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<title>WILD AT HEART</title>
                W I L D  A T  H E AR T      a love story      written by      David Lynch based on the book by      Barry GiffordAnd now the story of Sailor and Lula.....1. EXT. CITY STREET - DAYA MAN rides a screaming massive Japanesemotorcycle - wound out to maximum R.P.M. up the street. CUT TO:2. SIGN BY ROADSIDEThe sign reads KIDS PLAYING - SPEED BUMPS. CUT TO:3. EXT. CITY STREET -DAYWith a whine from hell, the front tire of the motorcycle hits a speed bump.The motorcycle becomes airborne and on the way up slices itself in half as it scrapes along the full length of a Datsun Kingcab.In theair, the rider and motorcycle twist violently as they fly by.The motorcycle bounces off a black 66 Chevrolet and makes a sound like the end of the world.The rider hits the same Chevy a moment later.  Like a brokenragdoll shot from a canon, the man punches through the back window blowing glass for a block.  He stops somewhere under the front seat and a bubble of blood forms out his nose.The motorcycle continues on slidingand spinning with an ear-piercing howl for one entire city block. CUT TO:4. EXT. NEIGHBORHOOD STREETS - VACANT LOT - DAYTwo rabid dogs fight ferociously in a vacant lot - ripping each othersflesh.  An OLD COUPLE, both with walkers, inch painfully along nearby. OLD WOMAN Oh my God! ... Why they doin that? OLD MAN Who the hell knows.  What you have in your mouth?The oldwoman begins to turn away, covering her mouth with her hand. OLD MAN  Spit it out!!! ... Pull your teeth out ... doctor said.  What you tryin to do?  SPIT IT OUT!!!The Old Man grabs the Old Woman by theneck and squeezes.  Out comes a tangled and sticky ball of hard fruit candies. CUT TO:5. WASP NESTA thousand wasps hover threateningly in the air around the nest.  A SMALL GROUP OFHARDENED CRIMINAL NINE-YEAR OLDS sporting hideous grins, bat the nest violently to and fro with sticks.  One kid busies himself shooting a large can of Black Flag garden spray into a crack in the nest.  Anotherstomps half-dead wasps up and down the sidewalk.  All the kids are making animal noises of one sort or the other. CUT TO:6. INT. FORTUNE HOUSE - DAYThe telephone rings.  MARIETTA PACEFORTUNE, a rich Southern woman around fifty, carries her Martini and Rossi sweet vermouth drink across the livingroom and answers the phone. MARIETTA Hello...  Who is this?... CUT TO:7.INT. PEE DEE COUNTY WORK FARM - DAYA GUARD stands by as SAILOR RIPLEY, twenty-three years old - lost somewhere between the cool long-gone generation and a used-car salesman - speaks on a prisonerphone in a green cement cubicle with one bench. SAILOR (into phone) ...Sailor Ripley...  Can I talk to Lula? CUT TO:6A. INT. FORTUNE HOUSE - DAY MARIETTA Theres no wayin hell you can speak to her and... CUT TO:7A. INT. PEE DEE COUNTY WORK FARM - DAY SAILOR (feeling a smile coming on) What?... CUT TO:6B. INT. FORTUNE HOUSE -DAY MARIETTA ...Yes you heard me...  Dont ever call back here again.Marietta hangs up the phone as LULA PACE FORTUNE, Mariettas twenty-year old daughter, comes quickly down the stairs.LULA Mama??? MARIETTA You know who it was and you know you arent, and I mean ARE NOT gonna see him EVER...  End of story. LULA (quietly) Like hell.Marietta, her hand still on thetelephone, grips the receiver so hard her knuckles turn white. CUT TO:8. INT. FORTUNE HOUSE - LULAS ROOM UPSTAIRS - DAYLula enters her room and cranks up her stereo.  Speed metal musicjumps up to around one hundred twenty decibels. CUT TO:9. INT. PEE DEE COUNTY WORK FARM - DAYThe guard escorts Sailor away from the telephone and back to his cell.  The iron bars of thedoor slide across Sailors face and close with a bang. CUT TO:10. EXT. THE MUSIC BAR - NIGHTA beat-up, red 64 Ford Falcon station wagon filled with insane TEENAGERS on speed and PCP raceout of control down the street past the club - leaning out the car in every direction.  They scream out to the desolate-looking passerby. TEENAGERS EAT SHIT MOTHERFUCKERS!!!!!!The cameracranes up to the neon club sign and gets lost among the hot pink neon, the frantic moths and the intense electric buzz. CUT TO:11. INT. THE MUSIC BAR - NIGHTLula and her friend, BEANY THORN,sit at a table drinking rum Coca-Colas while watching and listening to a white blues band called THE BLEACH BOYS.  The group segues smoothly from Elmore Jamess Dust my Broom into Robert Johnsons Meand the Devil and Beany lets out a snort. BEANY I can dig this music...  But not that singer. LULA Why?...  Hes right in the groove. BEANY Hes so ugly.  Guys with beards and beerguts aint quite my type. LULA           (giggles) Seeins how youre about as thick as a used string of unwaxed dental floss, dont know how you can criticize. BEANY Yeah, well, if he says that allthat flab turns into dick at midnight, hes a liar.Lula and Beany laugh and swallow some of their drinks. BEANY So, Sailors gettin out soon, and youre gonna see him?Lula nods and crushes an ice cubewith her back teeth and chews it. LULA Meetin him at the gate.  That phone call this afternoon was the signal. My deranged mamas hid the keys to my car.  But of course, I know exactly where theyare. BEANY I didnt hate me so much, Id feel better wishin you luck. LULA Cant all husbands be perfect, and your Elmo probly wouldnta ever got that second one pregnant, you hadntkicked his ass out. BEANY So youre gonna be needin the blue-bird pretty soon? LULA Real soon ... Ill be makin the swap tomorrow, and thanks again, Beany.The Bleach Boys kick intosome kind of Professor Longhair swamp mambo. CUT TO:12. EXT. BAY ST. CLEMENT - DAYPlumes of smoke from fires rise in the distance.DISSOLVE TO:13. INT. FORTUNE HOUSE -DAYAn empty livingroom.  The smoke from the city fire appears during the course of the DISSOLVE to be in the livingroom - then it disappears.An empty hallway.An empty stairway.13A. INT. FORTUNE HOUSE- MARIETTAS BEDROOM - DAYFeet (Lulas) was across carpet.A closet door opens.A hand (Lulas) reaches into the pocket of a coat in her mothers closet.  The hand comes out clutching car keys.13B.INT. FORTUNE HOUSE - STAIRWAY - DAYLula races down the stairs and through a door into the garage. CUT TO:14. EXT. FORTUNE HOUSE - DAYThe electronic garage door opens and Luladrives her 80 Black Camaro out and away.  The garage door closes automatically. CUT TO:15. EXT. CITY STREETS - DAYLula drives fast up a neighborhood street.  She turns a corner anddisappears. CUT TO:16. INT. BEANY THORNS GARAGE - DAYLula throws her car keys under the front seat and goes around to Beanys 67 dark blue Thunderbird convertible - fishes aroundunder the T-Birds front seat for the keys - finds them - jumps in and takes off.DISSOLVE TO:17. EXT. FORTUNE HOUSE - DAYMarietta leaves her Cadillac Seville in her driveway and enters thehouse.  We can hear her calling out for Lula in the distance.  The calling changes - it becomes angry.  The garage door opens and Marietta comes storming out.  She leaps in her Caddy and peels out. CUTTO:18. INT. SOUTHERN TIME BAR - DAYMarietta enters the bar on the run.  She calls out to the BARTENDER... MARIETTA Wheres Johnnie?  Hes not in his office. BARTENDERHavent seen im yet today, Marietta. MARIETTA (slightly hysterical) Well I gotta find him - right this minute! CUT TO:19. EXT. PEE DEE COUNTY WORK FARM - DAYSailor is waiting outfront as Lula pulls up in her T-Bird - throwing out a cloud of dust.  Theyre both smiling. LULA Hey baby... SAILOR Peanut...They kiss tenderly and then Sailor walks around the car to get in whileLula opens up a suitcase and gets out his snakeskin jacket. SAILOR Hey, my snakeskin jacket...  Thanks,     baby...  Did I ever tell you that this here jacket for me is a symbol of my individuality and my beliefin personal freedom? LULA Bout fifty thousand times.  I got us a room at the Cape Fear, and guess what?...  I hear Powermads at The Hurricane. SAILOR (smiling) Stab it and steer.Lulatromps it and throws out an even larger cloud of dust. CUT TO:20. INT. CAPE FEAR HOTEL - DAYSailor and Lula lay on the bed in the Cape Fear Hotel listening to the fan creak. LULA Didyou ever think somethin like about the wicked witch of the east comin flyin in?...  Did you ever think somethin and then later think youve said it out loud to someone? SAILOR I really did miss yourmind while I was out at Pee Dee, honey.  The rest of you, too, of course.  But the way your head works is Gods own private mystery.  What was it you was thinkin? LULA Well, I was thinkin aboutsmokin actually...  My mama smokes Marlboros now, used to be she smoked Kools? I stole em from her beginnin in about sixth grade.  When I got old enough to buy my own, I bought those. Now Ive just aboutsettled on Mores, as you probably noticed?  Theyre longer. SAILOR I guess I started smokin when I was about six...  My mama was already dead from lung cancer... LULA What brandd shesmoke? SAILOR Camels, same as me...  Guess both my mama and my daddy died of smoke or alcohol related illness. LULA Gee, Sailor.  Im sorry, honey.  I never would have guessed it.SAILOR Its okay.  I hardly used to see them anyway.  I didnt have much parental guiding.  The public defender kept sayin that at my parole hearin. He was a good ol boy, stood by me... Even brought mesome cartons of cigarettes from time to time. LULA Id stand by you, Sailor ... through anything. SAILOR Hell, peanut, you stuck with me after I planted Bob Ray Lemon.  A man cant ask for morethan that.Lula pulls Sailor over to her and kisses him soft on the mouth. LULA You move me, Sailor, you really do. You mark me the deepest.Sailor pulls down the sheet, exposing Lulas breasts.SAILOR Youre perfect for me, too. LULA You remind me of my daddy, you know? Mama told me he liked skinny women whose breasts were just a bit too big for their bodies.  He had a long nose, too,like theirs.  Did I ever tell you how he died? SAILOR In a fire, as I recall. LULA Started he couldnt remember things? Got real violent?  Mama kept tellin me it was on account of lead poisoning


