Beta Book

"
He undressed and smoothed his ready-made suit on the
rocking-chair back. Sitting on the edge of his bed, quaint in
his cotton night-gown, like a rare little bird of dull plumage,
he rubbed his head sleepily. Um-m-m-m-m! How tired he was!
He went to open the window. Then his tamed heart leaped into a
waltz, and he forgot third-floor-fronts and sleepiness.
Through the window came the chorus of fog-horns on North River.
"Boom-m-m!" That must be a giant liner, battling up through the
fog. (It was a ferry.) A liner! She'd be roaring just like that
if she were off the Banks! If he were only off the Banks! "Toot!
Toot!" That was a tug. "Whawn-n-n!" Another liner. The tumultuous
chorus repeated to him all the adventures of the day.
He dropped upon the bed again and stared absently at his
clothes. Out of the inside coat pocket stuck the unopened
letter from Cousin John.
He read a paragraph of it. He sprang from the bed and danced a
tarantella, pranced in his cottony nightgown like a drunken
Yaqui.


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