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. Frank's Campaign; Or, The Farm and the Camp by Jr. Horatio Alger (book club reads .TXT) 📖
- Author: Jr. Horatio Alger
Book online «Frank's Campaign; Or, The Farm and the Camp by Jr. Horatio Alger (book club reads .TXT) 📖». Author Jr. Horatio Alger
“No, I want it,” said Charlie.
“You shall both have one,” said the mother. “Luckily each of the chickens is provided with one.”
“I know what I am going to wish,” said Charlie, nodding his head with decision.
“Well, Charlie, what is it?” asked Frank.
“I shall wish that papa may come home safe.”
“And so will I,” said Maggie.
“I wish he might sit down with us to-day,” said Mrs. Frost, with a little sigh. “He has never before been absent from us on Thanksgiving day.”
“Was he well when you last heard from him?”
“Yes, but hourly expecting orders to march to join the army in Maryland. I am afraid he won't get as good a Thanksgiving dinner as this.”
“Two years ago,” said Mr. Morton, “I ate my Thanksgiving dinner in Amsterdam.”
“Do they have Thanksgiving there, Mr. Morton?” inquired Alice.
“No, they know nothing of our good New England festival. I was obliged to order a special dinner for myself. I don't think you would have recognized plum pudding under the name which they gave it.”
“What was it?” asked Frank curiously.
“Blom buden was the name given on the bill.”
“I can spell better than that,” said Charlie.
“We shall have to send you out among the Dutchmen as a schoolmaster plenipotentiary,” said Frank, laughing. “I hope the 'blom buden' was good in spite of the way it was spelt.”
“Yes, it was very good.”
“I don't believe it beat mother's,” said Charlie.
“At your present rate of progress, Charlie, you won't leave room for any,” said Frank.
“I wish I had two stomachs,” said Charlie, looking regretfully at the inviting delicacies which tempted him with what the French call the embarrassment of riches.
“Well done, Charlie!” laughed his mother.
Dinner was at length over. Havoc and desolation reigned upon the once well-filled table.
In the evening, as they all sat together round the table, Maggie climbed on Mr. Morton's knee and petitioned for a story.
“What shall it be about?” he asked.
“Oh, anything.”
“Let me think a moment,” said the young man.
He bent his eyes thoughtfully upon the wood-fire that crackled in the wide-open fireplace, and soon signified that he was ready to begin.
All the children gathered around him, and even Mrs. Frost, sitting quietly at her knitting, edged her chair a little nearer, that she, too, might listen to Mr. Morton's story. As this was of some length, we shall devote to it a separate chapter.
CHAPTER XIX. THE WONDERFUL TRANSFORMATION
“My story,” commenced Mr. Morton, “is rather a remarkable one in some respects; and I cannot vouch for its being true. I shall call it 'The Wonderful Transformation.'
“Thomas Tubbs was a prosperous little tailor, and for forty years had been a resident of the town of Webbington, where he had been born and brought up. I have called him little, and you will agree with me when I say that, even in high-heeled boots, which he always wore, he measured only four feet and a half in height.
“In spite, however, of his undersize, Thomas had succeeded in winning the hand of a woman fifteen inches taller than himself. If this extra height had been divided equally between them, possibly they might have attracted less observation. As it was, when they walked to church, the top of the little tailor's beaver just about reached the shoulders of Mrs. Tubbs. Nevertheless, they managed to live very happily together, for the most part, though now and then, when Thomas was a little refractory, his better half would snatch him up bodily, and, carrying him to the cellar, lock him up there. Such little incidents only served to spice their domestic life, and were usually followed by a warm reconciliation.
“The happy pair had six children, all of whom took after their mother, and promised to be tall; the oldest boy, twelve years of age, being already taller than his father, or, rather, he would have been but for the tall hat and high-heeled boots.
“Mr. Tubbs was a tailor, as I have said. One day there came into his shop a man attired with extreme shabbiness. Thomas eyed him askance.
“'Mr. Tubbs,' said the stranger, 'as you perceive, I am out at the elbows. I would like to get you to make me up a suit of clothes.'
“'Ahem!' coughed Thomas, and glanced upward at a notice affixed to the door, 'Terms, Cash.'
“The stranger's eye followed the direction of Mr. Tubbs'. He smiled.
“'I frankly confess,' he said, 'that I shall not be able to pay immediately, but, if I live, I will pay you within six months.'
“'How am I to feel sure of that?' asked the tailor, hesitating.
“'I pledge my word,' was the reply. 'You see, Mr. Tubbs, I have been sick for some time past, and that, of course, has used up my money. Now, thank Providence, I am well again, and ready to go to work. But I need clothes, as you see, before I have the ability to pay for them.'
“'What's your name?' asked Thomas.
“'Oswald Rudenheimer,' was the reply.
“'A foreigner?'
“'As you may suppose. Now, Mr. Tubbs, what do you say? Do you think you can trust me?'
“Thomas examined the face of his visitor. He looked honest, and the little tailor had a good deal of confidence in the excellence of human nature.
“'I may be foolish,' he said at last, 'but I'll do it.'
“'A thousand thanks!' said the stranger. 'You sha'n't repent of it.'
“The cloth was selected, and Thomas set to work. In three days the suit was finished, and Thomas sat in his shop waiting for his customer. At last he came, but what a change! He was splendidly dressed. The little tailor hardly recognized him.
“'Mr. Tubbs,' said he, 'you're an honest man and a good fellow. You trusted me when I appeared penniless, but I deceived you. I am really one of the genii, of whom, perhaps, you have read, and lineally descended from those who guarded Solomon's seal. Instead of making you wait for your pay, I will recompense you on the spot, either in money or——'
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