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. Half a Rogue by Harold MacGrath (golden son ebook .txt) 📖
Download in Format:
- Author: Harold MacGrath
Book online «Half a Rogue by Harold MacGrath (golden son ebook .txt) 📖». Author Harold MacGrath
his breath and counted. One-two-three-four-five-SIX! ... Donnelly! He counted no more. Donnelly had won.
His valet found him asleep in the chair the next morning, before a dead fire. It was cold in the room. The valet touched him, but Warrington did not move. It was only when he was roughly shaken that he opened his eyes. A single glance explained the situation. He jumped to his feet, rubbing his eyes.
"Will you have the morning papers, sir?"
"What's the use?" Warrington shrugged indifferently.
"The majority was only six hundred and eighty-two, sir."
"Then we had them mightily scared for a time. Odd that the 'phone did not wake me up."
"I took it off the hook, sir, at midnight. I knew it would disturb you."
"Go down town and bring me up the sailing-lists and a few cabin-plans for ships bound for Japan. I intend to start for that country just as soon as I can dispose of the horses."
"Shall you need me, sir?"
"I couldn't get along without you, James."
"Thank you, sir. Breakfast is served, sir, if you wish it."
The telephone rang. The valet raised his eyebrows inquiringly.
"I'll answer it," said Warrington. "Who is it? Jordan? Oh! You can say that I put up the best fight I knew how. ... No. Say nothing about the influence of the strike. Let it stand as it is. ... My plans? You may say that I shall sail in a few days for Japan. ... Oh, yes! This is my home. I shall return in the spring. Change of scene, that's all. Good-by."
The defeated candidate ate a respectable breakfast, after which he put his affairs in order. Trunks were brought down from the store-room, and cases and steamer-rolls. Warrington always traveled comfortably. He left the packing in charge of the valet.
A ten-o'clock edition of the Telegraph was being hawked outside, but Warrington had seen all he wanted of newspapers. By noon he had found a purchaser for his stable. The old housekeeper and her husband were to remain in care of the house. They were the only beings that loved him, now that the aunt was gone. Heigh-ho!
He declined lunch. He answered no more calls on the telephone. When Senator Henderson called the interview was pleasant but short.
"We'll try you again," said the senator genially.
"I'll think it over," replied Warrington.
"You'll win next time; you'll be stronger two years hence. You made a great fight. Bennington lost the fight for you. If he hadn't been your friend-"
"I had rather have John Bennington my friend than be president," laughing.
"There were six thousand-odd labor votes against you, and yet Donnelly's majority was only six hundred and eighty-two. Hope you'll enjoy your trip to Japan. But McQuade's back again!" discouraged.
"Senator, if he acts nasty in any way, go to him personally and tell him that upon application at the bank you will open my deposit box. He'll understand; he'll be as docile as a lamb. And thank all the boys for their good work. I appreciate the honor that has been done me. To have been a candidate is something."
By three o'clock Warrington found time to sit down at his desk to write three letters. One was addressed to McQuade, another to John, Hotel de la Syrene, Sorrento, Italy. The third he began after some deliberation:
Patty: Presently I shall be on the way to Japan. I was going without a word because I had given a promise to your brother John. But it is not within human nature, at least mine, to leave without telling you again that I love you better than life, and that I am innocent of the wrong you were so ready to believe. Some day ask John; tell him that I have broken my word; he will tell you how truth was made a lie. I realize now that I ought to have stood my ground. I ought to have nailed the lie then. But my proofs were not such as would do away with all doubts. And besides, when I saw that you had believed without giving me the benefit of a doubt, I was angry. And so I left you, refusing to speak one way or the other. John will tell you. And if my cause is still in your thought and you care to write, mail your letter to my bankers. They will forward it. And if I should have the happiness to be wanted, even if I am at the ends of the world, I shall come to you.
He did not sign it, but he read it over carefully. There was nothing to cut, nothing to add. He folded it, then laid his head on his extended arms. A door opened and closed, but his ear was dull. Then everything became still. Scientists have not yet fully explained what it is that discovers to us a presence in the room, a presence that we have neither seen nor heard enter. So it was with Warrington. There was no train of collected thought in his mind, nothing but stray snatches of this day and of that the picture of a smile, a turn in the road, the sound of a voice. And all at once he became conscious that something was compelling him to raise his head. He did so slowly.
A woman was standing within a dozen feet of the desk.
"Patty!" he cried, leaping to his feet bewildered.
Patty did not move. Alas, she had left all her great bravery at the threshold. What would he think of her?
"Patty!" he repeated. "You are here?"
"Yes." All the blood in her body seemed to congest in her throat. "Are-is it true that you are going to Japan?" If he came a step nearer she was positive that she would fall.
"Yes, Patty; it is as true as I love you. But let us not speak of that," sadly.
"Yes, yes! Let us speak of it!" a wild despair in her voice and gesture. "Let us speak of it, since I do nothing but think of it, think of it, think of it! Oh! I am utterly shameless, but I can not fight any longer. I have no longer any pride. I should despise you, but I do not. I should hate you, but I can not ... No, no! Stay where you are."
"Patty, do you love me?" There was a note in his voice as vibrant as the second string of a cello.
"Yes."
"Do you still believe that I am a blackguard?"
"I care not what you are or what you have been; nothing, nothing. It is only what you have been to me and what you still are. Something is wrong; something is terribly wrong; I know not what it is. Surely God would not let me love you as I do if you were not worthy."
"No," he replied gravely; "God would not do that."
The tears rolled down Patty's cheeks, but there was no sound.
"Here, Patty; read this letter which I was about to send you."
She accepted it dumbly. Then, through her tears there came wonder and joy and sunshine. When she had done, he held out his hand for the letter; but she smiled and shook her head.