ï»¿Project Gutenberg's Tom Swift and his Electric Rifle, by Victor AppletonThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use itunder the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.netTitle: Tom Swift and his Electric RifleAuthor: Victor AppletonPosting Date: January 16, 2009 [EBook#3777]Release Date: February, 2003Last updated November 10, 2010Last updated: April 22, 2012Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RIFLE***Produced by This etext was produced by Charles Franks,Greg Weeks, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RIFLEORDaring Adventures in Elephant Landby VICTORAPPLETONCONTENTS     I   TOM WANTS EXCITEMENT    II   TRYING THE NEW GUN   III   A DIFFICULT TEST    IV   BIG TUSKS WANTED     V   RUSH WORK    VI   NEWS FROM ANDY   VII   THE BLACK HAWKFLIES  VIII   OFF FOR AFRICA    IX   ATTACKED BY A WHALE     X   OFF IN THE AIRSHIP    XI   ANCHORED TO EARTH   XII   AMONG THE NATIVES  XIII   ON THE ELEPHANT TRAIL   XIV   A STAMPEDE    XV   LIONS INTHE NIGHT   XVI   SEEKING THE MISSIONARIES  XVII   SHOTS FROM ABOVE XVIII   NEWS OF THE RED PYGMIES   XIX   AN APPEAL FOR HELP    XX   THE FIGHT   XXI   DRIVEN BACK  XXII   A NIGHT ATTACKXXIII   THE RESCUE  XXIV   TWO OTHER CAPTIVES   XXV   THE ROGUE ELEPHANT--CONCLUSIONCHAPTER ITOM WANTS EXCITEMENT"Have you anything special to do to-night, Ned?" asked Tom Swift,the well-knowninventor, as he paused in front of his chum's window,in the Shopton National Bank."No, nothing in particular," replied the bank clerk, as he stackedup some bundles of bills. "Why do you ask?""I wanted you to comeover to the house for a while.""Going to have a surprise party, or something like that?""No, only I've got something I'd like to show you.""A new invention?""Well, not exactly new. You've seen it before, but not sinceI'veimproved it. I'm speaking of my new electric rifle. I've got itready to try, now, and I'd like to see what you think of it. There'sa rifle range over at the house, and we can practice some shooting,if you haven'tanything else to do.""I haven't, and I'll be glad to come. What are you doing in thebank, anyhow; putting away more of your wealth, Tom?""Yes, I just made a little deposit. It's some money I got from thegovernmentfor the patents on my sky racer, and I'm salting it downhere until Dad and I can think of a better investment.""Good idea. Bring us all the money you can," and the bank clerk, whoheld a small amount of stock in thefinancial institution, laughed,his chum joining in with him."Well, then. I'll expect you over this evening," went on theyouthful inventor, as he turned to leave the bank."Yes, I'll be there. Say, Tom, have you heard thelatest about AndyFoger?""No, I haven't heard much since he left town right after I beat himin the aeroplane race at Eagle Park.""Well, he's out of town all right, and I guess for a long time thistrip. He's gone toEurope.""To Europe, eh? Well, he threatened to go there after he failed tobeat me in the race, but I thought he was only bluffing.""No, he's really gone this time.""Well, I, for one, am glad of it. Did he take his aeroplanealong?""Yes, that's what he went for. It seems that this Mr. Landbacher,the German who really invented it, and built it with money which Mr.Foger supplied, has an idea he can interest the German or someotherEuropean government in the machine. Andy wanted to go along withhim, and as Mr. Foger financed the scheme, I guess he thought itwould be a good thing to have some one represent him. So Andy'sgone.""Thenhe won't bother me. Well, I must get along. I'll expect youover to-night," and with a wave of his hand Tom Swift hurried fromthe bank.The young inventor jumped into his electric runabout which stoodoutside theinstitution, and was about to start off when he saw anewsboy selling papers which had just come in from New York, on themorning train."Here, Jack, give me a TIMES," called Tom to the lad, and he tossedthe newsboya nickel. Then, after glancing at the front page, andnoting the headings, Tom started off his speedy car, in which, onone occasion, he had made a great run, against time. He was soon athome."Well, Dad, I've got themoney safely put away," he remarked to anaged gentleman who sat in the library reading a book. "Now we won'thave to worry about thieves until we get some more cash in.""Well, I'm glad it's coming in so plentifully,"said Mr. Swift witha smile. "Since my illness I haven't been able to do much, Tom, andit all depends on you, now.""Don't let that worry you, Dad. You'll soon be as busy as ever,"for, following a serious operation for anailment of the heart, Mr.Swift, who was a veteran inventor, had not been able to do much. Butthe devices of his son, especially a speedy monoplane, which Tominvented, and sold to the United States Government, werenowbringing them in a large income. In fact with royalties from hisinventions and some gold and diamonds which he had secured on twoperilous trips, Tom Swift was quite wealthy."I'll never be as busy as I once was,"went on Mr. Swift, a littleregretfully, "but I don't know that I care as long as you continueto turn out new machines, Tom. By the way, how is the electric riflecoming on? I haven't heard you speak of it lately.""It'spractically finished, Dad. It worked pretty well the time Itook it when we went on the trip to the caves of ice, but I'veimproved it very much since then. In fact I'm going to give it asevere test to-night. Ned Newton iscoming over, and it may be thatthen we'll find out something about it that could be bettered. But Ithink not. It suits me as it is.""So Ned is coming over to see it; eh? You ought to have Mr. Damonhere to bless it a fewtimes.""Yes, I wish I did. And he may come along at any moment, as it is.You never can tell when he is going to turn up. Mrs. Baggert saysyou were out walking while I was at the bank, Dad. Do you feelbetter afterit?""Yes, I think I do, Tom. Oh, I'm growing stronger every day, but itwill take time. But now tell me something about the electric gun."Thereupon the young inventor related to his father some facts abouttheimprovements he had recently made to the weapon. It was dinnertime when he had finished, and, after the meal Tom went out to theshed where he built his aeroplanes and his airships, and in whichbuilding he hadfitted up a shooting gallery."I'll get ready for the trial to-night," he said "I want to see whatit will do to a dummy figure. Guess I'll make a sort of scarecrowand stuff it with straw. I'll get Eradicate to help me. Rad! Isay,Rad! Where are you?""Heah I is, Massa Tom! Heah I is," called a colored man as he camearound the corner of a small stable where he kept his muleBoomerang. "Was yo'-all callin' me?""Yes, Rad, I want you to helpmake a scarecrow.""A scarecrow, Massa Tom! Good land a' massy! What fo' yo' want ob ascarecrow? Yo'-all ain't raisin' no corn, am yo'?""No, but I want something to shoot at when Ned Newton comesoverto-night.""Suffin t' shoot at? Why Massa Tom! Good land a' massy! Yo'-allain't gwine t' hab no duel, am yo'?""No, Rad, but I want a life-size figure on which to try my newelectric gun. Here are some old clothes, andif you will stuff themwith rags and straw and fix them so they'll stand up, they'll dofirst-rate. Have it ready by night, and set it up at the far end ofthe shooting gallery.""All right, Massa Tom. I'll jest do dat, fo' yo'," andleaving thecolored man to stuff the figure, after he had showed him how, Tomwent back into the house to read the paper which he had purchasedthat morning.He skimmed over the news, thinking perhaps he might seesomething ofthe going abroad of Andy Foger with the German aeroplane, but therewas nothing."I almost wish I was going to Europe," sighed Tom. "I will certainlyhave to get busy at something, soon. I haven't had anyadventuresince I won the prize at the Eagle Park aviation meet in my skyracer. Jove! That was some excitement! I'd like to do that overagain, only I shouldn't want to have Dad so sick," for just beforethe race, Tom hadsaved his father's life by making a quick run inthe aeroplane, to bring a celebrated surgeon to the invalid's aid."I certainly wish I could have some new adventures," mused Tom, ashe turned the pages of the paper. "Icould afford to take a triparound the earth after them, too, with the way money is coming innow. Yes, I do wish I could have some excitement. Hello, what'sthis! A big elephant hunt in Africa. Hundreds of the hugecreaturescaptured in a trap--driven in by tame beasts. Some are shot fortheir tusks. Others will be sent to museums."He was reading the headlines of the article that had attracted hisattention, and, as he read, hebecame more and more absorbed in it.He read the story through twice, and then, with sparkling eyes, heexclaimed:"That's just what I want. Elephant shooting in Africa! My! With mynew electric rifle, and an airship,what couldn't a fellow do overin the dark continent! I've a good notion to go there! I wonder ifNed would go with me? Mr. Damon certainly would. Elephant shootingin Africa! In an airship! I could finish my new sky craftin shortorder if I wanted to. I've a good notion to do it!"CHAPTER IITRYING THE NEW GUNWhile Tom Swift is thus absorbed in thinking about a chance to huntelephants, we will take the opportunity to tell you a littlemoreabout him, and then go on with the story.Many of you already know the young inventor, but those who do notmay be interested in hearing that he is a young American lad, fullof grit and ginger, who lives with hisaged father in the town ofShopton, in New York State. Our hero was first introduced to thepublic in the book, "Tom Swift and His Motorcycle."In that volume it was related how Tom bought a motor-cycle from aMr.Wakefield Damon, of Waterford. Mr. Damon was an eccentricindividual, who was continually blessing himself, some one else, orsomething belonging to him. His motor-cycle tried to climb a treewith him, and that waswhy he sold it to Tom. The two thus becameacquainted, and their friendship grew from year to year.After many adventures on his motor-cycle Tom got a motor-boat, andhad some exciting times in that. One of thethings he and his fatherand his chum, Ned Newton, did, was to rescue, from a burning balloonthat had fallen into Lake Carlopa, an aeronaut named John Sharp.Later Tom and Mr. Sharp built an airship called the RedCloud, andwith Mr. Damon and some others had a series of remarkable fights.In the Red Cloud they got on the track of some bank robbers, andcaptured them, thus foiling the plans of Andy Foger, a town bully,and oneof Tom's enemies, and