Читать книгу Jean Craig in New York онлайн

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“It must be Jack,” Jean said, smiling mischievously up at her father, for he had not yet met Jack. She ran out to the head of the stairs.

“Can Jack come up, Mom?”

Up he came, fresh from a tubbing, wearing a shirt and a pair of overalls that belonged to Tommy. His straight blond hair fairly glistened from its recent brushing and his face shone, but it was Jack’s eyes that won him friends at the start. Mixed in color they were, like a moss agate, with long dark lashes, and just now they were filled with contentment.

“They wanted me to play for them downstairs,” he said gravely, stopping beside Mr. Craig’s chair. “I can play lots of tunes. My mother gave me this last Christmas.”

This was the first time he had mentioned his mother and Jean followed up the clue gently.

“Where, Jack?”

He looked down at the floor, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Over in Providence. She got sick and they took her to the hospital and she never came back.”

“Not at all?”

He shook his head. “Then afterwards—” much was comprised in that one word and Jack’s tone, “afterwards we started off together, my Dad and me. He said he’d try and get a job on some farm with me, but nobody wanted him this time of year, and with me too. And he said one morning he wished he didn’t have me bothering around. When I woke up on the freight yesterday morning, he wasn’t there. Guess he must have dropped off. Maybe he can get a job now.”