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Reading books fiction 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.



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Read books online » Fiction » A Bid for Fortune by Guy Boothby (great novels to read TXT) 📖

Book online «A Bid for Fortune by Guy Boothby (great novels to read TXT) 📖». Author Guy Boothby



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"'But what does he want me for?' I asked rather suspiciously.

"'I'm sure I dunno,' was the girl's reply. 'But he's been callin' for you all this blessed day: "Send for Mr. Wetherell! send for Mr. Wetherell!" So off I came, when I got back from work, to fetch you. If you're comin', sir, you'd best be quick, for he won't last till mornin'.'

"'Very well, I'll come with you at once,' I said. Then, having told my wife not to sit up for me, I followed my strange messenger out of the house.

"For nearly an hour we walked on and on, plunging deeper into the lower quarter of the town. All through the march my guide maintained a rigid silence, walking a few paces ahead, and only recognizing the fact that I was following her by nodding in a certain direction whenever we arrived at cross thoroughfares or interlacing lanes.

"At last we arrived at the street she wanted. At the corner she came suddenly to a standstill, and putting her two first fingers into her mouth blew a shrill whistle, after the fashion of street boys. A moment later a shock-headed urchin about ten years old made his appearance from a dark alley and came towards us. The woman said something to him, which I did not catch, and then turning sharply to her left hand beckoned to me to follow her.

"From the street itself we passed, by way of a villainous alley, into a large courtyard, where brooded a silence like that of death. Indeed, a more weird and desolate place I don't remember ever to have met with. Not a soul was to be seen, and though it was surrounded by houses, only two feeble lights showed themselves. Towards one of these my guide made her way, stopping on the threshold. Upon a panel she rapped with her fingers, and as she did so a window on the first floor opened, and the boy we had met in the street looked out.

"'How many?' inquired the woman, who had brought me, in a loud whisper.

"'None now,' replied the boy; 'but there's been a power of Chinkies hereabouts all the evenin', an' 'arf an hour ago there was a gent in a cloak.'

"Without waiting to hear any more the woman entered the house and I followed close on her heels. The adventure was clearly coming to a head now.

"When the door had been closed behind us the boy appeared at the top of a flight of stairs with a lighted candle. We accordingly ascended to him, and having done so made our way towards a door at the end of the abominably dirty landing. At intervals I could hear the sound of coughing coming from a room at the end. My companion, however, bade me stop, while she went herself into the room, shutting the door after her. I was left alone with the boy, who immediately took me under his protection, and for my undivided benefit performed a series of highly meritorious acrobatic performances upon the feeble banisters, to his own danger, but apparent satisfaction. Suddenly, just as he was about to commence what promised to be the most successful item in his repertoire, he paused, lay flat on his stomach upon the floor, and craned his head over the side, where once banisters had been, and gazed into the half dark well below. All was quiet as the grave. Then, without warning, an almond-eyed, pigtailed head appeared on the stairs and looked upwards. Before I could say anything to stop him, the youth had divested himself of his one slipper, taken it in his right hand, leaned over a bit farther, and struck the ascending Celestial a severe blow on the mouth with the heel of it. There was the noise of a hasty descent and the banging of the street door a moment later, then all was still again, and the youngster turned to me.

"'That was Ah Chong,' he said confidentially. 'He's the sixth Chinkie I've landed that way since dark.'

"This important piece of information he closed with a double-jointed oath of remarkable atrocity, and, having done so, would have recommenced the performance of acrobatic feats had I not stopped him by asking the reason of his action. He looked at me with a grin,--

"'I dunno, but all I cares is that China Pete in there gives me a sprat (sixpence) for every Chinkie what I keeps out of the 'ouse. He's a rum one is China Pete; an' can't he cough--my word!" he concluded.

"I was about to put another question when the door opened and the girl who had brought me to the house beckoned me into the room. I entered and she left me alone with the occupant.

"Of all the filthy places I have ever seen--and I have had the ill-luck to discover a good many in my time--that one eclipsed them all. On the bed, propped up by pillows and evidently in the last stage of collapse, was the man called China Pete. When we were alone together he pointed to a box near the bed and signified that I should seat myself. I did so, at the same time taking occasion to express my sorrow at finding him in this lamentable condition. He made no reply to my civilities, but after a little pause found strength enough to whisper. 'See if there's anybody at the door.' I went across, opened the door and looked into the passage, but save the boy, who was now sitting on the top step of the stairs at the other end, there was not a soul in sight. I told him this, and having again closed the door, sat down on the box and waited for him to speak.

