he was flecking a crumb of sticky chocolate.