One of Ours

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“Ralph, Ralph, get awake! Come down and help me wash the car.”

“What for?”

“Why, aren’t we going to the circus today?”

“Car’s all right. Let me alone.” The boy turned over and pulled

the sheet up to his face, to shut out the light which was

beginning to come through the curtainless windows.

Claude rose and dressed,—a simple operation which took very

little time. He crept down two flights of stairs, feeling his way

in the dusk, his red hair standing up in peaks, like a cock’s

comb. He went through the kitchen into the adjoining washroom,

which held two porcelain stands with running water. Everybody had

washed before going to bed, apparently, and the bowls were ringed

with a dark sediment which the hard, alkaline water had not

dissolved. Shutting the door on this disorder, he turned back to

the kitchen, took Mahailey’s tin basin, doused his face and head

in cold water, and began to plaster down his wet hair.