Mike Fletcher by George Moore (summer reading list TXT) 📖

Schoolfellow Of Mine. When I Have Paid Him I Shall

Have Only Two Hundred,  And That Won't Be Of The Slightest Use To Me."

 

"Oh,  You Have Sold Part Of The Paper Already,  Have You? How Do You

Know Your Friend Will Consent To Be Bought Out? That Complicates

Matters."

 

"My Friend Only Did It To Oblige Me; He Is Only Too Anxious To Be

Bought Out. He Is In A Fearful Funk Lest He Should Be Compromised In

A Libel Action."

 

"Oh,  Then I Think It Can Be Managed. Were I In Your Place I Should

Try And Get Rid Of Him For Nothing. I Can't Offer You Better Terms;

It Wouldn't Pay Me To Do So; I Might As Well Start A New Paper."

 

"Yes,  But Tell Me,  How Can I Get Rid Of Him For Nothing?"

 

Thigh Looked At Frank Inquiringly,  And Apparently Satisfied He Drew

His Chair Nearer,  Stroked His Moustache,  And Said,  Speaking Under His

Breath--

 

"Have You Collected What Money Is Owing To The Paper Lately? Have You

Chapter 7 Pg 90

Many Outstanding Debts?"

 

"We Have Got Some."

 

"Well,  Don't Collect Any Money That Is Owing,  But Make Out A Long

Statement Of The Paper's Liabilities; Don't Say A Word About The

Outstanding Debts,  And Tell Your Friend That He Is Responsible As

Part Owner Of The Paper For This Money. When You Have Sufficiently

Frightened Him,  Suggest That He Should Sign Over His Share To You,

You Being A Man Of Straw Whom It Would Be Useless To Proceed Against.

Or You Might Get Your Printer To Press You For Money--"

 

"That Won't Be Difficult."

 

"Offer Him A Bill,  And Then Mix The Two Accounts Up Together."

 

At This Moment Mike Was Speaking To Lizzie Of Love. She Told Him

There Was No Real Happiness Except In Married Life,  Assured Him That

Though They Might Be Beggars To-Day,  She Would Not Give Up Her

Husband For All The Wealth Of The Three Kingdoms.

 

Very Anxious To Ascertain The Truth About Married Life,  Mike Pressed

Lizzie Upon Several Points; The Old Ache Awoke About His Heart,  And

Again He Resolved To Regenerate His Life,  And Love Lily And None But

Her. He Looked Round The Room,  Considering How He Could Get Away.

Frank Was Talking Business. He Would Not Disturb Him. No Doubt Thigh

Was Concocting Some Swindle,  But He (Mike) Knew Nothing Of Business;

He Had A Knack Of Turning The King At Écarté,  But Was Nowhere Once

Bills And The Cooking Of Accounts Were Introduced. Should He Post The

Letter? That Was The Question,  And It Played In His Ears Like An

Electric Bell. Here Was The Letter; He Could Feel It Through His

Coat,  Lying Over His Heart,  And There It Had Lain Since He Had

Written It.

 

Frank And Thigh Continued Talking; Lizzie Went To The Baby,  And Mike

Walked Into The Night,  Looking At The Stars. He Walked Along The

White High-Road--To Him A Road Of Dreams--Towards The White Town--To

Him A Town Of Chimeras--And Leaning Over The Moon-Lit River,  Shaking

Himself Free From The Hallucination Within And Without Him,  He Said--

 

"On One Hand I Shall Belong To One Woman. Her House Shall Be My

House,  Her Friends Shall Be My Friends; The Others,  The Beautiful,

Fascinating Others,  Will Cease To Dream Of Me,  I Shall No Longer Be

Their Ideal. On The Other Hand I Shall Gain The Nicest Woman,  And

Surely It Must Be Right To Take,  Though It Be For Life,  The Nicest

Woman In The World. She Will Supply What Is Wanting In My Character;

Together We Shall Attain A Goal; Alone I Shall Attain None. In Twenty

Years I Shall Be A Foolish Old Bachelor Whom No One Cares For. I Have

Stated Both Cases--On Which Side Does The Balance Turn?"

