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
“Much as I am flattered by your application,” said Somerville, “since it would seem to place me next in your estimation to your husband, I cannot help suggesting that it is not usual to bestow such a sum on a stranger, or even a friend, without an equivalent rendered.”
“I am ready to give you an equivalent.”
“Of what value?”
“I am willing to be silent.”
“And how can your silence benefit me?”
John Somerville asked this question with an assumption of indifference, but his fingers twitched nervously.
“That you will be best able to estimate,” said Peg.
“Explain yourself.”
“I can do that in a few words. You employed me to kidnap a child. I believe the law has something to say about that. At any rate, the child's mother may have.”
“What do you know about the child's mother?” demanded Somerville, hastily.
“All about her!” returned Peg, emphatically.
“How am I to know that? It is easy to claim the knowledge.”
“Shall I tell you all? In the first place she married your cousin, after rejecting you. You never forgave her for this. When a year after marriage her husband died, you renewed your proposals. They were rejected, and you were forbidden to renew the subject on pain of forfeiting her friendship forever. You left her presence, determined to be revenged. With this object you sought Dick and myself, and employed us to kidnap the child. There is the whole story, briefly told.”
John Somerville listened, with compressed lips and pale face.
“Woman, how came this within your knowledge?” he demanded, coarsely.
“That is of no consequence,” said Peg. “It was for my interest to find out, and I did so.”
“Well?”
“I know one thing more—the residence of the child's mother. I hesitated this morning whether to come here, or carry Ida to her mother, trusting to her to repay from gratitude what I demand from you, because it is your interest to comply with my request.”
“You speak of carrying the child to her mother. She is in New York.”
“You are mistaken,” said Peg, coolly. “She is in Philadelphia.”
“With you?”
“With me.”
“How long has this been?”
“Nearly a fortnight.”
John Somerville paced the room with hurried steps. Peg watched him carelessly. She felt that she had succeeded. He paused after awhile, and stood before her.
“You demand a thousand dollars,” he said.
“I do.”
“I have not that amount with me. I have recently lost a heavy sum, no matter how. But I can probably get it to-day. Call to-morrow at this time,—no, in the afternoon, and I will see what I can do for you.”
“Very well,” said Peg.
Left to himself, John Somerville spent some time in reflection. Difficulties encompassed him—difficulties from which he found it hard to find a way of escape. He knew how impossible it would be to meet this woman's demand. Something must be done. Gradually his countenance lightened. He had decided what that something should be.
CHAPTER XXIII. THE LAW STEPS IN.
WHEN Peg left Mr. John Somerville's apartment, it was with a high degree of satisfaction at the result of her interview. She looked upon the thousand dollars as sure to be hers. The considerations which she had urged would, she was sure, induce him to make every effort to secure her silence. With a thousand dollars, what might not be done? She would withdraw from the coining-business, for one thing. It was too hazardous. Why might not Dick and she retire to the country, lease a country-inn, and live an honest life hereafter. There were times when she grew tired of the life she lived at present. It would be pleasant to go to some place where she was not known, and enrol herself among the respectable members of the community. She was growing old; she wanted rest and a quiet home. Her early years had been passed in the country. She remembered still the green fields in which she played as a child, and to this woman, old and sin-stained, there came a yearning to have that life return.
It occurred to her to look in upon Jack, whom she had left in captivity four days before. She had a curiosity to see how he bore his confinement.
She knocked at the door, and was admitted by the old man who kept the house. Mr. Foley was looking older and more wrinkled than ever. He had been disturbed of his rest the night previous, he said.
“Well,” said Peg, “and how is our prisoner?”
“Bless my soul,” said Mr. Foley, “I haven't been to give him his breakfast this morning. He must be hungry. But my head is in such a state. However, I think I've secured him.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have asked him to become one of us,—he's a bold lad,—and he has promised to think of it.”
“He is not to be trusted,” said Peg, hastily.
“You think not?”
“I know it.”
“Well,” said the old man, “I suppose you know him better than I do. But he's a bold lad.”
“I should like to go up and see him,” said Peg.
“Wait a minute, and I will carry up his breakfast.”
The old man soon reappeared from the basement with some cold meat and bread and butter.
“You may go up first,” he said; “you are younger than I am.”
They reached the landing.
“What's all this?” demanded Peg, her quick eyes detecting the aperture in the door.
“What's what?” asked Foley.
“Is this the care you take of your prisoners?” demanded Peg, sharply. “It looks as if he had escaped.”
“Escaped! Impossible!”
“I hope so. Open the door quick.”
The door was opened, and the two hastily entered.
“The bird is flown,” said Peg.
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