edwindvinas/testdataset · Datasets at Hugging Face

text stringlengths 0 72
I got brisk. I wanted to locate Bernie. Had a special reason for it. It
was time he gave up his fool hoboing and come to his senses. Drawing
that fifteen told me there was something in the wind. The manager
communicated with the Aynsleys—his wife was an Aynsley—and found out
that Bernard Redfern had bought a pearl necklace there. His address was
given as Box 444, Port Lawrence, Muskoka, Ont. First I thought I’d
write. Then I thought I’d wait till the open season for cars and come
down myself. Ain’t no hand at writing. I’ve motored from Montreal. Got
to Port Lawrence yesterday. Enquired at the post-office. Told me they
knew nothing of any Bernard Snaith Redfern, but there was a Barney
Snaith had a P. O. box there. Lived on an island out here, they said.
So here I am. And where’s Barney?”

Valancy was fingering her necklace. She was wearing fifteen thousand
dollars around her neck. And she had worried lest Barney had paid
fifteen dollars for it and couldn’t afford it. Suddenly she laughed in
Dr. Redfern’s face.

“Excuse me. It’s so—amusing,” said poor Valancy.

“Isn’t it?” said Dr. Redfern, seeing a joke—but not exactly hers. “Now,
you seem like a sensible young woman, and I dare say you’ve lots of
influence over Bernie. Can’t you get him to come back to civilisation
and live like other people? I’ve a house up there. Big as a castle.
Furnished like a palace. I want company in it—Bernie’s wife—Bernie’s
children.”

“Did Ethel Traverse ever marry?” queried Valancy irrelevantly.

“Bless you, yes. Two years after Bernie levanted. But she’s a widow
now. Pretty as ever. To be frank, that was my special reason for
wanting to find Bernie. I thought they’d make it up, maybe. But, of
course, that’s all off now. Doesn’t matter. Bernie’s choice of a wife
is good enough for me. It’s my boy I want. Think he’ll soon be back?”

“I don’t know. But I don’t think he’ll come before night. Quite late,
perhaps. And perhaps not till tomorrow. But I can put you up
comfortably. He’ll certainly be back tomorrow.”

Dr. Redfern shook his head.

“Too damp. I’ll take no chances with rheumatism.”

“Why suffer that ceaseless anguish? Why not try Redfern’s Liniment?”
quoted the imp in the back of Valancy’s mind.

“I must get back to Port Lawrence before rain starts. Henry goes quite
mad when he gets mud on the car. But I’ll come back tomorrow. Meanwhile
you talk Bernie into reason.”

He shook her hand and patted her kindly on the shoulder. He looked as
if he would have kissed her, with a little encouragement, but Valancy
did not give it. Not that she would have minded. He was rather dreadful
and loud—and—and—dreadful. But there was something about him she liked.
She thought dully that she might have liked being his daughter-in-law
if he had not been a millionaire. A score of times over. And Barney was
his son—and heir.

She took him over in the motor boat and watched the lordly purple car
roll away through the woods with Henry at the wheel looking things not
lawful to be uttered. Then she went back to the Blue Castle. What she
had to do must be done quickly. Barney _might_ return at any moment.
And it was certainly going to rain. She was thankful she no longer felt
very bad. When you are bludgeoned on the head repeatedly, you naturally
and mercifully become more or less insensible and stupid.

She stood briefly like a faded flower bitten by frost, by the hearth,
looking down on the white ashes of the last fire that had blazed in the
Blue Castle.

“At any rate,” she thought wearily, “Barney isn’t poor. He will be able
to afford a divorce. Quite nicely.”




CHAPTER XXXIX


She must write a note. The imp in the back of her mind laughed. In
every story she had ever read when a runaway wife decamped from home
she left a note, generally on the pin-cushion. It was not a very
original idea. But one had to leave something intelligible. What was
there to do but write a note? She looked vaguely about her for
something to write with. Ink? There was none. Valancy had never written
anything since she had come to the Blue Castle, save memoranda of
household necessaries for Barney. A pencil sufficed for them, but now
the pencil was not to be found. Valancy absently crossed to the door of
Bluebeard’s Chamber and tried it. She vaguely expected to find it
locked, but it opened unresistingly. She had never tried it before, and
did not know whether Barney habitually kept it locked or not. If he
did, he must have been badly upset to leave it unlocked. She did not
realise that she was doing something he had told her not to do. She was
only looking for something to write with. All her faculties were
concentrated on deciding just what she would say and how she would say
it. There was not the slightest curiosity in her as she went into the
lean-to.

