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 away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
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
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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 bishop for the luxuries of both the present and the future life, and it had seldom failed to wither and blight the most hardy of masculine opponents. It was not always so effective in crushing the members of her own sex, for there were women in New York society who could look straight through Mrs. Tresslyn without even appearing to suspect that she was in the range of vision. She had been known, however, to stare an English duke out of countenance, and it was a long time before she