putting to confusion the plot of Mr.Foger, Andy's father.After many adventures in the air Tom and his friends, in a submarineboat, invented by Mr. Swift, went under the ocean for sunkentreasureand secured a large part of it.It was not long after this that Tom conceived the idea of a powerfulelectric car, which proved, to be the speediest of the road, and init he won a great race, and saved from ruin a bank inwhich hisfather and Mr. Damon were interested.The sixth book of the series, entitled "Tom Swift and His WirelessMessage," tells how, in testing a new electric airship, which afriend of Mr. Damon's had invented, Tom,the inventor and Mr. Damonwere lost on an island in the middle of the ocean. There they foundsome castaways, among whom were Mr. and Mrs. Nestor, parents of MaryNestor of Shopton, a girl of whom Tom was quitefond.Tom Swift, after his arrival home, went on an expedition among agang of men known as the "Diamond Makers" who were hidden in theRocky Mountains. He was accompanied by Mr. Barcoe Jenks, one ofthecastaways of Earthquake Island. They found the diamond makers, andhad some surprising adventures, barely escaping with their lives.This did not daunt Tom, however, and he once more started off on anexpeditionin his airship the Red Cloud to Alaska, amid the caves ofice. He was searching for a valley of gold, and though he and hisfriends found it, they came to grief. The Fogers, father and son,tried to steal the gold from them,and, failing in that, incited theEskimos against our friends. There was a battle, but the forces ofnature were even more to be dreaded than the terrible savages.The ice cave, in which the Red Cloud was stored, collapsed,crushingthe gallant craft, and burying it out of sight forever underthousand of tons of the frozen bergs.After a desperate journey Tom and his friends reached civilization,with a large supply of gold. Tom regretted verymuch the destructionof the airship, but he at once set to work on another--a monoplanethis time, instead of a combined aeroplane and dirigible balloon.This new craft he called the Humming-Bird and it was a "skyracer"of terrific speed. In it, as we have said, Tom brought a specialistto operate on his father, when, because of a broken railroad bridge,the physician could not otherwise have gotten to Shopton. He and Tomtraveledthrough the air at the rate of over one hundred miles anhour. Later, Tom took part in a big race for a ten-thousand-dollarprize, and won, defeating Andy Foger, and a number of well-known"bird-men" who used biplanesand monoplanes of a more or lessfamiliar type.The government became interested in Tom's craft, the Humming-Bird,and, as told in the ninth book of this series, Tom Swift and His SkyRacer, they secured some rights inthe invention.And now Tom, who had done nothing for several months following thegreat race--that is, nothing save to work on his new rifle--Tom, wesay, sighed for new adventures."Well, Tom, what is on your mind?"asked his father at the suppertable that evening. "What is worrying you?""Nothing is worrying me, Dad.""You are thinking of something. I can see that. Are you afraid yourelectric rifle won't work as well as you hope,when Ned comes overto try it?""No, it isn't that, Dad. But I may as well tell you, I guess. I'vebeen reading in the paper about a big elephant hunt in Africa, andI--""That's enough, Tom! You needn't say any more,"interrupted Mr.Swift. "I can see which way the wind is blowing. You want to go toAfrica with your new rifle.""Well, Dad, not exactly--that is--""Now, Tom, you needn't deny it," and Mr. Swift laughed. "Well, Idon't blameyou a bit. You have been rather idle of late.""I would like to go, Dad," admitted the young inventor, "only I'dnever think of it while you weren't well.""Don't worry about me, Tom. Of course I will be lonesome whileyouare gone, but don't let that stand in the way. If you want to go toAfrica, you may start to-morrow, and take your new rifle with you.""The rifle part would be all right, Dad, but if I went I'd want totake an airshipalong, and it will take me some little time tofinish the Black Hawk, as I have named my new craft.""Well, there's no special hurry, is there?" asked Mr. Swift. "Theelephants in Africa are likely to stay there for some time.If youwant to go, why don't you get right to work on the Black Hawk andmake the trip? I'd like to go myself.""I wish you would, Dad," exclaimed Tom eagerly."No, son, I couldn't think of it. I want to stay here and getwell.Then I am going to resume work on my wireless motor. Perhaps I'llhave it finished when you come back from Africa with an airship loadof elephants' tusks.""Perhaps," admitted the young inventor. "Well, Dad, I'llthink ofit. But now I'm going after my rifle, and--"Tom was interrupted by a ring of the front-door bell, and Mrs.Baggert, the housekeeper, who was almost like a mother to the youth,went to answer it."It's Ned Newton,I guess," murmured Tom, and, a little later, hischum entered the room."Oh, I guess I'm early," said Ned. "Haven't you had supper yet,Tom?""Yes, we're just finished. Come on out and we'll try the gun.""And practiceshooting elephants," added Mr. Swift with a laugh, ashe mentioned to Ned the latest idea of Tom."Say! That would be great!" cried the bank clerk. "I wish I couldgo!""Come along!" invited Tom cordially. "We'll havemore fun than wedid in the caves of ice," for Ned had gone on the voyage to Alaska.The two youths went out to the shed where the rifle gallery had beenbuilt. The new electric weapon was out there, and EradicateSampson,the colored man, who was a sort of servant and man-of-all-work aboutthe Swift household, had set up the scarecrow figure at the end ofthe gallery."Now we'll try some shots," said Tom, as he took the gunout of thecase. "Just turn on a few more lights, will you, Mr. Jackson," andthe engineer, who was employed by Tom and his father to aid them intheir inventive work, did as requested.The gallery was now brilliantlyilluminated, with the reflectorsthrowing the beams on the big stuffed figure, which, save for aface, looked very much like a human being, standing at the end ofthe gallery."I don't suppose you want to go down thereand hold it, while Ishoot at it; do you, Rad?" asked Tom jokingly, as he prepared theelectric rifle for use."No indeedy, I don't!" cried Eradicate. "Yo'-all will hab t' scuseme, Massa Tom. I think I'll be goin' now.""What'syour hurry?" asked Ned, as he saw the colored man hastilypreparing to leave the improvised gallery."I spects I'd better fro' down some mo' straw fo' a bed fo' my muleBoomerang!" exclaimed Eradicate, as he hastilyslid out of the door,and shut it after him."Rad is nervous," remarked Tom. "He doesn't like this gun. Well, itcertainly does great execution.""How does it work'" asked Ned, as he looked at the curious gun. Theelectricweapon was not unlike an ordinary heavy rifle in appearancesave that the barrel was a little longer, and the stock larger inevery way. There were also a number of wheels, levers, gears andgages on the stock."It worksby electricity," explained Tom."That is, the force comes from a powerful current of storedelectricity.""Oh, then you have storage batteries in the stock?""Not exactly. There are no batteries, but the current is a sortofwireless kind. It is stored in a cylinder, just as compressed air orgases are stored, and can be released as I need it.""And when it's all gone, what do you do?""Make more power by means of a small dynamo.""Anddoes it shoot lead bullets?""Not at all. There are no bullets used.""Then how does it kill?""By means of a concentrated charge of electricity which is shot fromthe barrel with great force. You can't see it, yet it is there.It'sjust as if you concentrated a charge of electricity of five thousandvolts into a small globule the size of a bullet. That flies throughspace, strikes the object aimed at and--well, we'll see what it doesin a minute. Mr.Jackson, just put that steel plate up in front ofthe scarecrow; will you?"The engineer proceeded to put into place a section of steel armor-platebefore the stuffed figure."You don't mean to say you're going to shootthrough that, do you?"asked Ned in surprise."Surely. The electric bullets will pierce anything. They'll gothrough a brick wall as easily as the x-rays do. That's one valuablefeature of my rifle. You don't have to see theobject you aim at. Infact you can fire through a house, and kill something on the otherside.""I should think that would be dangerous.""It would be, only I can calculate exactly, by means of an automaticarrangement,just how far the charge of electricity will go. Itstops short just at the limit of the range, and is not effectivebeyond that. Otherwise, if I did not limit it and if I fired at thescarecrow, through the piece of steel, and thebullet hit thefigure, it would go on, passing through whatever else was in theway, until its power was lost. I use the term 'bullet,' though as Isaid, it isn't properly one.""By Jove, Tom, it certainly is a dangerousweapon!""Yes, the range-limit idea is a new one. That's what I've beenworking on lately. There are other features of the gun which I'llexplain later, particularly the power it has to shoot out luminousbars of light. Butnow we'll see what it will do to the image."Tom took his place at the end of the range, and began to adjust somevalves and levers. In spite of the fact that the gun was larger thanan ordinary rifle, it was not as heavy asthe United States Armyweapon.Tom aimed at the armor-plate, and, by means of an arrangement on therifle, he could tell exactly when he was pointing at the scarecrow,even though he could not see it."Here she goes!"he suddenly exclaimed.Ned watched his chum. The young inventor pressed a small button atthe side of the rifle barrel, about where the trigger should havebeen. There was no sound, no smoke, no flame and not theslightestjar.Yet as Ned watched he saw the steel plate move slightly. The nextinstant the scarecrow figure seemed to fly all to pieces. There wasa shower of straw, rags and old clothes, which fell in a shapelessheap atthe end of the range."Say. I guess you did for that fellow, all right!" exclaimed Ned."It looks so," admitted Tom, with a note of pride in his voice. "Nowwe'll try another test."As he laid aside his rifle in order to help Mr.