"'You did me a good turn, Mr. Wetherell, over that trial,' the invalid said at last, 'and I couldn't make it worth your while.'

"'Oh, you mustn't let that worry you,' I answered soothingly. 'You would have paid me if you had been able.'

"'Perhaps I should, perhaps I shouldn't, anyhow I didn't, and I want to make it up to you now. Feel under my pillow and bring out what you find there.'

"I did as he directed me and brought to light a queer little wooden stick about three and a half inches long, made of some heavy timber and covered all over with Chinese inscriptions; at one end was a tiny bit of heavy gold cord much tarnished. I gave it to him and he looked at it fondly.

"'Do you know the value of this little stick?' he asked after a while.

"'I have no possible notion,' I replied.

"'Make a guess,' he said.

"To humour him I guessed five pounds. He laughed with scorn.

"'Five pounds! O ye gods! Why, as a bit of stick it's not worth five pence, but for what it really is there is not money enough in the world to purchase it. If I could get about again I would make myself the richest and most powerful man on earth with it. If you could only guess one particle of the dangers I've been through to get it you would die of astonishment. And the irony of it all is that now I've got it I can't make use of it. On six different occasions the priests of the Llamaserai in Peking have tried to murder me to get hold of it. I brought it down from the centre of China disguised as a wandering beggar. That business connected with the murder of the Chinaman on board the ship, against which you defended me, was on account of it. And now I lie here dying like a dog, with the key to over ten millions in my hand. Nikola has tried for five years to obtain it, without success however. He little dreams I've got it after all. If he did I'd be a dead man by now.'

"'Who is this Nikola then?' I asked.

"'Dr. Nikola? Well, he's Nikola, and that's all I can tell you. If you're a wise man you'll want to know no more. Ask the Chinese mothers nursing their almond-eyed spawn in Peking who he is; ask the Japanese, ask the Malays, the Hindoos, the Burmese, the coal porters in Port Said, the Buddhist priests of Ceylon; ask the King of Corea, the men up in Thibet, the Spanish priests in Manilla, or the Sultan of Borneo, the ministers of Siam, or the French in Saigon--they'll all know Dr. Nikola and his cat, and, take my word, they fear him.'

"I looked at the little stick in my hand and wondered if the man had gone mad.

"'What do you wish me to do with this?' I asked.

"'Take it away with you,' he answered, 'and guard it like your life, and when you have occasion, use it. Remember you have in your hand what will raise a million men and the equivalent of over ten mil----'

"At this point a violent fit of coughing seized him and nearly tore him to pieces. I lifted him up a little in the bed, but before I could take my hands away a stream of blood had gushed from his lips. Like a flash of thought I ran to the door to call the girl, the boy on the stairs re-echoed my shout, and in less time than it takes to tell the woman was in the room. But we were too late--China Pete was dead.

"After giving her all the money I had about me to pay for the funeral, I bade her good-bye, and with the little stick in my pocket returned to my home. Once there I sat myself down in my study, took my legacy out of my pocket and carefully examined it. As to its peculiar power and value, as described to me by the dead man, I hardly knew what to think. My own private opinion was that China Pete was not sane at the time he told me. And yet, how was I to account for the affray with the Chinaman on the boat, and the evident desire the Celestials in Sydney had to obtain information concerning it? After half an hour's consideration of it I locked it up in a drawer of my safe and went upstairs to bed.

"Next day China Pete was buried, and by the end of the month I had well-nigh forgotten that he had ever existed, and had hardly thought of his queer little gift, which still reposed in the upper drawer of my safe. But I was to hear more of it later on.

"One night, about a month after my coming into possession of the stick, my wife and I entertained a few friends at dinner.

"As the clock struck eleven I said good-night to the last of my guests upon the door-step. The carriage had not gone fifty yards down the street before a hansom drew up before my door and a man dressed in a heavy cloak jumped out. Bidding the driver wait for him he ran up my steps.

"'Mr. Wetherell, I believe?' he said. I nodded and wished him 'good-evening,' at the same time asking his business.

"'I will tell you with pleasure,' he answered, 'if you will permit me five minutes alone with you. It is most important, and as I leave Sydney early to-morrow morning you will see that there is not much time to spare.'

"I led the way into the house and to my study, which was in the rear, overlooking the garden. Once there I bade him be seated, taking up my
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