Soamesroundedthelastbendandcameinsightofhisfather’stallfigurewrappedinabrownsilkquiltedgown，stoopingoverthebalustradeabove。Lightfellonhissilveryhairandwhiskers，investinghisheadwith，asortofhalo。”Hereheis！”heheardhimsayinavoicewhichsoundedinjured，andhismother’scomfortableanswerfromthebedroomdoor：”That’sallright。Comein，andI’llbrushyourhair。”Jamesextendedathin，crookedfinger，oddlylikethebeckoningofaskeleton，andpassedthroughthedoorwayofhisbedroom。
’Whatisit?’thoughtSoames。’Whathashegotholdofnow?’
Hisfatherwassittingbeforethedressing-tablesidewaystothemirror，whileEmilyslowlypassedtwosilver-backedbrushesthroughandthroughhishair。Shewoulddothisseveraltimesaday，forithadonhimsomethingoftheeffectproducedonacatbyscratchingbetweenitsears。”Thereyouare！”hesaid。”I’vebeenwaiting。”
Soamesstrokedhisshoulder，and，takingupasilverbutton-hook，examinedthemarkonit。”Well，”hesaid，”you’relookingbetter。”
Jamesshookhishead。”Iwanttosaysomething。Yourmotherhasn’theard。”HeannouncedEmily’signoranceofwhathehadn’ttoldher，asifitwereagrievance。”Yourfather’sbeeninagreatstatealltheevening。I’msureI