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Ball at Sceaux, by Honore de BalzacThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use itunder the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.orgTitle: The Ball at SceauxAuthor: Honore de BalzacTranslator: Clara BellRelease Date: May, 1998  [Etext#1305]Posting Date: February 22, 2010Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BALL AT SCEAUX ***Produced by DagnyTHE BALL AT SCEAUXBY HONORE DE BALZACTranslated ByClara Bell              To Henri de Balzac, his brother Honore.THE BALL AT SCEAUXThe Comte de Fontaine, head of one of the oldest families in Poitou, hadserved the Bourbon cause with intelligence and bravery during thewarin La Vendee against the Republic. After having escaped all the dangerswhich threatened the royalist leaders during this stormy period ofmodern history, he was wont to say in jest, "I am one of the men whogavethemselves to be killed on the steps of the throne." And thepleasantry had some truth in it, as spoken by a man left for dead at thebloody battle of Les Quatre Chemins. Though ruined by confiscation, thestaunchVendeen steadily refused the lucrative posts offered to himby the Emperor Napoleon. Immovable in his aristocratic faith, he hadblindly obeyed its precepts when he thought it fitting to choosea companion for life. Inspite of the blandishments of a rich butrevolutionary parvenu, who valued the alliance at a high figure, hemarried Mademoiselle de Kergarouet, without a fortune, but belonging toone of the oldest families inBrittany.When the second revolution burst on Monsieur de Fontaine he wasencumbered with a large family. Though it was no part of the noblegentlemen's views to solicit favors, he yielded to his wife's wish, lefthiscountry estate, of which the income barely sufficed to maintain hischildren, and came to Paris. Saddened by seeing the greediness of hisformer comrades in the rush for places and dignities under the newConstitution,he was about to return to his property when he received aministerial despatch, in which a well-known magnate announced to him hisnomination as marechal de camp, or brigadier-general, under a rulewhich allowed theofficers of the Catholic armies to count the twentysubmerged years of Louis XVIII.'s reign as years of service. Some dayslater he further received, without any solicitation, ex officio, thecrosses of the Legion of Honorand of Saint-Louis.Shaken in his determination by these successive favors, due, as hesupposed, to the monarch's remembrance, he was no longer satisfied withtaking his family, as he had piously done every Sunday, tocry "Vive leRoi" in the hall of the Tuileries when the royal family passed throughon their way to chapel; he craved the favor of a private audience.The audience, at once granted, was in no sense private. Theroyaldrawing-room was full of old adherents, whose powdered heads, seen fromabove, suggested a carpet of snow. There the Count met some old friends,who received him somewhat coldly; but the princes he thoughtADORABLE,an enthusiastic expression which escaped him when the most gracious ofhis masters, to whom the Count had supposed himself to be known onlyby name, came to shake hands with him, and spoke of him asthe mostthorough Vendeen of them all. Notwithstanding this ovation, none ofthese august persons thought of inquiring as to the sum of his losses,or of the money he had poured so generously into the chests oftheCatholic regiments. He discovered, a little late, that he had made warat his own cost. Towards the end of the evening he thought he mightventure on a witty allusion to the state of his affairs, similar, asit was, to thatof many other gentlemen. His Majesty laughed heartilyenough; any speech that bore the hall-mark of wit was certain to pleasehim; but he nevertheless replied with one of those royal pleasantrieswhose sweetness ismore formidable than the anger of a rebuke. One ofthe King's most intimate advisers took an opportunity of going up to thefortune-seeking Vendeen, and made him understand by a keen and politehint that the timehad not yet come for settling accounts with thesovereign; that there were bills of much longer standing than his on thebooks, and there, no doubt, they would remain, as part of the history ofthe Revolution. The Countprudently withdrew from the venerable group,which formed a respectful semi-circle before the august family; then,having extricated his sword, not without some difficulty, from among thelean legs which had got mixedup with it, he crossed the courtyard ofthe Tuileries and got into the hackney cab he had left on the quay. Withthe restive spirit, which is peculiar to the nobility of the old school,in whom still survives the memory of theLeague and the day of theBarricades (in 1588), he bewailed himself in his cab, loudly enoughto compromise him, over the change that had come over the Court."Formerly," he said to himself, "every one could speakfreely to theKing of his own little affairs; the nobles could ask him a favor, or formoney, when it suited them, and nowadays one cannot recover the moneyadvanced for his service without raising a scandal! By Heaven!the crossof Saint-Louis and the rank of brigadier-general will not make good thethree hundred thousand livres I have spent, out and out, on the royalcause. I must speak to the King, face to face, in his own room."Thisscene cooled Monsieur de Fontaine's ardor all the more effectuallybecause his requests for an interview were never answered. And,indeed, he saw the upstarts of the Empire obtaining some of the officesreserved, underthe old monarchy, for the highest families."All is lost!" he exclaimed one morning. "The King has certainly neverbeen other than a revolutionary. But for Monsieur, who never derogates,and is some comfort to his faithfuladherents, I do not know what handsthe crown of France might not fall into if things are to go onlike this. Their cursed constitutional system is the worst possiblegovernment, and can never suit France. Louis XVIII. andMonsieur Beugnotspoiled everything at Saint Ouen."The Count, in despair, was preparing to retire to his estate,abandoning, with dignity, all claims to repayment. At this momentthe events of the 20th March (1815)gave warning of a fresh storm,threatening to overwhelm the legitimate monarch and his defenders.Monsieur de Fontaine, like one of those generous souls who do notdismiss a servant in a torrent of rain; borrowed onhis lands tofollow the routed monarchy, without knowing whether this complicity inemigration would prove more propitious to him than his past devotion.But when he perceived that the companions of the King's exilewerein higher favor than the brave men who had protested, sword in hand,against the establishment of the republic, he may perhaps have hoped toderive greater profit from this journey into a foreign land thanfromactive and dangerous service in the heart of his own country. Nor washis courtier-like calculation one of these rash speculations whichpromise splendid results on paper, and are ruinous in effect. He was--toquotethe wittiest and most successful of our diplomates--one of thefaithful five hundred who shared the exile of the Court at Ghent,and one of the fifty thousand who returned with it. During the shortbanishment of royalty,Monsieur de Fontaine was so happy as to beemployed by Louis XVIII., and found more than one opportunity of givinghim proofs of great political honesty and sincere attachment. Oneevening, when the King hadnothing better to do, he recalled Monsieur deFontaine's witticism at the Tuileries. The old Vendeen did not let sucha happy chance slip; he told his history with so much vivacity thata king, who never forgot anything,might remember it at a convenientseason. The royal amateur of literature also observed the elegant stylegiven to some notes which the discreet gentleman had been invited torecast. This little success stampedMonsieur de Fontaine on the King'smemory as one of the loyal servants of the Crown.At the second restoration the Count was one of those special envoys whowere sent throughout the departments charged withabsolute jurisdictionover the leaders of revolt; but he used his terrible powers withmoderation. As soon as the temporary commission was ended, the HighProvost found a seat in the Privy Council, became a deputy,spokelittle, listened much, and changed his opinions very considerably.Certain circumstances, unknown to historians, brought him into suchintimate relations with the Sovereign, that one day, as he came in, theshrewdmonarch addressed him thus: "My friend Fontaine, I shall takecare never to appoint you to be director-general, or minister. Neitheryou nor I, as employees, could keep our place on account of ouropinions.Representative government has this advantage; it saves Us the trouble Weused to have, of dismissing Our Secretaries of State. Our Council isa perfect inn-parlor, whither public opinion sometimes sendsstrangetravelers; however, We can always find a place for Our faithfuladherents."This ironical speech was introductory to a rescript giving Monsieur deFontaine an appointment as administrator in the office of Crownlands.As a consequence of the intelligent attention with which he listened tohis royal Friend's sarcasms, his name always rose to His Majesty'slips when a commission was to be appointed of which the members weretoreceive a handsome salary. He had the good sense to hold his tongueabout the favor with which he was honored, and knew how to entertain themonarch in those familiar chats in which Louis XVIII. delighted asmuch asin a well-written note, by his brilliant manner ofrepeating political anecdotes, and the political or parliamentarytittle-tattle--if the expression may pass--which at that time was rife.It is well known that he was immenselyamused by every detail of hisGouvernementabilite--a word adopted by his facetious Majesty.Thanks to the Comte de Fontaine's good sense, wit, and tact, everymember of his numerous family, however young, ended,as he jestinglytold his Sovereign, in attaching himself like a silkworm to the leavesof the Pay-List. Thus, by the King's intervention, his eldest sonfound a high and fixed position as a lawyer. The second, beforetherestoration a mere captain, was appointed to the command of a legion onthe return from Ghent; then, thanks to the confusion of 1815, when theregulations were evaded, he passed into the bodyguard, returned toaline regiment, and found himself after the affair of the Trocaderoa lieutenant-general with a commission in the Guards. The youngest,appointed sous-prefet, ere long became a legal official and director ofa municipalboard of the city of Paris, where he was safe from changesin Legislature. These bounties, bestowed without parade, and as secretas the favor enjoyed by the Count, fell unperceived. Though the fatherand his three sonseach had sinecures enough to enjoy an income insalaries almost equal to that of a chief of department, their politicalgood fortune excited no envy. In those early days of the constitutionalsystem, few persons had veryprecise ideas of the peaceful domain of thecivil service, where astute favorites managed to find an equivalent forthe demolished abbeys. Monsieur le Comte de Fontaine, who till latelyboasted that he had not read theCharter, and displayed such indignationat the greed of courtiers, had, before long, proved to his augustmaster that he understood, as well as the King himself, the spiritand resources of the representative system. At thesame time,notwithstanding the established careers open to his three sons, and thepecuniary advantages derived from four official appointments,Monsieur de Fontaine was the head of too large a family to be abletore-establish his fortune easily and rapidly.His three sons were rich in prospects, in favor, and in talent; buthe had three daughters, and was afraid of wearying the monarch'sbenevolence. It occurred to him to mentiononly one by one, thesevirgins eager to light their torches. The King had too much goodtaste to leave his work incomplete. The marriage of the eldest with aReceiver-General, Planat de Baudry, was arranged by one ofthose royalspeeches which cost nothing and are worth millions. One evening, whenthe Sovereign was out of spirits, he smiled on hearing of the existenceof another Demoiselle de Fontaine, for whom he found a husbandin theperson of a young magistrate, of inferior birth, no doubt, but wealthy,and whom he created Baron. When, the year after, the Vendeen spoke ofMademoiselle Emilie de Fontaine, the King replied in his thinsharptones, "Amicus