That's what's so unsatisfactory. But, for
instance, my mother was Mexican---"
"Spanish."
"All right. Am I Spanish? Have I any Spanish blood in me?"
"She didn't look Spanish. She was light-complexioned, for one
thing. We both know plenty of people with a Latin strain in them
who look like Anglo-Saxons. Isn't there anything else?"
"Nothing I can lay my finger on, except some kid fancies and--that
hunch I spoke about."
Ellsworth sat back with a deep breath. "You were educated in the
North, and your boyhood was spent at school and college, away from
everything Mexican."
"That probably accounts for it," Law agreed; then his face lit
with a slow smile. "By the way, don't tell Mrs. Austin that I'm a
sort of college person. She thinks I'm a red-neck, and she sends
me books."
Ellsworth laughed silently. "Your talk is to blame, Dave. Has she
sent you The Swiss Family Robinson?"
"No. Mostly good, sad romances with an uplift--stories full of
lances at rest, and Willie-boys in tin sweaters. Life must have
been mighty interesting in olden days, there was so much loving
and killing going on. The good women were always beautiful, too,
and the villains never had a redeeming trait.
Pages:
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170