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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No; I think he can't.
They've got this militia all around the place.
I passed through the cordon of carabiniere as I came in.
[urgently]
But you could get away, Doc. Up to ten o'clock you can come and go as you choose.
[rising]
So can you. You have not thought of that?
No; and I won't think of it. But as for you—
As for me
[rings bell near door]
—I shall go!
That's part of the load off my mind. I can't bear to think of the rest of it. I haven't known how to tell that poor fellow in there.
[Valet enters.]
[to valet, indicating the door on the right]
Appellez le Monsieur la.
[Valet goes to the door, opens it, bowing slightly to IVANOFF, who appears. Valet withdraws.]
[IVANOFF is very pale and haggard looking, but his clothes have been mended and neatly brushed. He comes in slowly and quietly.][pg 126]
[in the tone of a superior]
You may come in, Ivanoff. Some unexpected difficulties have arisen. Your presence here has been discovered by persons who wish evil to this gentleman who has protected you. He can do nothing further to save you unless he betrays a trust which has been left to him.
[IVANOFF swallows painfully, and looks pitifully from VASILI to PIKE.]
[coming down to IVANOFF, standing before him humbly]
It's the truth, old man. I can't do it.
[IVANOFF'S head falls forward on his chest.]
[in a low voice]
I thank you for what you have tried to do for me.
[Gives PIKE his hand. PIKE turns away.]
You have until ten o'clock.
[Valet appears in the doorway.]
Mon chapeau et pardessus.
[Exit valet.]
In the meantime my friend believes Naples a safe place for me.
[Valet returns with his coat, hat, and gloves.]
And so, auf weidersehn.
[Dismisses the valet with a gesture.][pg 127]
[going to him and shaking hands heartily]
Good-bye, Doc, and God bless you!
To our next meeting.
[Exit briskly through the upper doors. As they close behind him, IVANOFF'S manner changes. He goes rapidly to a table, picks up the cigarettes, which are in a large silver open box, and touches the bottle of vodka significantly.]
I thought so—Russian!
What!
That man, your friend, who calls himself Gröllerhagen, is not a German—he is a Russian—not only that, he is a Russian noble. I see it in a hundred ways that you cannot.
Whatever he is, he helped us this afternoon. I'd trust him to the bone.
I have felt it inevitable that I should go back to Siberia. A thousand times have I felt it since I entered these rooms.
[He goes down toward the window.]
I know you feel mighty bad, but perhaps—perhaps—
There is no perhaps for me. There was never any perhaps after I met Hélène.[pg 128]
[scratching his head]
Hélène!
Hélène was my wife, she who sent me to Siberia, she and my dear, accursed English friend.
[thoughtfully]
What was his name?
His name—it was Glenwood. I shall not forget that name soon.
What was he doing in Russia?
I have told you he had contracts with the Ministry of Finance—he supplied hydraulic machinery to the government. Does the name Glenwood mean anything to you? Have you heard it?
[profoundly thoughtful, pauses, looking at IVANOFF sharply]
No.
[Then to himself.]
And there must be a million Hélènes in France.
I prayed God to let me meet them before I was taken. But I talk too much of myself. I wish to know—you—you will be safe. They can do nothing to you, can they?
[with assumed cheerfulness]
Oh, I'm all right—don't worry about me.
[Loud knock at the upper doors.]
[despairingly]
It is the carabiniere.
Steady.
[Looks at watch.]
Not yet. Go back. We won't throw our hands into the discard until we're called. We'll keep on raising.[pg 129]
[Exit IVANOFF through door on the right, closing it after him.]
[PIKE scratches his head and slowly says: "Hélène." Then calls: "Come in!"]
[MARIANO opens the upper doors from without and bows.]
Miladi Creesh—she ask you would speak with her a few minutes?
All right! Where is she?
Here, sir.
Come right in, ma'am!
[LADY CREECH enters.]
[frigidly]
I need scarcely inform you that this interview is not of my seeking.
[She sits stiffly.]
On the contrary, it is intensely disagreeable to me. My brother-in-law feels that some one well acquainted with Miss Granger-Simpson's ambitions and her inner nature should put the case finally to you before we proceed to extremities.
Yes, ma'am!
[crossly]
Don't mumble your words if you expect me to listen to you.
[cordially]
Go on, ma'am!
My brother-in-law has made us aware of the state of affairs, and we are quite in [pg 130] sympathy with my brother-in-law's attitude as to what should be done to you.
[in a tone of genial inquiry]
Yes, ma'am; and what do you think ought to be done to me?
If, in the kindness of our hearts, we condone your offence, we insist upon your accession to our reasonable demands.
[sardonically]
By ten o'clock!
Quite so.
You say he told all of you? Has he told Miss Ethel?
It hasn't been thought proper. Young girls should be shielded from everything disagreeable.
Yes, ma'am; that's the idea that got me into this trouble.
I say, this young lady, who seems to be technically your ward, is considered, by all of us who understand her, infinitely more my ward.
Yes, ma'am! Go on.
[loftily]
She came to me something more than a year ago—
[simply]
Did you advertise?
[stung]
I suppose it is your intention to be offensive.
[protesting]
No, ma'am; I didn't mean anything. [pg 131] But, you see, I've handled all her accounts, and her payments to you—
[crushingly]
We will omit tradesman-like references! What Lord Hawcastle wished me to impress on you is not only that you will ruin yourself, but put a blight upon the life of the young lady whom you are pleased to consider your ward. We make this suggestion because we conceive that you have a preposterous sentimental interest yourself in Miss Granger-Simpson.
[taken aback]
Me?
Upon what other ground are we to explain your conduct?
You mean that I'd only stand between her and you for my own sake?
We can comprehend no other grounds.
[solemnly]
I don't believe you can! But you can comprehend that I wouldn't have any hope, can't you?
One never knows what these weird Americans hope. Hawcastle assures me you have some such idea, but my charge has studied under my instruction—deportment, manners, and ideals—which has lifted her above the mere American circumstance of her birth. She has ambitions. If you [pg 132] stand in the way of them she will wither, she will die like a caged bird. All that was sordid about her parentage she has cast off. We have thought that we might make something out of her.
[in a clear voice, looking at her mildly]
Make something out of her—yes, ma'am!
[quickly]
Make something better of her. We offer her this alliance with a family which for seven hundred years—
Yes, ma'am—Crecy and Agincourt—I know.
With a family never sullied by those low ideals of barter and exchange which are the governing impulses of your countrymen.
Seven hundred years—
[fumbling in coat-pocket]
—why, look here, Mrs. Creech!
[At this LADY CREECH half rises from her chair with a profound shudder, sinks back again; PIKE continues.]
I've got a letter right here
[takes letter from pocket]
that tells me your brother-in-law was in business—and I respect him for it—only a few years ago.
[angrily]
A letter from whom?
Jim
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