Part 11 (1/2)
”I say, shall I have to clean the knives?”
”No, no, no.”
”Nor yet the boots and shoes?”
”No, boy; no.”
”I shall have to fetch the water then, shan't I?”
”My good boy, nothing of the kind. You are going to live with us, and you are my adopted son,” said the doctor rather pompously, while Helen sighed.
”Which?” queried the boy.
”Which what?” said the doctor.
”Which what you said?”
”I did not say anything, sir.”
”Oh my! what a story!” cried the boy, appealing to Helen. ”Didn't you hear him say I was to be his something son?”
”Adopted son,” said the doctor severely; ”and, look here, you must not speak to me in that way.”
”All--” Dexter checked himself again, and he only stared.
”Now, you understand,” said the doctor, after a few minutes' hesitation; ”you are to be here like my son, and you may call me--yes, father, or papa.”
”How rum!” said the boy, showing his white teeth with a remarkable want of reverence. ”I say,” he added, turning to Helen; ”what am I to call you!”
Helen turned to her father for instructions, her brow wrinkling from amus.e.m.e.nt and vexation.
”Helen,” said the doctor, in a decided tone. ”We must have no half measures, my dear; I mean to carry out my plan in its entirety.”
”Very well, papa,” said Helen quietly; and then to herself, ”It is only for a few days.”
”Now, then,” said the doctor, ”clothes. Ring that bell, Dexter.”
The boy ran so eagerly to the bell that he knocked over a light chair, and left it on the floor till he had rung.
”Oh, I say,” he exclaimed; ”they go over a deal easier than our forms.”
”Never mind the forms now, Dexter. I want you to forget all about the old school.”
”Forget it?” said the boy, with his white forehead puckering up.
”Yes, and all belonging to it. You are now going to be my son.”
”But I shall want to go and see the boys sometimes.”
”No, sir; you will not.”