More than once he had followed
the impulsive movement of her hand in a sort of craven alarm, born of
the conviction that he might have driven her at last to the point
where a pistol would put an end to his wretched dominion. "Now, this
ends it," he shouted. "I won't hear anything more about it. She's got
to wear tights as long as I say so. What the devil's got into you two
all of a sudden? Lookee here, Christine, don't ever let me hear you
make such a fuss as this again. By thunder, I'll--I'll lick you,
that's what I'll do. I've never laid a rough hand on you yet. I've
allus treated you as a kind father should. But don't drive me to
forget myself. You got to wear tights and do this act as long as we
run this show. We--"
"But, father, please, I--I am getting too big," sobbed Christine.
"Too big!" he roared. "Great Scot! Why, you little whipper-snapper,
you're just beginning to get big enough to look well in 'em. Too big!
Say, you're just getting a shape that's worth noticin'. I suppose that
peanut aristocrat friend of yours has told you it ain't swell or
proper to wear tights. He'll get his back broke some of these days, if
he puts ideas into that silly head of yours.
Pages:
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296