Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. The Man from Home by Harry Leon Wilson (most popular ebook readers TXT) 📖
- Author: Harry Leon Wilson
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Book online «The Man from Home by Harry Leon Wilson (most popular ebook readers TXT) 📖». Author Harry Leon Wilson
[PIKE looks puzzled and depressed.]
"The present holder of the title came into it unexpectedly through a series of accidental deaths. He was a younger son's younger son, and had spent some years in Russia in business—what, I do not know—under another name. I suppose he assumed it that the historic name of St. Aubyn might not be tarnished by association with trade. He has spent so much of his life out of England that it is difficult to find out a great deal about him. Nothing here in his English record is seriously against him; though everything he has is mortgaged over its value, the entail having been broken.
[ETHEL pauses and looks at PIKE, who, much disturbed, rises, and crosses the stage.]
"As to his son, the Honorable Almeric, there's no [pg 107] objection alleged against his character. That's all I've been able to learn."
[She finishes with an air of triumphant finality, and rises with a laugh.]
A terrible indictment! So that was what you counted on to convince me of my mistake?
[distressed]
Yes—it was!
Do you assert there is one word in this seriously discreditable to the reputation of Lord Hawcastle or Mr. St. Aubyn?
[humbly]
No.
And you remember, it is the testimony offered by your own friend
[scornfully]
—by your own detective!
[ruefully]
Oh, if I wanted a detective I wouldn't get Jim Cooley—at least, not any more!
[His attitude is thoroughly crestfallen.]
[triumphantly, almost graciously]
I shall tell Lord Hawcastle that you will be ready to take up the matter of the settlement the moment his solicitor arrives.
No, I wouldn't do that.
[in a challenging voice]
Why not?
[doggedly]
Because I won't take up the matter of settlements with him or any one else.[pg 108]
[angrily]
Do you mean you cannot see what a humiliation your interference has brought upon you in this?
No; I see that plain enough.
Have you, after this, any further objections to my alliance with Mr. St. Aubyn?
It ain't an alliance with Mr. St. Aubyn that you're after.
Then what am I
[pauses and lays scornful emphasis on the next word]
after?
"YOU'RE AFTER SOMETHING THERE ISN'T ANYTHING TO"
"YOU'RE AFTER SOMETHING THERE ISN'T ANYTHING TO"
[slowly]
You're after something there isn't anything to. If I'd let you buy what you want to with your money and your whole life, you'd find it as empty as the morning after Judgment Day.
[She turns from him, smiling and superior.]
You think because I'm a jay country lawyer I don't understand it and couldn't understand you! Why, we've got just the same thing at home. There was little Annie Hoffmeyer. Her pa was a carpenter and doing well. But Annie couldn't get into the Kokomo Ladies' Literary Club, and her name didn't show up in the society column four or five times every Saturday morning, so she got her pa to give her the money to marry Artie Seymour, the minister's son—and a regular minister's son he was! Almost broke [pg 109] Hoffmeyer's heart, but he let her have her way and went in debt and bought them a little house on North Main Street. That was two years ago. Annie's workin' at the depoe candy-stand now and Artie's workin' at the hotel bar—in front—drinking up what's left of old Hoffmeyer's—settlement!
[outraged]
And you say you understand—you who couple the name of a tippling yokel with that of a St. Aubyn—a gentleman of distinction.
Distinction? I didn't know he was distinguished.
[in a ringing voice]
His ancestors have fought with glory on every field of battle from Crecy and Agincourt to the Crimea.
But you won't see much of his ancestors.
He bears their name.
[with authority and dignity]
Yes—and it's the name you want. Nobody could look at you and not know it wasn't him. It's the name! And I'd let you buy it if it would make you happy—if you didn't have to take the people with it.
[A deepening of color in the light shows that it has grown to be late afternoon, near sunset.]
[angrily]
The "people"?
Yes; the whole gang. Can't you see how [pg 110] they're counting on it? It's in their faces, in their ways! This Earl—don't you see he's counting on living on you? Do you think the son would get that settlement? Why, a Terre Hut pickpocket could get it away from him—let alone his old man! What do you think would become of the "settlement"?
Part of it would go to the restoration of Hawcastle Hall and part to Glenwood Priory.
Glenwood Priory?
That is part of the estate where Almeric and I will live until Lord Hawcastle's death.
Then mighty little settlement would come around "Glenwood Priory"!
[Speaks the name as though grimly amused, and continues.]
And this old lady—this Mrs. Creech you been travelling with—
[sharply]
Lady Creech!
All right! Don't you think she's counting on it? And this French lady that's with them; isn't she trying to land your brother? The whole crowd is on the track of John Simpson's money.
Silence! You have no right to traduce them. Do you place no value upon heredity, upon high birth?
Why, I think so much of it that I know John [pg 111] Simpson's daughter doesn't need anybody else's to help her out.
[He comes toward her, looking at her with honest admiration.]
She's fine enough and I think she's sweet enough—and I know from the way she goes for me that she's brave enough—to stand on her own feet!
This is beside the point; I know exactly what I want in life—
[she has been somewhat moved by his last speech, is agitated, and a little breathless]
—and I could not change now if it were otherwise. I gave Almeric my promise, it was forever, and I shall keep it.
But you can't; I'm not going to let you.
I throw your interference to the winds. I shall absolutely disregard it. I shall marry without your consent.
[looking at her steadily]
Do you think they'd let you?
[in same tone]
I think you'll let me,
[laughing]
especially after this terrible letter.
By-the-way, did you finish it?
[ETHEL looks at the letter, which she has continued to hold in her hand.]
I think so.
[Turns the page.]
No—it says "over."
[pg 112][She turns the sheet—looks at it attentively for a moment—looks up, casts a quick glance of astonishment at PIKE.]
Well, read it, please!
It appears to concern a matter quite personal to yourself.
[Embarrassed, assuming carelessness. Turns toward left as if to leave, replacing the letter in the envelope.]
[advancing to her, smiling]
I don't think I've got any secrets.
[coldly]
Please remember, I have not read anything on the last page.
Well, neither have I.
[Reaching his hand for the letter.]
[more embarrassed]
Oh!
[She drops the letter on the bench.]
[PIKE picks it up and walks slowly toward right, taking it from envelope. She stands looking after him with breathless amazement, far from hostile, yet half turned as if to go at once. PIKE, taking the letter out of the envelope, suddenly looks back at her. At this she is flustered and starts, but [pg 113] halts at sound of the "Fishermen's Song" in the distance. The sunset is deepening to golden red; the "Fishermen's Song" begins with mandolins and guitars, and then a number of voices are heard together.]
Listen: those are the fishermen coming home.
[PIKE stands in arrested attitude, not having looked at the letter. The song, beginning faintly, grows louder, then slowly dies away in the distance. The two stand listening in deepening twilight.]
[as the voices cease to be heard]
It's mighty pretty, but it's kind of foreign and lonesome, too.
[With a sad half-chuckle.]
I'd rather hear something that sounded more like home.
[A growing tremulousness in his voice.]
I expect you've about forgot everything like that, haven't you?
[gently]
Yes.
Seems funny, now; but out on the ocean, coming here, I kept kind of looking forward to hearing you sing. I knew how high your pa had you educated in music, and, like the old fool I was, I kept thinking you'd sing for me some evening—"Sweet [pg 114] Genevieve" mebbe. You know it—don't you?
[slowly]
"Sweet Genevieve?" I used to—but it's rather old-fashioned and common, isn't it?
I
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