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 Errand Boy; Or, How Phil Brent Won Success by Jr. Horatio Alger (i like reading books .TXT) 📖
- Author: Jr. Horatio Alger
Book online «The Errand Boy; Or, How Phil Brent Won Success by Jr. Horatio Alger (i like reading books .TXT) 📖». Author Jr. Horatio Alger
They were shown into an anteroom, and in due time Mr. Wilbur was called into the dread presence. He was somewhat nervous and agitated, but “braced up,” as he afterward expressed it, and went in. He wanted Phil to go in with him, but the attendant said that madam would not allow it, and he went forward alone.
Fifteen minutes afterward he re-entered the room with a radiant face.
“Have you heard good news?” asked Phil.
Mr. Wilbur nodded emphatically and whispered, for there were two others in waiting:
“It's all right. I am to marry her.”
“Did the fortune-teller say so?”
“Yes.”
“Did she give her name?”
“No, but she described her so that I knew her at once.”
“Will it be soon?” asked Phil slyly.
“Not till I am twenty-four,” answered Mr. Wilbur soberly. “But perhaps she may be mistaken about that. Perhaps she thought I was older than I am.”
“Do you doubt her knowledge, then?”
“No; at any rate, I can wait, since she is to be mine at last. Besides, I am to be rich. When I am thirty years old I am to be worth twenty thousand dollars.”
“I congratulate you, Wilbur,” said Phil, smiling. “You are all right, at least.”
“The next gentleman!” said the attendant.
Phil entered the inner room, and looked about him in curiosity.
A tall woman sat upon a sort of throne, with one hand resting on a table beside her. A tall wax-taper supplied the place of the light of day, which was studiously excluded from the room by thick, dark curtains. Over the woman's face was a black veil, which gave her an air of mystery.
“Come hither, boy!” she said, in a clear, commanding voice.
Phil advanced, not wholly unimpressed, though he felt skeptical.
The woman bent forward, starting slightly and scanned his face eagerly.
CHAPTER XV. PHIL AND THE FORTUNE-TELLER.
“Do you wish to hear of the past or the future?” asked the fortune-teller.
“Tell me something of the past,” said Phil, with a view of testing the knowledge of the seeress.
“You have left an uncongenial home to seek your fortune in New York. You left without regret, and those whom you have left behind do not miss you.”
Phil started in amazement. This was certainly true.
“Shall I find the fortune I seek?” asked our hero earnestly.
“Yes, but not in the way you expect. You think yourself alone in the world!”
The fortune-teller paused, and looked searchingly at the boy.
“So I am,” returned Phil.
“No boy who has a father living can consider himself alone.”
“My father is dead!” returned Phil, growing skeptical.
“You are mistaken.”
“I am not likely to be mistaken in such a matter. My father died a few months since.”
“Your father still lives!” said the fortune-teller sharply. “Do not contradict me!”
“I don't see how you can say that. I attended his funeral.”
“You attended the funeral of the man whose name you bear. He was not your father.”
Phil was much excited by this confirmation of his step-mother's story. He had entertained serious doubts of its being true, thinking it might have been trumped up by Mrs. Brent to drive him from home, and interfere with his succession to any part of Mr. Brent's property.
“Is my step-mother's story true, then?” he asked breathlessly. “She told me I was not the son of Mr. Brent.”
“Her story was true,” said the veiled lady.
“Who is my real father, then?”
The lady did not immediately reply. She seemed to be peering into distant space, as she said slowly:
“I see a man of middle size, dark-complexioned, leading a small child by the hand. He pauses before a house—it looks like an inn. A lady comes out from the inn. She is kindly of aspect. She takes the child by the hand and leads him into the inn. Now I see the man go away—alone. The little child remains behind. I see him growing up. He has become a large boy, but the scene has changed. The inn has disappeared. I see a pleasant village and a comfortable house. The boy stands at the door. He is well-grown now. A lady stands on the threshold as his steps turn away. She is thin and sharp-faced. She is not like the lady who welcomed the little child. Can you tell me who this boy is?” asked the fortune-teller, fixing her eyes upon Phil.
“It is myself!” he answers, his flushed face showing the excitement he felt.
“You have said!”
“I don't know how you have learned all this,” said Phil, “but it is wonderfully exact. Will you answer a question?”
“Ask!”
“You say my father—my real father—is living?”
The veiled lady bowed her head.
“Where is he?”
“That I cannot say, but he is looking for you.”
“He is in search of me?”
“Yes.”
“Why has he delayed it so long?”
“There are circumstances which I cannot explain which have prevented his seeking and claiming you.”
“Will he do so?”
“I have told you that he is now seeking for you. I think he will find you at last.”
“What can I do to bring this about?”
“Do nothing! Stay where you are. Circumstances are working favorably, but you must wait. There are some drawbacks.”
“What are they?”
“You have two enemies, or rather one, for the other does not count.”
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