Plato sed magis amica Natio." Then, a few days later, hetreated his "friend Fontaine" to a quatrain, harmless enough, whichhe styled an epigram, in which he made fun of these three daughterssoskilfully introduced, under the form of a trinity. Nay, if report is tobe believed, the monarch had found the point of the jest in the Unity ofthe three Divine Persons."If your Majesty would only condescend to turn theepigram into anepithalamium?" said the Count, trying to turn the sally to good account."Though I see the rhyme of it, I fail to see the reason," retorted theKing, who did not relish any pleasantry, however mild, on thesubject ofhis poetry.From that day his intercourse with Monsieur de Fontaine showed lessamenity. Kings enjoy contradicting more than people think. Like mostyoungest children, Emilie de Fontaine was a Benjamin spoiltby almosteverybody. The King's coolness, therefore, caused the Count all the moreregret, because no marriage was ever so difficult to arrange as that ofthis darling daughter. To understand all the obstacles we mustmake ourway into the fine residence where the official was housed at the expenseof the nation. Emilie had spent her childhood on the family estate,enjoying the abundance which suffices for the joys of early youth;herlightest wishes had been law to her sisters, her brothers, her mother,and even her father. All her relations doted on her. Having come toyears of discretion just when her family was loaded with the favors offortune,the enchantment of life continued. The luxury of Paris seemedto her just as natural as a wealth of flowers or fruit, or as therural plenty which had been the joy of her first years. Just as in herchildhood she had neverbeen thwarted in the satisfaction of her playfuldesires, so now, at fourteen, she was still obeyed when she rushed intothe whirl of fashion.Thus, accustomed by degrees to the enjoyment of money, elegance ofdress, ofgilded drawing-rooms and fine carriages, became as necessaryto her as the compliments of flattery, sincere or false, and thefestivities and vanities of court life. Like most spoiled children,she tyrannized over those wholoved her, and kept her blandishments forthose who were indifferent. Her faults grew with her growth, and herparents were to gather the bitter fruits of this disastrous education.At the age of nineteen Emilie deFontaine had not yet been pleased tomake a choice from among the many young men whom her father's politicsbrought to his entertainments. Though so young, she asserted in societyall the freedom of mind that amarried woman can enjoy. Her beauty wasso remarkable that, for her, to appear in a room was to be its queen;but, like sovereigns, she had no friends, though she was everywhere theobject of attentions to which afiner nature than hers might perhapshave succumbed. Not a man, not even an old man, had it in him tocontradict the opinions of a young girl whose lightest look couldrekindle love in the coldest heart.She had beeneducated with a care which her sisters had not enjoyed;painted pretty well, spoke Italian and English, and played the pianobrilliantly; her voice, trained by the best masters, had a ring in itwhich made her singingirresistibly charming. Clever, and intimate withevery branch of literature, she might have made folks believe that,as Mascarille says, people of quality come into the world knowingeverything. She could argue fluently onItalian or Flemish painting, onthe Middle Ages or the Renaissance; pronounced at haphazard on books newor old, and could expose the defects of a work with a cruelly gracefulwit. The simplest thing she said wasaccepted by an admiring crowd as afetfah of the Sultan by the Turks. She thus dazzled shallow persons; asto deeper minds, her natural tact enabled her to discern them, and forthem she put forth so much fascinationthat, under cover of her charms,she escaped their scrutiny. This enchanting veneer covered a carelessheart; the opinion--common to many young girls--that no one else dweltin a sphere so lofty as to be able tounderstand the merits of hersoul; and a pride based no less on her birth than on her beauty. Inthe absence of the overwhelming sentiment which, sooner or later, workshavoc in a woman's heart, she spent her youngardor in an immoderatelove of distinctions, and expressed the deepest contempt for persons ofinferior birth. Supremely impertinent to all newly-created nobility, shemade every effort to get her parents recognized asequals by the mostillustrious families of the Saint-Germain quarter.These sentiments had not escaped the observing eye of Monsieur deFontaine, who more than once, when his two elder girls were married, hadsmartedunder Emilie's sarcasm. Logical readers will be surprised to seethe old Royalist bestowing his eldest daughter on a Receiver-General,possessed, indeed, of some old hereditary estates, but whose namewas not precededby the little word to which the throne owed so manypartisans, and his second to a magistrate too lately Baronified toobscure the fact that his father had sold firewood. This noteworthychange in the ideas of a noble onthe verge of his sixtieth year--an agewhen men rarely renounce their convictions--was due not merely to hisunfortunate residence in the modern Babylon, where, sooner or later,country folks all get their corners rubbeddown; the Comte de Fontaine'snew political conscience was also a result of the King's advice andfriendship. The philosophical prince had taken pleasure in convertingthe Vendeen to the ideas required by the advance ofthe nineteenthcentury, and the new aspect of the Monarchy. Louis XVIII. aimed atfusing parties as Napoleon had fused things and men. The legitimateKing, who was not less clever perhaps than his rival, acted inacontrary direction. The last head of the House of Bourbon was just aseager to satisfy the third estate and the creations of the Empire, bycurbing the clergy, as the first of the Napoleons had been to attractthe grand oldnobility, or to endow the Church. The Privy Councillor,being in the secret of these royal projects, had insensibly become oneof the most prudent and influential leaders of that moderate party whichmost desired a fusionof opinion in the interests of the nation. Hepreached the expensive doctrines of constitutional government, and lentall his weight to encourage the political see-saw which enabled hismaster to rule France in the midst ofstorms. Perhaps Monsieur deFontaine hoped that one of the sudden gusts of legislation, whoseunexpected efforts then startled the oldest politicians, might carryhim up to the rank of peer. One of his most rigidprinciples was torecognize no nobility in France but that of the peerage--the onlyfamilies that might enjoy any privileges."A nobility bereft of privileges," he would say, "is a tool without ahandle."As far from Lafayette'sparty as he was from La Bourdonnaye's, heardently engaged in the task of general reconciliation, which was toresult in a new era and splendid fortunes for France. He strove toconvince the families who frequented hisdrawing-room, or those whomhe visited, how few favorable openings would henceforth be offered by acivil or military career. He urged mothers to give their boys a start inindependent and industrial professions,explaining that military postsand high Government appointments must at last pertain, in a quiteconstitutional order, to the younger sons of members of the peerage.According to him, the people had conquered asufficiently large sharein practical government by its elective assembly, its appointments tolaw-offices, and those of the exchequer, which, said he, would always,as heretofore, be the natural right of the distinguishedmen of thethird estate.These new notions of the head of the Fontaines, and the prudent matchesfor his eldest girls to which they had led, met with strong resistancein the bosom of his family. The Comtesse de Fontaineremained faithfulto the ancient beliefs which no woman could disown, who, through hermother, belonged to the Rohans. Although she had for a while opposedthe happiness and fortune awaiting her two eldest girls, sheyieldedto those private considerations which husband and wife confide to eachother when their heads are resting on the same pillow. Monsieur deFontaine calmly pointed out to his wife, by exact arithmetic that


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Cicero's Brutus or History of FamousOrators; also His Orator, or Accomplished Speaker., by CiceroThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost norestrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.netTitle: Cicero's Brutus or History of FamousOrators; also His Orator, or Accomplished Speaker.Author: CiceroPosting Date: November 15, 2011 [EBook #9776]Release Date: January, 2006First Posted: October 15, 2003Language: English*** START OF THISPROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CICERO'S BRUTUS ***Produced by Anne Soulard, Ted Garvin, and the ProjectGutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading TeamCICERO'S BRUTUS,ORHISTORY OF FAMOUSORATORS:ALSO,HIS ORATOR,ORACCOMPLISHED SPEAKER.Now first translated into English by E. JonesPREFACE.As the following Rhetorical Pieces have never appeared before in theEnglish language, I thought aTranslation of them would be no unacceptableoffering to the Public. The character of the Author (Marcus TulliusCicero) is so universally celebrated, that it would be needless, andindeed impertinent, to say any thing torecommend them.The first of them was the fruit of his retirement, during the remains ofthe _Civil War_ in Africa; and was composed in the form of a Dialogue. Itcontains a few short, but very masterly sketches of allthe Speakerswho had flourished either in Greece or Rome, with any reputation ofEloquence, down to his own time; and as he generally touches the principalincidents of their lives, it will be considered, by an attentivereader,as a _concealed epitome of the Roman history_. The conference is supposedto have been held with Atticus, and their common friend Brutus, inCicero's garden at Rome, under the statue of Plato, whom healwaysadmired, and usually imitated in his dialogues: and he seems in this tohave copied even his _double titles_, calling it _Brutus, or the Historyof famous Orators_. It was intended as a _supplement_, or _fourthbook_,to three former ones, on the qualifications of an Orator.The second, which is intitled _The Orator_, was composed a very short timeafterwards (both of them in the 61st year of his age) and at the requestofBrutus. It contains a plan, or critical delineation, of what he himselfesteemed the most finished Eloquence, or style of Speaking. He calls it_The Fifth Part, or Book_, designed to complete his _Brutus_, and _theformerthree_ on the same subject. It was received with great approbation;and in a letter to Lepta, who had complimented him upon it, he declares,that whatever judgment he had in Speaking, he had thrown it all intothatwork, and was content to risk his reputation on the merit of it. But it isparticularly recommended to our curiosity, by a more exact account of therhetorical _composition_, or _prosaic harmony_ of the ancients, thanis tobe met with in any other part of his works.As to the present Translation, I must leave the merit of it to be decidedby the Public; and have only to observe, that though I have not, to myknowledge, omitted a singlesentence of the original, I was obliged, insome places, to paraphrase my author, to render his meaning intelligibleto a modern reader. My chief aim was to be clear and perspicuous: if Ihave succeeded in _that_, it is allI pretend to. I must leave it to ablerpens to copy the _Eloquence_ of Cicero. _Mine_ is unequal to the task.BRUTUS, OR THE HISTORY OF ELOQUENCE.When I had left Cilicia, and arrived at Rhodes, word was broughtme of thedeath of Hortensius. I was more affected with it than, I believe, wasgenerally expected. For, by the loss of my friend, I saw myself for everdeprived of the pleasure of his acquaintance, and of ourmutualintercourse of good offices. I likewise reflected, with Concern, that thedignity of our College must suffer greatly by the decease of such aneminent augur. This reminded me, that _he_ was the person whofirstintroduced me to the College, where he attested my qualification uponoath; and that it was _he_ also who installed me as a member; so that Iwas bound by the constitution of the Order to respect and honour himas aparent. My affliction was increased, that, in such a deplorable dearth ofwife and virtuous citizens, this excellent man, my faithful associate