 

The Balance Still Stood At Equipoise. A Formless Moon Soared Through

A White Cloud Wrack,  And Broken Gold Lay In The Rising Tide. The

Sonorous Steps Of The Policeman On The Bridge Startled Him,  And

Obeying The Impulse Of The Moment,  He Gave The Officer The Letter,

Asking Him To Post It. He Waited For Some Minutes,  As If Stupefied,

Pursuing The Consequences Of His Act Even Into Distant Years. No,  He

Would Not Send The Letter Just Yet. But The Officer Had Disappeared

In Some By-Streets,  And Followed By The Spirits Of Future Loves,  Mike

Ran Till He Reached The Post-Office,  Where He Waited In Nervous

Apprehension. Presently Steps Were Heard In The Stillness,  And

Getting Between Him And The Terrible Slot,  Mike Determined To Fight

For His Letter If It Were Refused Him.

 

"I Met You Just Now On The Bridge And Asked You To Post A Letter;

Give It Back To Me,  If You Please. I've Changed My Mind."

 

The Officer Looked At Him Narrowly,  But He Took The Proffered

Shilling,  And Returned The Letter.

 

"That Was The Narrowest Squeak I've Had Yet," Thought Mike.

 

Chapter 7 Pg 91

When He Returned To The Cottage He Found Frank And Thigh Still

Together.

 

"Mr. Beacham Brown," Said Thigh,  "Is Now Half-Proprietor Of The

_Pilgrim_. The Papers Are Signed. I Came Down Quite Prepared. I

Believe In Settling Things Right Off. When Mrs. Escott Comes In,  We

Will Drink To The New _Pilgrim_,  Or,  If You Like It Better,  To The

Old _Pilgrim_,  Who Starts Afresh With A New Staff And Scrip,  And A

Well-Filled Scrip Too," He Added,  Laughing Vacuously.

 

"I Hope," Said Mike,  "That Holloway Is Not The Shrine He Is

Journeying Towards."

 

"I Hope Your Book Won't Bring Us There."

 

"Why,  I Didn't Know You Were Going To Continue--"

 

"Oh,  Yes," Said Thigh; "That Is To Say,  If We Can Come To An

Arrangement About The Purchase," And Thigh Lapsed Into A Stony

Silence,  As Was His Practice When Conducting A Bargain.

 

"By God!" Mike Thought,  "I Wish We Were Playing At Écarté Or Poker.

I'm No Good At Business."

 

"Well," He Said At Last,  "What Terms Do You Propose To Offer Me?"

 

Thigh Woke Up.

 

"I Never Bargain," He Said. "I'll Give You Beacham Brown's Cheque For

A Hundred And Fifty If You Will Give Me A Receipt For Three Hundred,"

And He Looked Inquiry Out Of His Small,  Pale Blue Eyes,  And Mike

Noticed The Diamond Ring On The Hand That Caressed His Moustache.

 

"No," Said Mike,  "That Isn't Fair. You Don't Write A Line Of The

Book. There Is Not Even The Excuse Of Commission,  For The Book Is Now

Appearing."

 

"Escott Would Not Have Paid You Anything Like That Amount. I Think

I'm Treating You Very Liberally. Indeed I Don't Mind Telling You That

I Should Not Offer You Anything Like Such Terms If Beacham Brown Were

Not Anxious To Have The Book; He Read Your Last Article In The Train,

And Came Back Raving About It."

 

Bright Pleasure Passed Across Mike's Face; He Thought Thigh Had

Slipped In The Avowal,  And He Girt Himself For Resolute Resistance

And Cautious Attack. But Thigh Was The Superior Strategist. Mike Was

Led From The Subject,  And Imperceptibly Encouraged To Speak Of Other

Things,  And Without Interruption He Span Paradoxes And Scattered

Jokes For Ten Minutes. Then The Conversation Dropped,  And Annoyed,

Mike Fixed His Eyes On Thigh,  Who Sat In Unmovable Silence.

