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
“You are?” returned Jack, incredulously. “Then suppose I ask you to let me go immediately.”
“Certainly, I will; but upon one condition.”
“What is it?”
“It so happens, my young friend, that you are acquainted with a secret which might prove troublesome to me.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Jack, mystified.
“Yes; you see I have found it out. Such things do not escape me.”
“I don't know what you mean,” returned Jack, perplexed.
“No doubt, no doubt,”, said Foley, cunningly. “Of course, if I should tell you that I was in the coining business, it would be altogether new to you.”
“On my honor,” said Jack, “this is the first I knew of it. I never saw or heard of you before I came into this house.”
“Could Peg be mistaken?” thought Foley. “But no, no; he is only trying to deceive me. I am too old a bird to be caught with such chaff.”
“Of course, I won't dispute your word, my young friend,” he said, softly; “but there is one thing certain; if you didn't know it before you know it now.”
“And you are afraid that I shall denounce you to the police.”
“Well, there is a possibility of that. That class of people have a little prejudice against us, though we are only doing what everybody wants to do, making money.”
The old man chuckled and rubbed his hands at this joke, which he evidently considered a remarkably good one.
Jack reflected a moment.
“Will you let me go if I will promise to keep your secret?” he asked.
“How could I be sure you would do it?”
“I would pledge my word.”
“Your word!” Foley snapped his fingers in derision. “That is not sufficient.”
“What will be?”
“You must become one of us.”
“One of you!”
Jack started in surprise at a proposition so unexpected.
“Yes. You must make yourself liable to the same penalties, so that it will be for your own interest to keep silent. Otherwise we cannot trust you.”
“And suppose I decline these terms,” said Jack.
“Then I shall be under the painful necessity of retaining you as my guest.”
Foley smiled disagreeably.
Jack walked the room in perturbation. He felt that imprisonment would be better than liberty, on such terms. At the same time he did not refuse unequivocally, as possibly stricter watch than ever might be kept over him.
He thought it best to temporize.
“Well, what do you say?” asked the old man.
“I should like to take time to reflect upon your proposal,” said Jack. “It is of so important a character that I do not like to decide at once.”
“How long do you require?”
“Two days,” returned Jack. “If I should come to a decision sooner, I will let you know.”
“Agreed. Meanwhile can I do anything to promote your comfort? I want you to enjoy yourself as well as you can under the circumstances.”
“If you have any interesting books, I wish you would send them up. It is rather dull staying here with nothing to do.”
“You shall have something to do as soon as you please, my young friend. As to books, we are not very bountifully supplied with that article. We ain't any of us college graduates, but I will see what I can do for you in that way. I'll be back directly.”
Foley disappeared, but soon after returned, laden with one or two old magazines, and a worn copy of the “Adventures of Baron Trenck.”
It may be that the reader has never encountered a copy of this singular book. Baron Trenck was several times imprisoned for political offences, and this book contains an account of the manner in which he succeeded, in some cases after years of labor, in breaking from his dungeon. His feats in this way are truly wonderful, and, if not true, at least they have so very much similitude that they find no difficulty in winning the reader's credence.
Such was the book which Foley placed in Jack's hands. He must have been in ignorance of the character of the book, since it was evident to what thoughts it would lead the mind of the prisoner.
Jack read the book with intense interest. It was just such a one as he would have read with avidity under any circumstances. It gratified his taste for adventure, and he entered heart and soul into the Baron's plans, and felt a corresponding gratification when he succeeded. When he completed the perusal of the fascinating volume, he thought, “Why cannot I imitate Baron Trenck? He was far worse off than I am. If he could succeed in overcoming so many obstacles, it is a pity if I cannot find some means of escape.”
He looked about the room in the hope that some plan might be suggested.
CHAPTER XXI. THE PRISONER ESCAPES.
TO give an idea of the difficulties of Jack's situation, let it be repeated that there was but one door to the room, and this was bolted on the outside. The room was in the second story. The only two windows looked out upon a court. These windows were securely fastened. Still a way might have been devised to break through them, if this would at all have improved his condition. Of this, however, there seemed but little chance. Even if he had succeeded in getting safely into the court, there would have been difficulty and danger in getting into the street.
All these considerations passed through Jack's mind, and occasioned him no little perplexity. He began to think that the redoubtable Baron Trenck himself might have been puzzled, if placed under similar circumstances.
At length this suggestion occurred to him: Why might he not cut a hole through the door, just above or below the bolt, sufficiently large for him to thrust his hand through, and slip it back? Should he succeed in this, he would steal down stairs, and as, in all probability, the key would be in the outside door, he could open it, and then he would be free.
With hope springing up anew in his heart, he hastened to the door and examined it. It was of common strength. He might, perhaps, have been able
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