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 ''Genius'' by Theodore Dreiser (romantic novels to read .TXT) 📖
- Author: Theodore Dreiser
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They sat in the studio one night. Angela's face was a picture of despair, for the horror of her situation was only by degrees coming to her, and she said, seeing him so moody and despondent:
"Eugene, don't you think you can get over this? You say Suzanne has been spirited away. Why not let her go? Think of your career, Eugene. Think of me. What will become of me? You can get over it, if you try. Surely you won't throw me down after all the years I have been with you. Think how I have tried. I have been a pretty good wife to you, haven't I? I haven't annoyed you so terribly much, have I? Oh, I feel all the time as though we were on the brink of some terrible catastrophe! If only I could do something; if only I could say something! I know I have been hard and irritable at times, but that is all over now. I am a changed woman. I would never be that way any more."
"It can't be done, Angela," he replied calmly. "It can't be done. I don't love you. I've told you that. I don't want to live with you. I can't. I want to get free in some way, either by divorce, or a quiet separation, and go my way. I'm not happy. I never will be as long as I am here. I want my freedom and then I will decide what I want to do."
Angela shook her head and sighed. She could scarcely believe that this was she wandering around in her own apartment wondering what she was going to do in connection with her own husband. Marietta had gone back to Wisconsin before the storm broke. Myrtle was in New York, but she hated to confess to her. She did not dare to write to any member of her own family but Marietta, and she did not want to confess to her. Marietta had fancied while she was here that they were getting along nicely. She had fits of crying, which alternated with fits of anger, but the latter were growing weak. Fear, despondency, and grief were becoming uppermost in her soul again—the fear and despondency that had weighed her down in those lonely days before she married Eugene, the grief that she was now actually and finally to lose the one man whom, in spite of everything, she loved still.
CHAPTER XIXIt was three days later when he was at his office that a telegram came from Mrs. Dale, which read, "I depend on you, on the honor of a gentleman, to ignore any message which may come from my daughter until I see you."
Eugene was puzzled, but fancied that there must be a desperate quarrel on between Suzanne and her mother, wherever they were, and that it was probable that he would hear from her now. It was his first inkling as to her whereabouts, for the telegram was sent off from Three Rivers, in Canada, and he fancied they must be near there somewhere. The place of despatch did him no good from a material point of view, for he could neither write nor pursue Suzanne on the strength of this. He would not know where to find her. He could only wait, conscious that she was having a struggle, perhaps as severe, or possibly more so, than his own. He wandered about with this telegram in his pocket wondering when he should hear—what a day should bring forth, and all those who came in contact with him noticed that there was something wrong.
Colfax saw him, and asked: "What's the matter, old man? You're not looking as chipper as you might." He fancied it might be something in connection with the Blue Sea Corporation. He had heard, after he had learned that Eugene was in it, that it would take much more money than had been invested to date to make it a really successful seaside proposition according to the original outlines, and that it would be years before it could possibly yield an adequate return. If Eugene had put much money in it, he had probably lost it or tied it up in a most unsatisfactory way. Well, it served him right for trifling with things he knew nothing about.
"Oh, nothing," replied Eugene abstractedly. "I'm all right. I'm just a little run down physically. I'll come round."
"You'd better take a month or so off and brace up, if you're not in shape."
"Oh, not at all! Not now, anyhow."
It occurred to Eugene that he might use the time to advantage a little later and that he would claim it.
They proceeded to business, but Colfax noticed that Eugene's eyes were specially hollow and weary and that he was noticeably restless. He wondered whether he might be going to break down physically.