There were no beautiful women hanging by their hair on the walls. It
seemed a very harmless apartment, with a commonplace little sheet-iron

I got brisk. I wanted to locate Bernie. Had a special reason for it. It

was time he gave up his fool hoboing and come to his senses. Drawing

that fifteen told me there was something in the wind. The manager

communicated with the Aynsleys—his wife was an Aynsley—and found out

that Bernard Redfern had bought a pearl necklace there. His address was

given as Box 444, Port Lawrence, Muskoka, Ont. First I thought I’d

write. Then I thought I’d wait till the open season for cars and come

down myself. Ain’t no hand at writing. I’ve motored from Montreal. Got

to Port Lawrence yesterday. Enquired at the post-office. Told me they

knew nothing of any Bernard Snaith Redfern, but there was a Barney

Snaith had a P. O. box there. Lived on an island out here, they said.

So here I am. And where’s Barney?”

Valancy was fingering her necklace. She was wearing fifteen thousand

dollars around her neck. And she had worried lest Barney had paid

fifteen dollars for it and couldn’t afford it. Suddenly she laughed in

Dr. Redfern’s face.

“Excuse me. It’s so—amusing,” said poor Valancy.

“Isn’t it?” said Dr. Redfern, seeing a joke—but not exactly hers. “Now,

you seem like a sensible young woman, and I dare say you’ve lots of

influence over Bernie. Can’t you get him to come back to civilisation

and live like other people? I’ve a house up there. Big as a castle.

Furnished like a palace. I want company in it—Bernie’s wife—Bernie’s

children.”

“Did Ethel Traverse ever marry?” queried Valancy irrelevantly.

“Bless you, yes. Two years after Bernie levanted. But she’s a widow

now. Pretty as ever. To be frank, that was my special reason for

wanting to find Bernie. I thought they’d make it up, maybe. But, of

course, that’s all off now. Doesn’t matter. Bernie’s choice of a wife

is good enough for me. It’s my boy I want. Think he’ll soon be back?”

“I don’t know. But I don’t think he’ll come before night. Quite late,

perhaps. And perhaps not till tomorrow. But I can put you up

comfortably. He’ll certainly be back tomorrow.”

Dr. Redfern shook his head.

“Too damp. I’ll take no chances with rheumatism.”

“Why suffer that ceaseless anguish? Why not try Redfern’s Liniment?”

quoted the imp in the back of Valancy’s mind.

“I must get back to Port Lawrence before rain starts. Henry goes quite

mad when he gets mud on the car. But I’ll come back tomorrow. Meanwhile

you talk Bernie into reason.”

He shook her hand and patted her kindly on the shoulder. He looked as

if he would have kissed her, with a little encouragement, but Valancy

did not give it. Not that she would have minded. He was rather dreadful

and loud—and—and—dreadful. But there was something about him she liked.

She thought dully that she might have liked being his daughter-in-law

if he had not been a millionaire. A score of times over. And Barney was

his son—and heir.

She took him over in the motor boat and watched the lordly purple car

roll away through the woods with Henry at the wheel looking things not

lawful to be uttered. Then she went back to the Blue Castle. What she

had to do must be done quickly. Barney _might_ return at any moment.

And it was certainly going to rain. She was thankful she no longer felt

very bad. When you are bludgeoned on the head repeatedly, you naturally

and mercifully become more or less insensible and stupid.

She stood briefly like a faded flower bitten by frost, by the hearth,

looking down on the white ashes of the last fire that had blazed in the

Blue Castle.

“At any rate,” she thought wearily, “Barney isn’t poor. He will be able

to afford a divorce. Quite nicely.”

CHAPTER XXXIX

She must write a note. The imp in the back of her mind laughed. In

every story she had ever read when a runaway wife decamped from home

she left a note, generally on the pin-cushion. It was not a very

original idea. But one had to leave something intelligible. What was

there to do but write a note? She looked vaguely about her for

something to write with. Ink? There was none. Valancy had never written

anything since she had come to the Blue Castle, save memoranda of

household necessaries for Barney. A pencil sufficed for them, but now

the pencil was not to be found. Valancy absently crossed to the door of

Bluebeard’s Chamber and tried it. She vaguely expected to find it

locked, but it opened unresistingly. She had never tried it before, and

did not know whether Barney habitually kept it locked or not. If he

did, he must have been badly upset to leave it unlocked. She did not

realise that she was doing something he had told her not to do. She was

only looking for something to write with. All her faculties were

concentrated on deciding just what she would say and how she would say

it. There was not the slightest curiosity in her as she went into the

lean-to.

There were no beautiful women hanging by their hair on the walls. It

seemed a very harmless apartment, with a commonplace little sheet-iron