From the Housetops

From the Housetops

The Project Gutenberg EBook of From the Housetops, by George Barr
McCutcheon This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost
and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it
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Title: From the Housetops
Author: George Barr McCutcheon
Illustrator: F. Graham Cootes
Release Date: June 17, 2006 [EBook #18612]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FROM THE
HOUSETOPS ***

Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team at http://www.pgdp.net

FROM THE HOUSETOPS
BY GEORGE BARR McCUTCHEON

Author of "Ghaustark," "The Hollow of Her Hand," "The Prince of
Graustark," etc.
With Illustrations by F. GRAHAM COOTES

Copyright, 1916 By DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, INC. All rights
reserved Made in U.S.A.

[Illustration: "Stop!" he cried eagerly. "Would you give up
everything--everything, mind you,--if I were to ask you to do so?"]

Contents ========
CHAPTER I
1
CHAPTER II
9
CHAPTER III
16
CHAPTER IV
27
CHAPTER V
39

CHAPTER VI
57
CHAPTER VII
76
CHAPTER VIII
90
CHAPTER IX
101
CHAPTER X
120
CHAPTER XI
137
CHAPTER XII
155
CHAPTER XIII
169
CHAPTER XIV
185
CHAPTER XV

197
CHAPTER XVI
213
CHAPTER XVII
230
CHAPTER XVIII
247
CHAPTER XIX
260
CHAPTER XX
273
CHAPTER XXI
292
CHAPTER XXII
310
CHAPTER XXIII
329
CHAPTER XXIV
345

CHAPTER XXV
359
CHAPTER XXVI
376
CHAPTER XXVII
391
CHAPTER XXVIII
405
CHAPTER XXIX
421
CHAPTER XXX
431

FROM THE HOUSETOPS
CHAPTER I
Mr. Templeton Thorpe was soon to be married for the second time.
Back in 1860 he married a girl of twenty-two, and now in the year 1912
he was taking unto himself another girl of twenty-two. In the interim he
had achieved a grandson whose years were twenty-nine. In his
seventy-seventh year he was worth a great many millions of dollars,
and for that and no other reason perhaps, one of the newspapers, in
commenting on the approaching nuptials, declared that nobody could
now deny that he was a philanthropist.

* * * * *
"I daresay you are right, Mrs. Tresslyn," said old Templeton Thorpe's
grandson, bitterly. "He hasn't many more years to live."
The woman in the chair started, her eyes narrowing. The flush
deepened in her cheeks. It had been faint before and steady, but now it
was ominous.
"I fear you are again putting words into my mouth," she said coldly.
"Have I made any such statement?"
"I did not say that you had, Mrs. Tresslyn," said the young man. "I
merely observed that you were right. It isn't necessary to put the
perfectly obvious into words. He is a very old man, so you are right in
believing that he hasn't many years left to live. Nearly four times the
age of Anne,--that's how old he is,--and time flies very swiftly for him."
"I must again remind you that you are in danger of becoming offensive,
Braden. Be good enough to remember that this interview is not of my
choosing. I consented to receive you in--"
"You knew it was inevitable--this interview, as you call it. You knew I
would come here to denounce this damnable transaction. I have nothing
to apologise for, Mrs. Tresslyn. This is not the time for apologies. You
may order me to leave your house, but I don't believe you will find any
satisfaction in doing so. You would still know that I have a right to
protest against this unspeakable marriage, even though it should mean
nothing more to me than the desire to protect a senile old man against
the--"
"Your grandfather is the last man in the world to be described as
senile," she broke in, with a thin smile.
"I could have agreed with you a month ago, but not now," said he
savagely.
"Perhaps you would better go now, Braden," said she, arising. She was

a tall, handsome woman, well under fifty. As she faced her visitor, her
cold, unfriendly eyes were almost on a level with his own. The look she
gave him would have caused a less determined man to quail. It was her
way of closing an argument, no matter whether it was with her butcher,
her grocer, of the bishop himself. Such a look is best described as
imperious, although one less reserved than I but perhaps more potently
metaphorical would say that she simply looked a hole through you,
seeing beyond you as if you were not there at all. She had found it
especially efficacious in dealing with the butcher and even the bishop,
to say nothing of the effect it always had upon the commonplace
nobodies who go to the butcher and the