Suzanne had drifted along peacefully enough considering the nature of the feeling between her and her mother at this time. After a few days of desultory discussion, however, along the lines now so familiar, she began to see that her mother had no intention of terminating their stay at the time agreed upon, particularly since their return to New York meant, so far as Suzanne was concerned, her immediate departure to Witla. Mrs. Dale began at first to plead for additional delay, and later that Suzanne should agree not to go to New York but to Lenox for a season. It was cold up here already now, though there were still spells of bright warm summery or autumn weather between ten and four in the day, and sometimes in the evening. The nights usually were cold. Mrs. Dale would gladly have welcomed a compromise, for it was terribly lonely, just herself and Suzanne—after the gaieties of New York. Four days before the time of her proposed departure, Mrs. Dale was still obdurate or parleying in a diplomatic way, and Suzanne, disgusted, made the threat which caused Mrs. Dale to wire distractedly to Eugene. Later, she composed the following, which she gave to Gabrielle:
"DEAR EUGENE—
If you love me, come and get me. I have told mama that if she did not keep her word to return with me to New York by the fifteenth, I would write to you and she is still obstinate. I am at the Cathcart Lodge, While-a-Way, eighteen miles north of Three Rivers, here in Canada. Anyone can show you. I will be here when you come. Do not try to write to me as I am afraid I should not get it. But I will be at the Lodge.
"With love,
"SUZANNE."
Eugene had never before received a love appeal, nor indeed any such appeal from any woman in his life.
This letter reached him thirty-six hours after the telegram arrived, and set him to planning at once. The hour had struck. He must act. Perhaps this old world was now behind him forever. Could he really get Suzanne, if he went to Canada to find her? How was she surrounded? He thrilled with delight when he realized that it was Suzanne who was calling him and that he was going to find her. "If you love me, come and get me."
Would he?
Watch!
He called for his car, telephoned his valet to pack his bag and bring it to the Grand Central Station, first ascertaining for himself the time of departure, asked to talk to Angela, who had gone to Myrtle's apartment in upper Seventh Avenue, ready at last to confess her woes to Eugene's sister. Her condition did not appeal to Eugene in this situation. The inevitable result, which he thought of frequently, was still far away. He notified Colfax that he was going to take a few days rest, went to the bank where he had over four thousand dollars on deposit, and drew it all. He then went to a ticket office and purchased a one-way ticket, uncertain where his actions would take him once he saw Suzanne. He tried once more to get Angela, intending boldly to tell her that he was going to seek Suzanne, and to tell her not to worry, that he would communicate with her, but she had not returned. Curiously, through all this, he was intensely sorry for her, and wondered how she would take it, if he did not return. How would the child be arranged for? He felt he must go. Angela was heartsick, he knew that, and frightened. Still he could not resist this call. He could not resist anything in connection with this love affair. He was like a man possessed of a devil or wandering in a dream. He knew that his whole career was at stake, but it did not make any difference. He must get her. The whole world could go hang if he could only obtain her,—her the beautiful, the perfect!
At five-thirty the train departed, and then he sat as it rolled northward speculating on what he was to do when he got there. If Three Rivers were much of a place, he could probably hire an automobile. He could leave it some distance from the lodge and then see if he could not approach unobserved and signal Suzanne. If she were about, she would no doubt be on the lookout. At a sign she would run to him. They would hurry to the automobile. The pursuit might quickly follow, but he would arrange it so that his pursuers would not know which railroad station he was going to. Quebec was the nearest big city, he found by studying the map, though he might return to Montreal and New York or Buffalo, if he chose to go west he would see how the train ran.
It is curious what vagaries the human mind is subject to, under conditions of this kind. Up to the time of Eugene's arrival in Three Rivers and after, he had no plan of campaign, or of future conduct beyond that of obtaining Suzanne. He did not know that he would return to New York—he did not know that he would not. If Suzanne wished, and it were best, and they could, they would go to England from Montreal, or France. If necessary, they could go to Portland and sail. Mrs. Dale, on the evidence that he had Suzanne and that of her own free will and volition, might yield and say nothing, in which case he could return to New York and resume his position. This courageous stand on his part if he had only followed it might have solved the whole problem quickly. It might have been the sword that would have cut the Gordian Knot. On the train was a heavy black-bearded man, which was always good luck to him. At Three Rivers, when he dismounted from the train, he found a horseshoe, which was also a lucky sign. He did not stop to think what he would do if he really lost his position and had to live on the sum he had with him. He was really not thinking logically. He was dreaming. He fancied that he would get Suzanne and have his salary, and that somehow things would be much as they were. Of such is the logic of dreams.
When he arrived at Three Rivers, of course the conditions were not what he anticipated. It is true that at times, after a long continued period of dry weather, the roads were passable for automobiles, at least as far as While-a-Way, but the weather had not recently been entirely
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