| OCR Text |
Show "Hi Jacob." He had his eyeglasses in his hand. When he saw who I was he dropped them, picked them up again, started to hug me and stopped. He stared at Morgan. "This is my girl, Morgan Teller. My brother Jacob." "How do you do," he said. He turned back to me, put his glasses on, rubbed his nose, scraped his feet, grinned. "Well, Buck. How've you been? Isn't this amazing-both of us in the same airport at the same time after all these years?" I grinned back at him; I couldn't help it--he was so startled and happy to see me, so clumsy and good-hearted. "Not so amazing," I said. I meant that we were both there because our father was dead. "I guess, I guess." But he wasn't paying attention to the words. He put his hands on my shoulders and looked down at me, took his hands away, stared at Morgan helplessly; finally he grabbed me in a bear-hug and lifted me off the floor. "Jesus it's grand to see you, Buck." Then what I had said penetrated and his face became suddenly sad and serious. "Did you get the telegram? Mine didn't say much-what do you suppose happened?" "I tried to call Carlo but there was no answer at home." "I talked to him last night from Denver but he didn't make much sense. The poor kid's all up in the air. I'm |
