Jerry Junior

Jerry Junior, by Jean Webster

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Title: Jerry Junior
Author: Jean Webster
Illustrator: Orson Lowell
Release Date: January 14, 2007 [EBook #20358]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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Jerry Junior

[Illustration: "Constance studied the mountains a moment"]

Jerry Junior
By Jean Webster Author of "When Patty Went to College," etc.
With Illustrations by Orson Lowell
New York The Century Co. 1907

Copyright, 1907, by THE CENTURY CO.
* * * * *
Copyright, 1906, 1907, by THE CROWELL PUBLISHING
COMPANY
* * * * *
Published April, 1907
THE DE VINNE PRESS

List of Illustrations
FACING PAGE
"Constance studied the mountains a moment" Frontispiece
"'Hello, Gustavo! Is that for me?'" 5
"The fourth girl, with gray eyes and yellow-brown hair, was sitting at
ease on the balustrade" 23
"Giuseppe still made a feint of preoccupation" 29

"He had also shifted his position so that he might command the profile
of the girl" 45
Beppo and the donkeys 67
"Constance clasped her hands in an ecstasy of admiration" 71
"Constance ahead on Fidilini, an officer marching at each side of her
saddle" 85
"She seated herself in the deep embrasure of a window close beside
Tony's parapet" 95
"The man bowed with a gesture which made her free of the book" 119
"She turned the pages and paused at the week's entries" 133
"Constance ripped the letter open and read it aloud" 149
"Nannie caught sight of the visitors first, and came running forward to
meet them" 199
"The two mounted the steps of the jail and jerked the bell" 253
"Never before had he had such overwhelming reason to doubt his
senses" 273

Jerry Junior
CHAPTER I
The courtyard of the Hotel du Lac, furnished with half a dozen tables
and chairs, a red and green parrot chained to a perch, and a shady little
arbor covered with vines, is a pleasant enough place for morning coffee,
but decidedly too sunny for afternoon tea. It was close upon four of a
July day, when Gustavo, his inseparable napkin floating from his arm,
emerged from the cool dark doorway of the house and scanned the

burning vista of tables and chairs. He would never, under ordinary
circumstances, have interrupted his siesta for the mere delivery of a
letter; but this particular letter was addressed to the young American
man, and young American men, as every head waiter knows, are an
unreasonably impatient lot. The court-yard was empty, as he might
have foreseen, and he was turning with a patient sigh towards the long
arbor that led to the lake, when the sound of a rustling paper in the
summer house deflected his course. He approached the doorway and
looked inside.
The young American man, in white flannels with a red guide-book
protruding from his pocket, was comfortably stretched in a lounging
chair engaged with a cigarette and a copy of the Paris Herald. He
glanced up with a yawn--excusable under the circumstances--but as his
eye fell upon the letter he sprang to his feet.
"Hello, Gustavo! Is that for me?"
[Illustration: "'Hello, Gustavo! Is that for me?'"]
Gustavo bowed.
"Ecco! She is at last arrive, ze lettair for which you haf so moch
weesh." He bowed a second time and presented it. "Meestair Jayreen
Ailyar!"
The young man laughed.
"I don't wish to hurt your feelings, Gustavo, but I'm not sure I should
answer if my eyes were shut."
He picked up the letter, glanced at the address to make sure--the name
was Jerymn Hilliard Jr.--and ripped it open with an exaggerated sigh of
relief. Then he glanced up and caught Gustavo's expression. Gustavo
came of a romantic race; there was a gleam of sympathetic interest in
his eye.
"Oh, you needn't look so knowing! I suppose you think this is a love

letter? Well it's not. It is, since you appear to be interested, a letter from
my sister informing me that they will arrive tonight, and that we will
pull out for Riva by the first boat tomorrow morning. Not that I want to
leave you, Gustavo, but--Oh, thunder!"
He finished the reading in a frowning silence while the waiter stood at
polite attention, a shade of anxiety in his eye--there was usually anxiety
in his eye when it rested on Jerymn Hilliard Jr. One could never foresee
what