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Updated: April 30, 2025
It surprised Maida very much when she found that people stood in awe of her father. It had never occurred to her to be afraid of him. “I’ve racked my brains to entertain her,” “Buffalo” Westabrook went on. “I’ve bought her every gimcrack that’s made for children—her nursery looks like a toy factory.
Billy’s face was all screwed up, but it was not with laughter. “Did you ever speak to Mr. Westabrook about it?” “Oh, Misther Westabruk done iv’ry t’ing he cud—the foine man that he is. Advertisements and detayktives, but wid all his money, he cudn’t foind out a t’ing. If ut wasn’t for my blissed lamb, I’d pray to the saints to let me die.”
Four people sat in the big, shining automobile. Three of them were men. The fourth was a little girl. The little girl’s name was Maida Westabrook. The three men were “Buffalo” Westabrook, her father, Dr. Pierce, her physician, and Billy Potter, her friend. They were coming from Marblehead to Boston. Maida sat in one corner of the back seat gazing dreamily out at the whirling country.
That little Flynn girl has lived in the family of Mr. Jerome Westabrook, hasn’t she?” Billy’s eyes “skrinkled up.” “Yes, Mrs. Lathrop,” he admitted, “she lived in the Westabrook family for several years.” “So I guessed,” Mrs.
“Whose family did you travel with?” she asked at last. Maida felt a little embarrassed. If Mrs. Lathrop asked her certain questions, it would place her in a very uncomfortable position. On the one hand, Maida could not tell a lie. On the other, her father had told her to tell nobody that she was his daughter. “The family of Mr. Jerome Westabrook,” she said at last.
“Oh!” It was the “oh” of a person who is much impressed. “‘Buffalo’ Westabrook?” Mrs. Lathrop asked. “Yes.” “Did your grandmother, Mrs. Flynn, go with you?” “Yes.” Mrs. Lathrop continued to look very hard at Maida.
You know, Billy, Granny and I have the greatest fun about our bones. Hers are all wrong because they’re so old, and mine are all wrong because they’re so young.” “All right,” Billy agreed. “Sunshiny one for Granny, shady one for you. That’s settled! I hope you realize, Miss Maida, Elizabeth, Fairfax, Petronilla, Pinkwink, Posie Westabrook what perfectly bully rooms these are!
Westabrook said and it was printed somewhere. Men who wrote for the newspapers were always trying to talk with Mr. Westabrook. Few of them ever got the chance. But “Buffalo” Westabrook never refused to talk with Billy Potter. Indeed, the two men were great friends.
They were made for the little Westabrook girl.” Mrs. Lathrop always declared afterwards that it was the telephone that really cured Laura. Certainly, it proved to be the most exciting of toys to the little invalid. There was always something waiting for her when she waked up in the morning and the tin boxes kept bobbing from window to window until long after dark.
“I thank you, madam,” said “Buffalo” Westabrook, bending on her one of his piercing scrutinies. “How ever the neighborhood accepted her, they have given her back her health. I can never be too grateful to them.”
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