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. Timothy Crump's Ward: A Story of American Life by Jr. Horatio Alger (english novels to improve english txt) 📖
- Author: Jr. Horatio Alger
Book online «Timothy Crump's Ward: A Story of American Life by Jr. Horatio Alger (english novels to improve english txt) 📖». Author Jr. Horatio Alger
The last-mentioned lady would hardly have felt complimented at the comparison, or the manner in which it was made.
Ida looked about her with curiosity. There was a novelty in being in a new place, since, as far back as she could remember, she had never left New York, except for a brief excursion to Hoboken; and one Fourth of July was made memorable in her recollection, by a trip to Staten Island, which she had taken with Jack, and enjoyed exceedingly.
“Is this Philadelphia?” she inquired.
“Yes;” said her companion, shortly.
“How far is it from New York?”
“I don't know; a hundred miles, more or less.”
“A hundred miles!” repeated Ida, to whom this seemed an immense distance. “Am I a hundred miles from father and mother, and Jack, and—and Aunt Rachel?”
The last name was mentioned last, and rather as an after-thought, if Ida felt it her duty to include the not very amiable spinster, who had never erred in the way of indulgence.
“Why, yes, of course you are,” said Mrs. Hardwick, in a practical, matter-of-fact tone. “Here, cross the street here. Take care or you'll get run over. Now turn down here.”
They had now entered a narrow and dirty street, with unsightly houses on either side.
“This ain't a very nice looking street,” said Ida, looking about her.
“Why isn't it?” demanded the nurse, looking displeased.
“Why, it's narrow, and the houses don't look nice.”
“What do you think of that house, there?” asked Mrs. Hardwick, pointing out a tall, brick tenement house.
“I shouldn't like to live there,” said Ida, after a brief survey.
“You shouldn't! You don't like it so well as the house you live in in New York?”
“No, not half so well.”
The nurse smiled.
“Wouldn't you like to go up and look at the house?” she asked.
“Go up and look at it!” repeated Ida, in surprise.
“Yes, I mean to go in.”
“Why, what should we do that for?”
“You see there are some poor families living there that I go to see sometimes,” said Mrs. Hardwick, who appeared to be amused at something. “You know it is our duty to visit the poor.”
“Yes, that's what mother says.”
“There's a poor man living in the third story that I've made a good many clothes for, first and last,” said the nurse, in the same peculiar tone.
“He must be very much obliged to you,” said Ida, thinking that Mrs. Hardwick was a better woman than she had supposed.
“We're going up to see him, now,” said the nurse. “Just take care of. that hole in the stairs. Here we are.”
Somewhat to Ida's surprise, her companion opened the door without the ceremony of knocking, and revealed a poor untidy room, in which a coarse, unshaven man, was sitting in his shirt-sleeves, smoking a pipe.
“Hallo!” exclaimed this individual, jumping up suddenly. “So you've got along, old woman! Is that the gal?”
Ida stared from one to the other, in unaffected amazement.
CHAPTER X. UNEXPECTED QUARTERS.
THE appearance of the man whom Mrs. Hardwick addressed so familiarly was more picturesque than pleasing. He had a large, broad face, which, not having been shaved for a week, looked like a wilderness of stubble. His nose indicated habitual indulgence in alcoholic beverages. His eyes, likewise, were bloodshot, and his skin looked coarse and blotched; his coat was thrown aside, displaying a shirt which bore evidence of having been useful in its day and generation. The same remark may apply to his nether integuments, which were ventilated at each knee, indicating a most praiseworthy regard to the laws of health. He was sitting in a chair pitched back against the wall, with his feet resting on another, and a short Dutch pipe in his mouth, from which volumes of smoke were pouring.
Ida thought she had never seen before so disgusting a man. She continued to gaze at him, half in astonishment, half in terror, till the object of her attention exclaimed,—
“Well, little girl, what you're looking at? Hain't you never seen a gentleman before?”
Ida clung the closer to her companion, who, she was surprised to find, did not resent the man's impertinence.
“Well, Dick, how've you got along since I've been gone?” asked Mrs. Hardwick, to Ida's unbounded astonishment.
“Oh, so so.”
“Have you felt lonely any?”
“I've had good company.”
“Who's been here?”
Dick pointed significantly to a jug, which stood beside his chair.
“So you've brought the gal. How did you get hold of her?”
There was something in these questions which terrified Ida. It seemed to indicate a degree of complicity between these two, which boded no good to her.
“I'll tell you the particulars by and by,” said the nurse, looking significantly at the child's expressive face.
At the same time she began to take off her bonnet.
“You ain't going to stop, are you?” whispered Ida.
“Ain't going to stop!” repeated the man called Dick. “Why shouldn't she? Ain't she at home?”
“At home!” echoed Ida, apprehensively, opening wide her eyes in astonishment.
“Yes, ask her.”
Ida looked, inquiringly, at Mrs. Hardwick.
“You might as well take off your things,” said the latter, grimly. “We ain't going any farther to-day.”
“And where's the lady you said you were going to see?” asked the child, bewildered.
“The one that was interested in you?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I'm the one.”
“You!”
“Yes.”
“I don't want to stay here,” said Ida, becoming frightened.
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