 

"Well," Said Mike,  "What Do You Intend To Do?"

 

"About What?" Said Thigh,  With A Half-Waking Stare.

 

"About This Book Of Mine. You Know Very Well That If I Take It To

Another Shop You'll Find It Difficult To Get Anything Like As Good A

Serial. I Know Pretty Well What Talent Is Walking About Fleet

Street."

 

Thigh Said Nothing,  Only Raised His Eyes As If Mike's Words Were Full

Of Suggestion,  And Again Beguiled,  Mike Rambled Into Various

Criticisms Of Contemporary Journalism. Friends Were Laughed At,  And

The Papers They Edited Were Stigmatized As Rags That Lived Upon The

Ingenuity Of The Lies Of Advertising Agents. When The Conversation

Again Dropped,  Thigh Showed No Inclination Of Returning To The Book,

But,  As Before,  Sat In Stony Silence,  And Out Of Temper With Himself,

Mike Had To Ask Him Again What The Terms Were.

 

"I Cannot Offer You Better Terms Than I Have Already Done."

 

Chapter 7 Pg 92

"Very Well; I'll Take One Hundred And Fifty For The Serial Rights."

 

"No,  For The Entire Rights."

 

"No,  I'll Be Damned,  I Don't Care What Happens!"

 

Then Frank Joined In The Discussion. Every One Withdrew The Offer He

Had Made,  And All Possibility Of Agreement Seemed At An End. Somehow

It Was Suggested That Thigh Should Toss Mike Whether He Should Pay

Him Two Hundred Or A Hundred And Fifty. The Men Exchanged Questioning

Looks,  And At That Moment Lizzie Entered With A Pack Of Cards,  And

Thigh Said--

 

"I'll Play You At Écarté--The Best Out Of Seven Games."

 

Mike Realized At Once The Situation,  And He Hoped Frank Would Not

Betray Him. He Saw That Thigh Had Been Drinking. "God Has Given Him

Into My Hands," He Thought; And It Was Agreed That They Should Play

The Best Out Of Seven Games For Twenty-Five Pounds,  And That The

Loser Should Have The Right To Call For A Return Match. Mike Knew

Nothing Of His Opponent's Play,  But He Did Not For A Moment Suspect

Him Of Superior Skill. Such A Thing Could Hardly Be,  And He Decided

He Would Allow Him To Win The First Games,  Watching Carefully The

While,  So That He Might Study His Combinations And Plans,  And Learn

In What Measure He Might Pack And "Bridge" The Cards. There Is Much

In A Shuffle,  And Already Mike Believed Him To Be No More Than An

Ordinary Club Player,  Capable Of Winning A Few Sovereigns From A

Young Man Fresh From The University; And Although The Cards Mike Held

Did Not Warrant Such A Course,  He Played Without Proposing,  And When

He Lost The Trick He Scanned His Opponent's Face,  And Seeing It

Brighten,  He Knew The Ruse Had Succeeded. But Luck Seemed To Run

Inexplicably Against Him,  And He Was Defeated. In The Return Match He

Met With Similar Luck,  And Rose From The Table,  Having Lost Fifty

Pounds. Mike Wrote A Second I O U For Twenty-Five Pounds,  To Be Paid

Out Of The Hundred And Fifty Pounds Which He Had Agreed In Writing To

Accept For The Book Before Sitting Down To Play. Then He Protested

Vehemently Against His Luck,  And So Well Did He Act His Part,  That

Even If Thigh Had Not Drunk Another Glass Of Whiskey-And-Water He

Would Not Have Perceived That Mike Was Simulating An Excitement Which

He Did Not Feel.

 

"I'll Play You For A Hundred Pounds--The Best Out Of Seven Games;

Damn The