inthe service of the Public, expired at the very time when theCommonwealthcould least spare him, and when we had the greatest reason to regret thewant of his prudence and authority. I can add, very sincerely, that in_him_ I lamented the loss, not (as most people imagined) ofa dangerousrival and competitor, but of a generous partner and companion in thepursuit of same. For if we have instances in history, though in studies ofless public consequence, that some of the poets have beengreatlyafflicted at the death of their contemporary bards; with what tenderconcern should I honour the memory of a man, with whom it is more gloriousto have disputed the prize of eloquence, than never to have metwith anantagonist! especially, as he was always so far from obstructing _my_endeavours, or I _his_, that, on the contrary, we mutually assisted eachother, with our credit and advice.But as _he_, who had a perpetualrun of felicity, left the world at ahappy moment for himself, though a most unfortunate one for his fellow-citizens; and died when it would have been much easier for him to lamentthe miseries of his country, than toassist it, after living in it as longas he _could_ have lived with honour and reputation;--we may, indeed,deplore his death as a heavy loss to _us_ who survive him. If, however, weconsider it merely as a personal event,we ought rather to congratulatehis fate, than to pity it; that, as often as we revive the memory of thisillustrious and truly happy man, we may appear at least to have as muchaffection for him as for ourselves. For if weonly lament that we are nolonger permitted to enjoy him, it must, indeed, be acknowledged that thisis a heavy misfortune to _us_; which it, however, becomes us to supportwith moderation, less our sorrow should besuspected to arise from motivesof interest, and not from friendship. But if we afflict ourselves, on thesupposition that _he_ was the sufferer;--we misconstrue an event, which to_him_ was certainly a very happy one.IfHortensius was now living, he would probably regret many otheradvantages in common with his worthy fellow-citizens. But when he beheldthe Forum, the great theatre in which he used to exercise his genius, nolongeraccessible to that accomplished eloquence, which could charm theears of a Roman, or a Grecian audience; he must have felt a pang of whichnone, or at least but few, besides himself, could be susceptible. Even _I_amunable to restrain my tears, when I behold my country no longerdefensible by the genius, the prudence, and the authority of a legalmagistrate,--the only weapons which I have learned to weild, and to whichI have longbeen accustomed, and which are most suitable to the characterof an illustrious citizen, and of a virtuous and well-regulated state.But if there ever was a time, when the authority and eloquence of anhonest individualcould have wrested their arms from the hands of hisdistracted fellow-citizens; it was then when the proposal of a compromiseof our mutual differences was rejected, by the hasty imprudence of some,and the timorousmistrust of others. Thus it happened, among othermisfortunes of a more deplorable nature, that when my declining age, aftera life spent in the service of the Public, should have reposed in thepeaceful harbour, not ofan indolent, and a total inactivity, but of amoderate and becoming retirement; and when my eloquence was properlymellowed, and had acquired its full maturity;--thus it happened, I say,that recourse was then had tothose fatal arms, which the persons who hadlearned the use of them in honourable conquest, could no longer employ toany salutary purpose. Those, therefore, appear to me to have enjoyed afortunate and a happy life,(of whatever State they were members, butespecially in _our's_) who held their authority and reputation, either fortheir military or political services, without interruption: and the soleremembrance of them, in ourpresent melancholy situation, was a pleasingrelief to me, when we lately happened to mention them in the course ofconversation.For, not long ago, when I was walking for my amusement, in a privateavenue at home, Iwas agreeably interrupted by my friend Brutus, and T.Pomponius, who came, as indeed they frequently did, to visit me;--twoworthy citizens who were united to each other in the closest friendship,and were so dear andso agreeable to me, that, on the first sight of them,all my anxiety for the Commonwealth subsided. After the usualsalutations,--"Well, gentlemen," said I, "how go the times? What news haveyou brought?" "None,"replied Brutus, "that you would wish to hear, orthat I can venture to tell you for truth."--"No," said Atticus; "we arecome with an intention that all matters of state should be dropped; andrather to hear something fromyou, than to say any thing which might serveto distress you." "Indeed," said I, "your company is a present remedy formy sorrow; and your letters, when absent, were so encouraging, that theyfirst revived my attentionto my studies."--"I remember," repliedAtticus, "that Brutus sent you a letter from Asia, which I read withinfinite pleasure: for he advised you in it like a man of sense, and gaveyou every consolation which the warmestfriendship could suggest."--"True," said I, "for it was the receipt of that letter which recovered mefrom a growing indisposition, to behold once more the cheerful face ofday; and as the Roman State, after the dreadfuldefeat near Cannae, firstraised its drooping head by the victory of Marcellus at Nola, which wassucceeded by many other victories; so, after the dismal wreck of ouraffairs, both public and private, nothing occurred tome before the letterof my friend Brutus, which I thought to be worth my attention, or whichcontributed, in any degree, to the anxiety of my heart."--"That wascertainly my intention," answered Brutus; "and if I had thehappiness tosucceed, I was sufficiently rewarded for my trouble. But I could wish tobe informed, what you received from Atticus which gave you such uncommonpleasure."--"That," said I, "which not only entertainedme; but, I hope,has restored me entirely to myself."--"Indeed!" replied he; "and whatmiraculous composition could that be?"--"Nothing," answered I; "could havebeen a more acceptable, or a more seasonable present,than that excellentTreatise of his which roused me from a state of languor and despondency."--"You mean," said he, "his short, and, I think, very accurate abridgmentof Universal History."--"The very same," said I; "forthat little Treatisehas absolutely saved me."--"I am heartily glad of it," said Atticus; "butwhat could you discover in it which was either new to you, or sowonderfully beneficial as you pretend?"--"It certainly furnishedmanyhints," said I, "which were entirely new to me: and the exact order oftime which you observed through the whole, gave me the opportunity I hadlong wished for, of beholding the history of all nations in oneregularand comprehensive view. The attentive perusal of it proved an excellentremedy for my sorrows, and led me to think of attempting something on yourown plan, partly to amuse myself, and partly to return yourfavour, by agrateful, though not an equal acknowledgment. We are commanded, it istrue, in that precept of Hesiod, so much admired by the learned, to returnwith the same measure we have received; or, if possible,with a larger. Asto a friendly inclination, I shall certainly return you a full proportionof it; but as to a recompence in kind, I confess it to be out of my power,and therefore hope you will excuse me: for I have nofirst-fruits (like aprosperous husbandman) to acknowledge the obligation I have received; mywhole harvest having sickened and died, for want of the usual manure: andas little am I able to present you with any thingfrom those hidden storeswhich are now consigned to perpetual darkness, and to which I am deniedall access; though, formerly, I was almost the only person who was able tocommand them at pleasure. I musttherefore, try my skill in a long-neglected and uncultivated soil; which I will endeavour to improve with somuch care, that I may be able to repay your liberality with interest;provided my genius should be so happy as toresemble a fertile field,which, after being suffered to lie fallow a considerable time, produces aheavier crop than usual."--"Very well," replied Atticus, "I shall expectthe fulfilment of your promise; but I shall not insistupon it till itsuits your convenience; though, after all, I shall certainly be betterpleased if you discharge the obligation."--"And I also," said Brutus,"shall expect that you perform your promise to my friend Atticus:nay,though I am only his voluntary solicitor, I shall, perhaps, be verypressing for the discharge of a debt, which the creditor himself iswilling to submit to your own choice."--"But I shall refuse to pay you,"said I, "unlessthe original creditor takes no farther part in the suit."--"This is more than I can promise," replied he, "for I can easilyforesee, that this easy man, who disclaims all severity, will urge hisdemand upon you, not indeed todistress you, but yet very closely andseriously."--"To speak ingenuously," said Atticus, "my friend Brutus, Ibelieve, is not much mistaken: for as I now find you in good spirits, forthe first time, after a tedious interval ofdespondency, I shall soon makebold to apply to you; and as this gentleman has promised his assistance,to recover what you owe me, the least I can do is to solicit, in my turn,for what is due to him.""Explain yourmeaning," said I.--"I mean," replied he, "that you mustwrite something to amuse us; for your pen has been totally silent thislong time; and since your Treatise on Politics, we have had nothing fromyou of any kind;though it was the perusal of that which fired me with theambition to write an Abridgment of Universal History. But we shall,however, leave you to answer this demand, when, and in what manner youshall think mostconvenient. At present, if you are not otherwise engaged,you must give us your sentiments on a subject on which we both desire tobe better informed."--"And what is that?" said I.--"What you gave me ahasty sketchof," replied he, "when I saw you last at Tusculanum,--theHistory of Famous Orators;--_when_ they made their appearance, and _who_and _what_ they were; which, furnished such an agreeable train ofconversation,that when I related the substance of it to _your_, or Iought rather to have said our _common_ friend, Brutus, he expressed aviolent desire to hear the whole of it from your own mouth. Knowing you,therefore, to be atleisure, we have taken the present opportunity to waitupon you; so that, if it is really convenient, you will oblige us both byresuming the subject."--"Well, gentlemen," said I, "as you are sopressing, I will endeavour tosatisfy you in the best manner I am able."--"You are _able_ enough," replied he; "only unbend yourself a little, or,if you can set your mind at full liberty."--"If I remember right," said I,"Atticus, what gave rise to theconversation, was my observing, that thecause of Deiotarus, a most excellent Sovereign, and a faithful ally, waspleaded by our friend Brutus, in my hearing, with the greatest eleganceand dignity."--"True," replied he,"and you took occasion from the illsuccess of Brutus, to lament the loss of a fair administration of justicein the Forum."--"I did so," answered I, "as indeed I frequently do: andwhenever I see you, my Brutus, I amconcerned to think where yourwonderful genius, your finished erudition, and unparalleled industry willfind a theatre to display themselves. For after you had thoroughlyimproved your abilities, by pleading a variety ofimportant causes; andwhen my declining vigour was just giving way, and lowering the ensigns ofdignity to your more active talents; the liberty of the State received afatal overthrow, and that Eloquence, of which weare now to give theHistory, was condemned to perpetual silence."--"Our other misfortunes,"replied Brutus, "I lament sincerely; and I think I ought to lament them:--but as to Eloquence, I am not so fond of the influenceand the glory itbestows, as of the study and the practice of it, which nothing can depriveme of, while you are so well disposed to assist me: for no man can be aneloquent speaker, who has not a clear and readyconception. Whoever,therefore, applies himself to the study of Eloquence, is at the same timeimproving his judgment, which is a talent equally necessary in allmilitary operations.""Your remark," said I, "is very just;and I have a higher opinion of themerit of eloquence, because, though there is scarcely any person sodiffident as not to persuade himself, that he either has, or may acquireevery other accomplishment which, formerly,could have given himconsequence in the State; I can find no person who has been made an oratorby the success of his military prowess.