"No, Richard; this is my first love-letter."
The End
Imprint
His valet found him asleep in the chair the next morning, before a dead fire. It was cold in the room. The valet touched him, but Warrington did not move. It was only when he was roughly shaken that he opened his eyes. A single glance explained the situation. He jumped to his feet, rubbing his eyes.
"Will you have the morning papers, sir?"
"What's the use?" Warrington shrugged indifferently.
"The majority was only six hundred and eighty-two, sir."
"Then we had them mightily scared for a time. Odd that the 'phone did not wake me up."
"I took it off the hook, sir, at midnight. I knew it would disturb you."
"Go down town and bring me up the sailing-lists and a few cabin-plans for ships bound for Japan. I intend to start for that country just as soon as I can dispose of the horses."
"Shall you need me, sir?"
"I couldn't get along without you, James."
"Thank you, sir. Breakfast is served, sir, if you wish it."
The telephone rang. The valet raised his eyebrows inquiringly.
"I'll answer it," said Warrington. "Who is it? Jordan? Oh! You can say that I put up the best fight I knew how. ... No. Say nothing about the influence of the strike. Let it stand as it is. ... My plans? You may say that I shall sail in a few days for Japan. ... Oh, yes! This is my home. I shall return in the spring. Change of scene, that's all. Good-by."
The defeated candidate ate a respectable breakfast, after which he put his affairs in order. Trunks were brought down from the store-room, and cases and steamer-rolls. Warrington always traveled comfortably. He left the packing in charge of the valet.
A ten-o'clock edition of the Telegraph was being hawked outside, but Warrington had seen all he wanted of newspapers. By noon he had found a purchaser for his stable. The old housekeeper and her husband were to remain in care of the house. They were the only beings that loved him, now that the aunt was gone. Heigh-ho!
He declined lunch. He answered no more calls on the telephone. When Senator Henderson called the interview was pleasant but short.
"We'll try you again," said the senator genially.
"I'll think it over," replied Warrington.
"You'll win next time; you'll be stronger two years hence. You made a great fight. Bennington lost the fight for you. If he hadn't been your friend-"
"I had rather have John Bennington my friend than be president," laughing.
"There were six thousand-odd labor votes against you, and yet Donnelly's majority was only six hundred and eighty-two. Hope you'll enjoy your trip to Japan. But McQuade's back again!" discouraged.
"Senator, if he acts nasty in any way, go to him personally and tell him that upon application at the bank you will open my deposit box. He'll understand; he'll be as docile as a lamb. And thank all the boys for their good work. I appreciate the honor that has been done me. To have been a candidate is something."
By three o'clock Warrington found time to sit down at his desk to write three letters. One was addressed to McQuade, another to John, Hotel de la Syrene, Sorrento, Italy. The third he began after some deliberation:
Patty: Presently I shall be on the way to Japan. I was going without a word because I had given a promise to your brother John. But it is not within human nature, at least mine, to leave without telling you again that I love you better than life, and that I am innocent of the wrong you were so ready to believe. Some day ask John; tell him that I have broken my word; he will tell you how truth was made a lie. I realize now that I ought to have stood my ground. I ought to have nailed the lie then. But my proofs were not such as would do away with all doubts. And besides, when I saw that you had believed without giving me the benefit of a doubt, I was angry. And so I left you, refusing to speak one way or the other. John will tell you. And if my cause is still in your thought and you care to write, mail your letter to my bankers. They will forward it. And if I should have the happiness to be wanted, even if I am at the ends of the world, I shall come to you.
He did not sign it, but he read it over carefully. There was nothing to cut, nothing to add. He folded it, then laid his head on his extended arms. A door opened and closed, but his ear was dull. Then everything became still. Scientists have not yet fully explained what it is that discovers to us a presence in the room, a presence that we have neither seen nor heard enter. So it was with Warrington. There was no train of collected thought in his mind, nothing but stray snatches of this day and of that the picture of a smile, a turn in the road, the sound of a voice. And all at once he became conscious that something was compelling him to raise his head. He did so slowly.
A woman was standing within a dozen feet of the desk.
"Patty!" he cried, leaping to his feet bewildered.
Patty did not move. Alas, she had left all her great bravery at the threshold. What would he think of her?
"Patty!" he repeated. "You are here?"
"Yes." All the blood in her body seemed to congest in her throat. "Are-is it true that you are going to Japan?" If he came a step nearer she was positive that she would fall.
"Yes, Patty; it is as true as I love you. But let us not speak of that," sadly.
"Yes, yes! Let us speak of it!" a wild despair in her voice and gesture. "Let us speak of it, since I do nothing but think of it, think of it, think of it! Oh! I am utterly shameless, but I can not fight any longer. I have no longer any pride. I should despise you, but I do not. I should hate you, but I can not ... No, no! Stay where you are."
"Patty, do you love me?" There was a note in his voice as vibrant as the second string of a cello.
"Yes."
"Do you still believe that I am a blackguard?"
"I care not what you are or what you have been; nothing, nothing. It is only what you have been to me and what you still are. Something is wrong; something is terribly wrong; I know not what it is. Surely God would not let me love you as I do if you were not worthy."
"No," he replied gravely; "God would not do that."
The tears rolled down Patty's cheeks, but there was no sound.
"Here, Patty; read this letter which I was about to send you."
She accepted it dumbly. Then, through her tears there came wonder and joy and sunshine. When she had done, he held out his hand for the letter; but she smiled and shook her head.
"No, Richard; this is my first love-letter."
The End
Imprint
Publication Date: 05-21-2008
All Rights Reserved
Free ebook «Half a Rogue by Harold MacGrath (golden son ebook .txt) 📖» - read online now
Add a comment
Comments (0)