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
“You seem to forget that I may have some feeling in the matter,” said Mrs. Brent coldly, but with inward pain. “If the result of this plan were to be that we should be permanently separated, I would never consent to it.”
“Just as you like, mother,” said Jonas, with an ill grace. “I don't look much like Phil.”
“No, there will be a difficulty. Still Mr. Granville has never seen Philip since he was three years old, and that is in our favor. He thinks I am Mr. Brent's first wife.”
“Shall you tell him?”
“I don't know. I will be guided by circumstances. Perhaps it may be best. I wouldn't like to have it discovered that I had deceived him in that.”
“How are you going to manage about this place, mother?”
“I am going to write to your Uncle Jonas to take charge of it. I will let him have it at a nominal rent. Then, if our plan miscarries we shall have a place to come back to.”
“Were you ever in Philadelphia, mother?”
“No; but there will be no trouble in journeying there. I shall pack your clothes and my own to-night. Of course, Jonas, when you meet Mr. Granville you must seem to be fond of him. Then you must tell him how kind I have been to you. In fact, you must act precisely as Philip might be expected to do.”
“Yes, mother; and you must be careful not to call me Jonas. That will spoil all, you know.”
“Rest assured that I shall be on my guard. If you are as careful as I am, Philip——”
Jonas burst into a guffaw at the new name.
“It's just like play-acting, mother,” he said.
“But it will pay better,” said Mrs. Brent quietly. “I think it will be best for me to begin calling you Philip at once—that is, as soon as we have left town—so that we may both get accustomed to it.”
“All right, mother. You've got a good headpiece.”
“I will manage things properly. If you consent to be guided by me, all will be right.”
“Oh, I'll do it mother. I wish we were on our way.”
“You can go to bed if you like. I must stay up late to-night. I have to pack our trunks.”
The next day the pair of adventurers left Gresham. From the earliest available point Mrs. Brent telegraphed to Mr. Granville that she was on her way, with the son from whom he had so long been separated.
CHAPTER XVIII. THE CONSPIRACY SUCCEEDS.
In a handsome private parlor at the Continental Hotel a man of about forty-five years of age sat in an easy-chair. He was of middle height, rather dark complexion, and a pleasant expression. His right foot was bandaged, and rested on a chair. The morning Daily Ledger was in his hand, but he was not reading. His mind, judging from his absorbed look, was occupied with other thoughts.
“I can hardly realize,” he said half-aloud, “that my boy will so soon be restored to my arms. We have been separated by a cruel fate, but we shall soon be together again. I remember how the dear child looked when I left him at Fultonville in the care of the kind inn-keeper. I am sorry he is dead, but his widow shall be suitably repaid for her kind devotion.”
He had reached this point when a knock was heard at the door.
“Come in!” said Mr. Granville.
A servant of the hotel appeared.
“A lady and a boy are in the parlor below, sir. They wish to see you.”
Though Mr. Granville had considerable control over his feelings, his heart beat fast when he heard these words.
“Will you show them up at once?” he said, in a tone which showed some trace of agitation.
The servant bore the message to Mrs. Brent and Jonas, who were sitting in the hotel parlor.
If Mr. Granville was agitated, the two conspirators were not wholly at their ease. There was a red spot on each of Mrs. Brent's cheeks—her way of expressing emotion—and Jonas was fidgeting about uneasily in his chair, staring about him curiously.
“Mind what I told you,” said his mother, in a low voice. “Remember to act like a boy who has suddenly been restored to his long-lost father. Everything depends on first impressions.”
“I wish it was all over; I wish I was out of it,” said Jonas, wiping the perspiration from his face. “Suppose he suspects?”
“He won't if you do as I tell you. Don't look gawky, but act naturally.”
Just then the servant reappeared.
“You are to come up-stairs,” he said. “The gentleman will see you.”
“Thank you,” said Mrs. Brent, rising. “Come.”
Jonas rose, and with the manner of a cur that expected a whipping, followed his mother and the servant.
“It's only one flight,” said the servant, “but we can take the elevator.”
“It is of no consequence,” Mrs. Brent began, but Jonas said eagerly:
“Let's ride on the elevator, ma!”
“Very well, Philip,” said Mrs. Brent.
A minute later the two stood at the door of Mr. Granville's room. Next they stood in his presence.
Mr. Granville, looking eagerly toward the door, passed over Mrs. Brent, and his glance rested on the boy who followed her. He started, and there was a quick feeling of disappointment. He had been picturing to himself how his lost boy would look, but none of his visions resembled the awkward-looking boy who stood sheepishly by the side of Mrs. Brent.
“Mr. Granville, I presume,” said the lady.
“Yes, madam. You are——”
“Mrs. Brent, and this,” pointing to Jonas, “is the boy you left at Fultonville thirteen years ago. Philip, go to your father.”
Jonas advanced awkwardly to Mr. Granville's chair, and said in parrot-like tones:
“I'm so glad to see you, pa!”
“And you are really Philip?” said Mr. Granville slowly.
“Yes, I'm Philip Brent; but I suppose my name is Granville now.”
“Come here, my boy!”
Comments (0)