--But that we may carry on theconversation with greater ease, let us seatourselves."--As my visitorshad no objection to this, we accordingly took our seats in a private lawn,near a statue of Plato.Then resuming the conversation,--"to recommend the study of eloquence,"said I, "and describeits force, and the great dignity it confers uponthose who have acquired it, is neither our present design, nor has anynecessary connection with it. But I will not hesitate to affirm, thatwhether it is acquired by art orpractice, or the mere powers of nature,it is the most difficult of all attainments; for each of the five branchesof which it is said to consist, is of itself a very important art; fromwhence it may easily be conjectured, howgreat and arduous must be theprofession which unites and comprehends them all."Greece alone is a sufficient witness of this:--for though she was firedwith a wonderful love of Eloquence, and has long since excelledeveryother nation in the practice of it, yet she had all the rest of the artsmuch earlier; and had not only invented, but even compleated them, aconsiderable time before she was mistress of the full powers ofelocution.But when I direct my eyes to Greece, your beloved Athens, my Atticus,first strikes my sight, and is the brightest object in my view: for inthat illustrious city the _orator_ first made his appearance, and itisthere we shall find the earliest records of eloquence, and the firstspecimens of a discourse conducted by rules of art. But even in Athensthere is not a single production now extant which discovers any tasteforornament, or seems to have been the effort of a real orator, before thetime of Pericles (whose name is prefixed to some orations which stillremain) and his cotemporary Thucydides; who flourished,--not in theinfancyof the State, but when it was arrived at its full maturity ofpower."It is, however, supposed, that Pisistratus (who lived many years before)together with Solon, who was something older, and Clisthenes, whosurvivedthem both, were very able speakers for the age they lived in. But someyears after these, as may be collected from the Attic Annals, came theabove-mentioned Themistocles, who is said to have been asmuchdistinguished by his eloquence as by his political abilities;--and afterhim the celebrated Pericles, who, though adorned with every kind ofexcellence, was most admired for his talent of speaking. Cleon also(theircotemporary) though a turbulent citizen, was allowed to be a tolerableorator."These were immediately succeeded by Alcibiades, Critias, and Theramenes,whose manner of speaking may be easily inferred from thewritings ofThucydides, who lived at the same time: their discourses were nervous andstately, full of sententious remarks, and so excessively concise as to besometimes obscure. But as soon as the force of a regular anda well-adjusted speech was understood, a sudden crowd of rhetoricians appeared,--such as Gorgias the Leontine, Thrasymachus the Chalcedonian, Protagorasthe Abderite, and Hippias the Elean, who were all held ingreat esteem,--with many others of the same age, who professed (it must be owned, rathertoo arrogantly) to teach their scholars,--_how the worse might be made, bythe force of eloquence, to appear the bettercause_. But these were openlyopposed by the famous Socrates, who, by an adroit method of arguing whichwas peculiar to himself, took every opportunity to refute the principlesof their art. His instructive conferencesproduced a number of intelligentmen, and _Philosophy_ is said to have derived her birth from him;--not thedoctrine of _Physics_, which was of an earlier date, but that Philosophywhich treats of men, and manners, andof the nature of good and evil. Butas this is foreign to our present subject, we must defer the Philosophersto another opportunity, and return to the Orators, from whom I haveventured to make a sort digression."When


ï»¿Project Gutenberg's Bliss, and Other Stories, by Katherine MansfieldThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use it underthe terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.orgTitle: Bliss, and Other StoriesAuthor: Katherine MansfieldRelease Date: December 8, 2013 [EBook #44385]Language:English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BLISS, AND OTHER STORIES ***Produced by Paul Haxo from page images generously madeavailable by the Internet Archive and the University ofMichiganLibrary.BLISSAND OTHER STORIES". . . _but I tell you, my lord fool, out of this nettle danger, wepluck this flower, safety._"BLISSAND OTHER STORIESBYKATHERINE MANSFIELDLONDON: CONSTABLE& COMPANYLIMITED_Published_ 1920_Reprinted_ 1920_Reprinted_ 1921_Reprinted_ 1921_Reprinted_ 1921_Reprinted_ 1922_Reprinted_ 1922_Reprinted_ 1923_Reprinted_ 1924_Reprinted_ 1925Printed in Great Britain at_TheMayflower Press, Plymouth._ William Brendon & Son, Ltd.TOJOHN MIDDLETON MURRYCONTENTS                                       PAGEPRELUDE  .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .    1JE NE PARLE PAS FRANÃAIS.   .   .   .   71BLISS    .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .  116THE WIND BLOWS   .   .   .   .   .   .  137PSYCHOLOGY   .   .   .   .   .   .   .  145PICTURES     .   .   .   .   .   .   .  157THE MAN WITHOUT A TEMPERAMENT    .   .  172MR.REGINALD PEACOCK'S DAY   .   .   .  194SUN AND MOON     .   .   .   .   .   .  208FEUILLE D'ALBUM  .   .   .   .   .   .  218A DILL PICKLE    .   .   .   .   .   .  228THE LITTLE GOVERNESS.   .   .   .   .  239REVELATIONS  .   .   .   .   .   .   .  262THE ESCAPE   .   .   .   .   .   .   .  272PRELUDE1THERE was not an inch of room for Lottie and Kezia in the buggy. WhenPat swung them on top of the luggage theywobbled; the grandmother'slap was full and Linda Burnell could not possibly have held a lump ofa child on hers for any distance. Isabel, very superior, was perchedbeside the new handy-man on the driver's seat.Hold-alls, bags andboxes were piled upon the floor. "These are absolute necessities thatI will not let out of my sight for one instant," said Linda Burnell,her voice trembling with fatigue and excitement.Lottie and Keziastood on the patch of lawn just inside the gate allready for the fray in their coats with brass anchor buttons and littleround caps with battleship ribbons. Hand in hand, they stared withround solemn eyes first at theabsolute necessities and then at theirmother."We shall simply have to leave them. That is all. We shall simply haveto cast them off," said Linda Burnell. A strange little laugh flewfrom her lips; she leaned back againstthe buttoned leather cushionsand shut her eyes, her lips trembling with laughter. Happily at thatmoment Mrs. Samuel Josephs, who had been watching the scene frombehind her drawing-room blind, waddled down thegarden path."Why nod leave the chudren with be for the afterdoon, Brs. Burnell?They could go on the dray with the storeban when he comes in theeveding. Those thigs on the path have to go, dod't they?""Yes,everything outside the house is supposed to go," said LindaBurnell, and she waved a white hand at the tables and chairs standingon their heads on the front lawn. How absurd they looked! Either theyought to be theother way up, or Lottie and Kezia ought to stand ontheir heads, too. And she longed to say: "Stand on your heads,children, and wait for the store-man." It seemed to her that would beso exquisitely funny that she couldnot attend to Mrs. Samuel Josephs.The fat creaking body leaned across the gate, and the big jelly of aface smiled. "Dod't you worry, Brs. Burnell. Loddie and Kezia can havetea with by chudren in the dursery, and I'llsee theb on the drayafterwards."The grandmother considered. "Yes, it really is quite the best plan. Weare very obliged to you, Mrs. Samuel Josephs. Children, say 'thankyou' to Mrs. Samuel Josephs."Two subduedchirrups: "Thank you, Mrs. Samuel Josephs.""And be good little girls, and--come closer--" they advanced, "don'tforget to tell Mrs. Samuel Josephs when you want to. . . .""No, granma.""Dod't worry, Brs. Burnell."At thelast moment Kezia let go Lottie's hand and darted towards thebuggy."I want to kiss my granma good-bye again."But she was too late. The buggy rolled off up the road, Isabelbursting with pride, her nose turned up atall the world, LindaBurnell prostrated, and the grandmother rummaging among the verycurious oddments she had had put in her black silk reticule at thelast moment, for something to give her daughter. The buggytwinkledaway in the sunlight and fine golden dust up the hill and over. Keziabit her lip, but Lottie, carefully finding her handkerchief first, setup a wail."Mother! Granma!"Mrs. Samuel Josephs, like a huge warm black silktea cosy, envelopedher."It's all right, by dear. Be a brave child. You come and blay in thedursery!"She put her arm round weeping Lottie and led her away. Kezia followed,making a face at Mrs. Samuel Josephs' placket,which was undone asusual, with two long pink corset laces hanging out of it. . . .Lottie's weeping died down as she mounted the stairs, but the sight ofher at the nursery door with swollen eyes and a blob of a nosegavegreat satisfaction to the S. J.'s, who sat on two benches before along table covered with American cloth and set out with immense platesof bread and dripping and two brown jugs that faintly steamed."Hullo! You'vebeen crying!""Ooh! Your eyes have gone right in.""Doesn't her nose look funny.""You're all red-and-patchy."Lottie was quite a success. She felt it and swelled, smiling timidly."Go and sit by Zaidee, ducky," said Mrs.Samuel Josephs, "and Kezia,you sid ad the end by Boses."Moses grinned and gave her a nip as she sat down; but she pretendednot to notice. She did hate boys."Which will you have?" asked Stanley, leaning across thetable verypolitely, and smiling at her. "Which will you have to beginwith--strawberries and cream or bread and dripping?""Strawberries and cream, please," said she."Ah-h-h-h." How they all laughed and beat the tablewith theirteaspoons. Wasn't that a take in! Wasn't it now! Didn't he fox her!Good old Stan!"Ma! She thought it was real."Even Mrs. Samuel Josephs, pouring out the milk and water, could nothelp smiling. "You bustn'ttease theb on their last day," she wheezed.But Kezia bit a big piece out of her bread and dripping, and thenstood the piece up on her plate. With the bite out it made a dearlittle sort of a gate. Pooh! She didn't care! Atear rolled down hercheek, but she wasn't crying. She couldn't have cried in front ofthose awful Samuel Josephs. She sat with her head bent, and as thetear dripped slowly down, she caught it with a neat little whiskofher tongue and ate it before any of them had seen.2After tea Kezia wandered back to their own house. Slowly she walked upthe back steps, and through the scullery into the kitchen. Nothing wasleft in it but a lump ofgritty yellow soap in one corner of thekitchen window sill and a piece of flannel stained with a blue bag inanother. The fireplace was choked up with rubbish. She poked among itbut found nothing except a hair-tidy witha heart painted on it thathad belonged to the servant girl. Even that she left lying, and shetrailed through the narrow passage into the drawing-room. The Venetianblind was pulled down but not drawn close. Long pencilrays ofsunlight shone through and the wavy shadow of a bush outside danced onthe gold lines. Now it was still, now it began to flutter again, andnow it came almost as far as her feet. Zoom! Zoom! ablue-bottleknocked against the ceiling; the carpet-tacks had little bits of redfluff sticking to them.The dining-room window had a square of coloured glass at each corner.One was blue and one was yellow. Kezia bentdown to have one more lookat a blue lawn with blue arum lilies growing at the gate, and then ata yellow lawn with yellow lilies and a yellow fence. As she looked alittle Chinese Lottie came out on to the lawn and beganto dust thetables and chairs with a corner of her pinafore. Was that reallyLottie? Kezia was not quite sure until she had looked through theordinary window.Upstairs in her father's and mother's room she found a pill boxblackand shiny outside and red in, holding a blob of cotton wool."I could keep a bird's egg in that," she decided.In the servant girl's room there was a stay-button stuck in a crack ofthe floor, and in another crack somebeads and a