Short Fiction Edgar Allan Poe (books for men to read .txt) đ
- Author: Edgar Allan Poe
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The foremost and most energetic in instituting this search was the bosom friend of Mr. Shuttleworthyâ âa Mr. Charles Goodfellow, or, as he was universally called, âCharley Goodfellow,â or âOld Charley Goodfellow.â Now, whether it is a marvellous coincidence, or whether it is that the name itself has an imperceptible effect upon the character, I have never yet been able to ascertain; but the fact is unquestionable, that there never yet was any person named Charles who was not an open, manly, honest, good-natured, and frank-hearted fellow, with a rich, clear voice, that did you good to hear it, and an eye that looked you always straight in the face, as much as to say: âI have a clear conscience myself, am afraid of no man, and am altogether above doing a mean action.â And thus all the hearty, careless, âwalking gentlemenâ of the stage are very certain to be called Charles.
Now, âOld Charley Goodfellow,â although he had been in Rattleborough not longer than six months or thereabouts, and although nobody knew anything about him before he came to settle in the neighborhood, had experienced no difficulty in the world in making the acquaintance of all the respectable people in the borough. Not a man of them but would have taken his bare word for a thousand at any moment; and as for the women, there is no saying what they would not have done to oblige him. And all this came of his having been christened Charles, and of his possessing, in consequence, that ingenuous face which is proverbially the very âbest letter of recommendation.â
I have already said that Mr. Shuttleworthy was one of the most respectable and, undoubtedly, he was the most wealthy man in Rattleborough, while âOld Charley Goodfellowâ was upon as intimate terms with him as if he had been his own brother. The two old gentlemen were next-door neighbours, and, although Mr. Shuttleworthy seldom, if ever, visited âOld Charley,â and never was known to take a meal in his house, still this did not prevent the two friends from being exceedingly intimate, as I have just observed; for âOld Charleyâ never let a day pass without stepping in three or four times to see how his neighbour came on, and very often he would stay to breakfast or tea, and almost always to dinner, and then the amount of wine that was made way with by the two cronies at a sitting, it would really be a difficult thing to ascertain. âOld Charleysâ favorite beverage was ChĂąteau Margaux, and it appeared to do Mr. Shuttleworthyâs heart good to see the old fellow swallow it, as he did, quart after quart; so that, one day, when the wine was in and the wit as a natural consequence, somewhat out, he said to his crony, as he slapped him upon the back: âI tell you what it is, âOld Charley,â you are, by all odds, the heartiest old fellow I ever came across in all my born days; and, since you love to guzzle the wine at that fashion, Iâll be darned if I donât have to make thee a present of a big box of the ChĂąteau Margaux. Od rot me,ââ â(Mr. Shuttleworthy had a sad habit of swearing, although he seldom went beyond âOd rot me,â or âBy gosh,â or âBy the jolly golly,â)â ââOd rot me,â says he, âif I donât send an order to town this very afternoon for a double box of the best that can be got, and Iâll make ye a present of it, I will!â âye neednât say a word nowâ âI will, I tell ye, and thereâs an end of it; so look out for itâ âit will come to hand some of these fine days, precisely when ye are looking for it the least!â I mention this little bit of liberality on the part of Mr. Shuttleworthy, just by way of showing you how very intimate an understanding existed between the two friends.
Well, on the Sunday morning in question, when it came to be fairly understood that Mr. Shuttleworthy had met with foul play, I never saw anyone so profoundly affected as âOld Charley Goodfellow.â When he first heard that the horse had come home without his master, and without his masterâs saddlebags, and all bloody from a pistol-shot, that had gone clean through and through the poor animalâs chest without quite killing himâ âwhen he heard all this, he turned as pale as if the missing man had been his own dear brother or father, and shivered and shook all over as if he had had a fit of the ague.
At first he was too much overpowered with grief to be able to do anything at all, or to concert upon any plan of action; so that for a long time he endeavored to dissuade Mr. Shuttleworthyâs other friends from making a stir about the matter, thinking it best to wait awhileâ âsay for a week or two, or a month, or twoâ âto see if something wouldnât turn up, or if Mr. Shuttleworthy wouldnât come in the natural way, and explain his reasons for sending his horse on before. I dare say you have often observed this disposition to temporize, or to procrastinate, in people who are labouring under any very poignant sorrow. Their powers of mind seem to be rendered torpid, so that they have a horror of anything like action, and like nothing in the world so well as to lie quietly in bed
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