At the top he encountered his young brother Justin. That twelve-year-old
stood awaiting him, his face so disconsolate that in spite of himself
Lanse smiled.
"Cheer up, youngster," he said. "It's pretty tough, but as Doctor
Forester says, it might be worse. Want to go in with me and see sister a
minute?"
But Justin got hold of his arm and held him back. "Lanse, I've got to
tell you something," he begged. "Please come here, in your room a
minute."
Lanse followed, wondering. Justin, although a healthy and happy boy
enough, was apt to take things seriously, and sometimes needed to be
joked out of singular notions. In Lanse's room Justin carefully locked
the door.
"It's all my fault, Celia's knee," he said, going straight to the point,
as was his way. His voice shook a little, but he went steadily on. "She
sent me down cellar after pickles, and I sat on the top of the stairs
finishing up a banana before I went. I've been down there to look,
and--and the banana skin was there--all mashed. It was what did it."
He choked, and turned away to the window.
"You left a banana skin on those stairs?" Lanse half-shouted.
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