Ripper Read Online Free PDF Page A

look fat,” Mrs. Echols said with disapproval.
    “Perhaps it’s the clothes,” Mr. Echols said with a shrug. “But it will make great press to have him along at charity events.”
    “It seems like so much trouble,” Mrs. Echols said. “Couldn’t we just borrow one?”
    “I don’t believe so,” Mr. Echols said. “And the adoption itself will look very good. Very charitable indeed.” He leaned forward and addressed Finn loudly and slowly. “We would like to take you home with us. You will be fed, clothed and educated. What do you say?”
    Carver could smell the wood burning in Finn’s head. The muscular red-haired boy, used to barking out orders and being obeyed, suddenly looked lost and sad.
    Embarrassed for him, Carver stepped away. He thought about Delia. She was right about making your own luck. If Carver cared at all about what kind of life he’d be leading, he’d march up to Roosevelt and give it his best shot.
    He moved toward the punch bowl, looking down at his feet. Should he mention his letter or just talk about how much he wanted to be a detective? He was halfway there when he looked up. Roosevelt was gone. He scanned the room, snapping his head faster and faster. The man was nowhere to be seen.
    Delia was at the entrance, next to Anne Ribe and Miss Petty. Carver ran and yanked her aside. “Where’s Roosevelt?”
    The smile fell from her face. “He left. You never
did
speak to him, did you? It was only a minute ago; maybe you could still catch him.”
    Carver dove for the door. On his way out, he nearly knocked over an oddly stooped salt-and-pepper-haired man. The man growled something, but Carver ignored him. He jumped down the three steps and looked frantically up and down the street. Cool air hit the sweat around his neck.
    Horse-drawn hansoms and private carriages clopped and clicked along the cobblestones. Pedestrians strolled along, but none had Roosevelt’s short stature or square shoulders.
    Carver had stood by for hours, feeling sorry for himself, and now his chance was lost. How could he find his father alone? For as long as he could remember, Carver felt as if something were missing. Not just his past, not just knowing who he was, but someone who could tell him, show him. A father, if not his own, then someone like him. Now where would he wind up?
    He turned back to the entrance and pulled so hard at his collar, it tore. The air that swarmed over the top of his chest felt like winter.
    “Don’t they teach manners in this place? I said, watch where you’re going, boy!”
    Carver looked up. It was the gnomish older man, still in the doorway, scowling fiercely. “Are you deaf as well as stupid?”
    Carver twisted his head for a better look. He seemed the sort you wouldn’t want to mess with. His beard and hair were unkempt as a squirrel’s nest, but his eyes were practically shining with intelligence. His left hand, pressed against the door, looked terribly strong, but his right appeared damaged, mangled. It clutched the black stick of a silver wolf’s head cane with three fingers, as if the thumb and index finger were useless.
    What was he? The old cape covering his hunched shoulders might have been formal once, but it was threadbare and wrinkled now. The rest of his clothes looked as if they hadn’t been laundered in ages. If he weren’t so sloppy, he’d look as if he belonged in a funeral home. An undertaker.
    Carver was about to apologize, but the man yelled again.
    “I said,
boy,
are you deaf as well as stupid?”
    There was something about the nasal tenor that really grated. Aside from which Carver didn’t like being called
boy
or
stupid.
    “Neither,” Carver said.
    The man looked more curious than offended. Still holding the door, he swayed his body closer. “Neither
what,
boy?”
    Carver held his ground. “I am neither deaf nor stupid. And I hardly think I’m a boy anymore.”
    The stranger rolled his eyes. “Are you a
farm hog
?! When addressing your superiors,