long needle. She knewthere was nothing in her grandmother's room; she had watched her pack.She went over to the window and leaned against it, pressing her handsagainst the pane.Kezia liked to standso before the window. She liked the feeling ofthe cold shining glass against her hot palms, and she liked to watchthe funny white tops that came on her fingers when she pressed themhard against the pane. As shestood there, the day flickered out anddark came. With the dark crept the wind snuffling and howling. Thewindows of the empty house shook, a creaking came from the walls andfloors, a piece of loose iron on the roofbanged forlornly. Kezia wassuddenly quite, quite still, with wide open eyes and knees pressedtogether. She was frightened. She wanted to call Lottie and to go oncalling all the while she ran downstairs and out of thehouse. But ITwas just behind her, waiting at the door, at the head of the stairs,at the bottom of the stairs, hiding in the passage, ready to dart outat the back door. But Lottie was at the back door, too."Kezia!" shecalled cheerfully. "The storeman's here. Everything is onthe dray and three horses, Kezia. Mrs. Samuel Josephs has given us abig shawl to wear round us, and she says to button up your coat. Shewon't come outbecause of asthma."Lottie was very important."Now then, you kids," called the storeman. He hooked his big thumbsunder their arms and up they swung. Lottie arranged the shawl "mostbeautifully" and the storemantucked up their feet in a piece of oldblanket."Lift up. Easy does it."They might have been a couple of young ponies. The storeman felt overthe cords holding his load, unhooked the brakechain from the wheel,andwhistling, he swung up beside them."Keep close to me," said Lottie, "because otherwise you pull the shawlaway from my side, Kezia."But Kezia edged up to the storeman. He towered beside her big as agiant and hesmelled of nuts and new wooden boxes.3It was the first time that Lottie and Kezia had ever been out so late.Everything looked different--the painted wooden houses far smallerthan they did by day, the gardens farbigger and wilder. Bright starsspeckled the sky and the moon hung over the harbour dabbling the waveswith gold. They could see the lighthouse shining on Quarantine Island,and the green lights on the old coalhulks."There comes the Picton boat," said the storeman, pointing to a littlesteamer all hung with bright beads.But when they reached the top of the hill and began to go down theother side the harbour disappeared, andalthough they were still inthe town they were quite lost. Other carts rattled past. Everybodyknew the storeman."Night, Fred.""Night O," he shouted.Kezia liked very much to hear him. Whenever a cart appeared inthedistance she looked up and waited for his voice. He was an old friend;and she and her grandmother had often been to his place to buy grapes.The storeman lived alone in a cottage that had a glasshouse againstonewall built by himself. All the glasshouse was spanned and archedover with one beautiful vine. He took her brown basket from her, linedit with three large leaves, and then he felt in his belt for a littlehorn knife, reachedup and snapped off a big blue cluster and laid iton the leaves so tenderly that Kezia held her breath to watch. He wasa very big man. He wore brown velvet trousers, and he had a long brownbeard. But he never wore acollar, not even on Sunday. The back of hisneck was burnt bright red."Where are we now?" Every few minutes one of the children asked himthe question."Why, this is Hawk Street, or Charlotte Crescent.""Of course itis," Lottie pricked up her ears at the last name; shealways felt that Charlotte Crescent belonged specially to her. Veryfew people had streets with the same name as theirs."Look, Kezia, there is Charlotte Crescent.Doesn't it look different?"Now everything familiar was left behind. Now the big dray rattled intounknown country, along new roads with high clay banks on either side,up steep, steep hills, down into bushy valleys,through wide shallowrivers. Further and further. Lottie's head wagged; she drooped, sheslipped half into Kezia's lap and lay there. But Kezia could not openher eyes wide enough. The wind blew and she shivered; buther cheeksand ears burned."Do stars ever blow about?" she asked."Not to notice," said the storeman."We've got a nuncle and a naunt living near our new house," saidKezia. "They have got two children, Pip, the eldestis called, and theyoungest's name is Rags. He's got a ram. He has to feed it with anenamuel teapot and a glove top over the spout. He's going to show us.What is the difference between a ram and a sheep?""Well, a ramhas horns and runs for you."Kezia considered. "I don't want to see it frightfully," she said. "Ihate rushing animals like dogs and parrots. I often dream that animalsrush at me--even camels--and while they are rushing,their heads swelle-enormous."The storeman said nothing. Kezia peered up at him, screwing up hereyes. Then she put her finger out and stroked his sleeve; it felthairy. "Are we near?" she asked."Not far off, now,"answered the storeman. "Getting tired?""Well, I'm not an atom bit sleepy," said Kezia. "But my eyes keepcurling up in such a funny sort of way." She gave a long sigh, and tostop her eyes from curling she shut them. . .. When she opened themagain they were clanking through a drive that cut through the gardenlike a whip lash, looping suddenly an island of green, and behind theisland, but out of sight until you came upon it, was thehouse. It waslong and low built, with a pillared verandah and balcony all the wayround. The soft white bulk of it lay stretched upon the green gardenlike a sleeping beast. And now one and now another of thewindowsleaped into light. Someone was walking through the empty roomscarrying a lamp. From a window downstairs the light of a fireflickered. A strange beautiful excitement seemed to stream from thehouse inquivering ripples."Where are we?" said Lottie, sitting up. Her reefer cap was all on oneside and on her cheek there was the print of an anchor button she hadpressed against while sleeping. Tenderly the storeman liftedher, sether cap straight, and pulled down her crumpled clothes. She stoodblinking on the lowest verandah step watching Kezia who seemed to comeflying through the air to her feet."Ooh!" cried Kezia, flinging up herarms. The grandmother came out ofthe dark hall carrying a little lamp. She was smiling."You found your way in the dark?" said she."Perfectly well."But Lottie staggered on the lowest verandah step like a bird fallenoutof the nest. If she stood still for a moment she fell asleep, ifshe leaned against anything her eyes closed. She could not walkanother step."Kezia," said the grandmother, "can I trust you to carry the lamp?""Yes, mygranma."The old woman bent down and gave the bright breathing thing into herhands and then she caught up drunken Lottie. "This way."Through a square hall filled with bales and hundreds of parrots (butthe parrotswere only on the wall-paper) down a narrow passage wherethe parrots persisted in flying past Kezia with her lamp."Be very quiet," warned the grandmother, putting down Lottie andopening the dining-room door. "Poorlittle mother has got such aheadache."Linda Burnell, in a long cane chair, with her feet on a hassock, and aplaid over her knees, lay before a crackling fire. Burnell and Berylsat at the table in the middle of the roomeating a dish of friedchops and drinking tea out of a brown china teapot. Over the back ofher mother's chair leaned Isabel. She had a comb in her fingers and ina gentle absorbed fashion she was combing the curls fromher mother'sforehead. Outside the pool of lamp and firelight the room stretcheddark and bare to the hollow windows."Are those the children?" But Linda did not really care; she did noteven open her eyes to see."Putdown the lamp, Kezia," said Aunt Beryl, "or we shall have thehouse on fire before we are out of the packing cases. More tea,Stanley?""Well, you might just give me five-eighths of a cup," said Burnell,leaning across thetable. "Have another chop, Beryl. Tip-top meat,isn't it? Not too lean and not too fat." He turned to his wife."You're sure you won't change your mind, Linda darling?""The very thought of it is enough." She raised oneeyebrow in the wayshe had. The grandmother brought the children bread and milk and theysat up to table, flushed and sleepy behind the wavy steam."I had meat for my supper," said Isabel, still combing gently."I hada whole chop for my supper, the bone and all and Worcestersauce. Didn't I, father?""Oh, don't boast, Isabel," said Aunt Beryl.Isabel looked astounded. "I wasn't boasting, was I, Mummy? I neverthought of boasting. Ithought they would like to know. I only meantto tell them.""Very well. That's enough," said Burnell. He pushed back his plate,took a tooth-pick out of his pocket and began picking his strong whiteteeth."You might seethat Fred has a bite of something in the kitchen beforehe goes, will you, mother?""Yes, Stanley." The old woman turned to go."Oh, hold on half a jiffy. I suppose nobody knows where my slipperswere put? I suppose Ishall not be able to get at them for a month ortwo--what?""Yes," came from Linda. "In the top of the canvas hold-all marked'urgent necessities.'""Well you might get them for me will you, mother?""Yes, Stanley."Burnellgot up, stretched himself, and going over to the fire heturned his back to it and lifted up his coat tails."By Jove, this is a pretty pickle. Eh, Beryl?"Beryl, sipping tea, her elbows on the table, smiled over the cup athim.She wore an unfamiliar pink pinafore; the sleeves of her blousewere rolled up to her shoulders showing her lovely freckled arms, andshe had let her hair fall down her back in a long pig-tail."How long do you think it willtake to get straight--couple ofweeks--eh?" he chaffed."Good heavens, no," said Beryl airily. "The worst is over already. Theservant girl and I have simply slaved all day, and ever since mothercame she has worked like ahorse, too. We have never sat down for amoment. We have had a day."Stanley scented a rebuke."Well, I suppose you did not expect me to rush away from the officeand nail carpets--did you?""Certainly not," laughedBeryl. She put down her cup and ran out ofthe dining-room."What the hell does she expect us to do?" asked Stanley. "Sit down andfan herself with a palm leaf fan while I have a gang of professionalsto do the job? ByJove, if she can't do a hand's turn occasionallywithout shouting about it in return for . . ."And he gloomed as the chops began to fight the tea in his sensitivestomach. But Linda put up a hand and dragged him down tothe side ofher long chair."This is a wretched time for you, old boy," she said. Her cheeks werevery white but she smiled and curled her fingers into the big red handshe held. Burnell became quiet. Suddenly he began towhistle "Pure asa lily, joyous and free"--a good sign."Think you're going to like it?" he asked."I don't want to tell you, but I think I ought to, mother," saidIsabel. "Kezia is drinking tea out of Aunt Beryl's cup."4They weretaken off to bed by the grandmother. She went first with acandle; the stairs rang to their climbing feet. Isabel and Lottie layin a room to themselves, Kezia curled in her grandmother's soft bed."Aren't there going to beany sheets, my granma?""No, not to-night.""It's tickly," said Kezia, "but it's like Indians." She dragged hergrandmother down to her and kissed her under the chin. "Come to bedsoon and be my Indian brave.""What asilly you are," said the old woman, tucking her in as sheloved to be tucked."Aren't you going to leave me a candle?""No. Sh--h. Go to sleep.""Well, can I have the door left open?"She rolled herself up into a round butshe did not go to sleep. Fromall over the house came the sound of steps. The house itself creakedand popped. Loud whispering voices came from downstairs. Once sheheard Aunt Beryl's rush of high laughter, and onceshe heard a loudtrumpeting from Burnell blowing his nose. Outside the window hundredsof black cats with yellow eyes sat in the sky watching her--but shewas not frightened. Lottie was saying to Isabel:"I'm going tosay my prayers in bed to-night.""No you can't, Lottie." Isabel was very firm. "God only excuses yousaying your prayers in bed if you've got a temperature." So Lottieyielded:  Gentle Jesus meek anmile,  Look pon a littlechile.  Pity me, simple Lizzie  Suffer me to come to thee.And then they lay down back to back, their little behinds justtouching, and fell asleep.Standing in a pool of moonlight Beryl Fairfield undressed herself. Shewas