edwindvinas/testdataset · Datasets at Hugging Face

text stringlengths 0 72

“Oh, were you sure?” Valancy’s dull eyes flamed with indignation.

“Yes. He admitted it when I asked him. Said a good idea was worth more
to him than a friend, any time. And he added a gratuitous thrust. ‘You
know, Redfern, there are some things money won’t buy. For instance—it
won’t buy you a grandfather.’ Well, it was a nasty slam. I was young
enough to feel cut up. And it destroyed a lot of my ideals and
illusions, which was the worst thing about it. I was a young
misanthrope after that. Didn’t want to be friends with any one. And
then—the year after I left college—I met Ethel Traverse.”

Valancy shivered. Barney, his hands stuck in his pockets, was regarding
the floor moodily and didn’t notice it.

“Dad told you about her, I suppose. She was very beautiful. And I loved
her. Oh, yes, I loved her. I won’t deny it or belittle it now. It was a
lonely, romantic boy’s first passionate love, and it was very real. And
I thought she loved me. I was fool enough to think that. I was wildly
happy when she promised to marry me. For a few months. Then—I found out
she didn’t. I was an involuntary eavesdropper on a certain occasion for
a moment. That moment was enough. The proverbial fate of the
eavesdropper overtook me. A girl friend of hers was asking her how she
could stomach Doc. Redfern’s son and the patent-medicine background.

“‘His money will gild the Pills and sweeten the Bitters,’ said Ethel,
with a laugh. ‘Mother told me to catch him if I could. We’re on the
rocks. But pah! I smell turpentine whenever he comes near me.’”

“Oh, Barney!” cried Valancy, wrung with pity for him. She had forgotten
all about herself and was filled with compassion for Barney and rage
against Ethel Traverse. How dared she?

“Well,”—Barney got up and began pacing round the room—“that finished
me. Completely. I left civilisation and those accursed dopes behind me
and went to the Yukon. For five years I knocked about the world—in all
sorts of outlandish places. I earned enough to live on—I wouldn’t touch
a cent of Dad’s money. Then one day I woke up to the fact that I no
longer cared a hang about Ethel, one way or another. She was somebody
I’d known in another world—that was all. But I had no hankering to go
back to the old life. None of that for me. I was free and I meant to
keep so. I came to Mistawis—saw Tom MacMurray’s island. My first book
had been published the year before, and made a hit—I had a bit of money
from my royalties. I bought my island. But I kept away from people. I
had no faith in anybody. I didn’t believe there was such a thing as
real friendship or true love in the world—not for me, anyhow—the son of
Purple Pills. I used to revel in all the wild yarns they told of me. In
fact, I’m afraid I suggested a few of them myself. By mysterious
remarks which people interpreted in the light of their own
prepossessions.

“Then—you came. I _had_ to believe you loved me—really loved _me_—not
my father’s millions. There was no other reason why you should want to
marry a penniless devil with my supposed record. And I was sorry for
you. Oh, yes, I don’t deny I married you because I was sorry for you.
And then—I found you the best and jolliest and dearest little pal and
chum a fellow ever had. Witty—loyal—sweet. You made me believe again in
the reality of friendship and love. The world seemed good again just
because you were in it, honey. I’d have been willing to go on forever
just as we were. I knew that, the night I came home and saw my
homelight shining out from the island for the first time. And knew you
were there waiting for me. After being homeless all my life it was
beautiful to have a home. To come home hungry at night and know there
was a good supper and a cheery fire—and _you_.

“But I didn’t realise what you actually meant to me till that moment at
the switch. Then it came like a lightning flash. I knew I couldn’t live
without you—that if I couldn’t pull you loose in time I’d have to die
with you. I admit it bowled me over—knocked me silly. I couldn’t get my
bearings for a while. That’s why I acted like a mule. But the thought
that drove me to the tall timber was the awful one that you were going
to die. I’d always hated the thought of it—but I supposed there wasn’t
any chance for you, so I put it out of my mind. Now I had to face
it—you were under sentence of death and I couldn’t live without you.
When I came home last night I had made up my mind that I’d take you to
all the specialists in the world—that something surely could be done
for you. I felt sure you couldn’t be as bad as Dr. Trent thought, when
those moments on the track hadn’t even hurt you. And I found your
note—and went mad with happiness—and a little terror for fear you
didn’t care much for me, after all, and had gone away to get rid of me.
But now, it’s all right, isn’t it, darling?”

Was she, Valancy being called “darling”?

“I _can’t_ believe you care for me,” she said helplessly. “I _know_ you
can’t. What’s the use, Barney? Of course, you’re sorry for me—of course
you want to do the best you can to straighten out the mess. But it
can’t be straightened out that way. You couldn’t love me—me.” She stood
up and pointed tragically to the mirror over the mantel. Certainly, not
even Allan Tierney could have seen beauty in the woeful, haggard little
face reflected there.

Barney didn’t look at the mirror. He looked at Valancy as if he would
like to snatch her—or beat her.

“Love you! Girl, you’re in the very core of my heart. I hold you there
like a jewel. Didn’t I promise you I’d never tell you a lie? Love you!
I love you with all there is of me to love. Heart, soul, brain. Every
fibre of body and spirit thrilling to the sweetness of you. There’s
nobody in the world for me but you, Valancy.”

“Oh, were you sure?” Valancy’s dull eyes flamed with indignation.

“Yes. He admitted it when I asked him. Said a good idea was worth more

to him than a friend, any time. And he added a gratuitous thrust. ‘You

know, Redfern, there are some things money won’t buy. For instance—it

won’t buy you a grandfather.’ Well, it was a nasty slam. I was young

enough to feel cut up. And it destroyed a lot of my ideals and

illusions, which was the worst thing about it. I was a young

misanthrope after that. Didn’t want to be friends with any one. And

then—the year after I left college—I met Ethel Traverse.”

Valancy shivered. Barney, his hands stuck in his pockets, was regarding

the floor moodily and didn’t notice it.

“Dad told you about her, I suppose. She was very beautiful. And I loved

her. Oh, yes, I loved her. I won’t deny it or belittle it now. It was a

lonely, romantic boy’s first passionate love, and it was very real. And

I thought she loved me. I was fool enough to think that. I was wildly

happy when she promised to marry me. For a few months. Then—I found out

she didn’t. I was an involuntary eavesdropper on a certain occasion for

a moment. That moment was enough. The proverbial fate of the

eavesdropper overtook me. A girl friend of hers was asking her how she

could stomach Doc. Redfern’s son and the patent-medicine background.

“‘His money will gild the Pills and sweeten the Bitters,’ said Ethel,

with a laugh. ‘Mother told me to catch him if I could. We’re on the

rocks. But pah! I smell turpentine whenever he comes near me.’”

“Oh, Barney!” cried Valancy, wrung with pity for him. She had forgotten

all about herself and was filled with compassion for Barney and rage

against Ethel Traverse. How dared she?

“Well,”—Barney got up and began pacing round the room—“that finished

me. Completely. I left civilisation and those accursed dopes behind me

and went to the Yukon. For five years I knocked about the world—in all

sorts of outlandish places. I earned enough to live on—I wouldn’t touch

a cent of Dad’s money. Then one day I woke up to the fact that I no

longer cared a hang about Ethel, one way or another. She was somebody

I’d known in another world—that was all. But I had no hankering to go

back to the old life. None of that for me. I was free and I meant to

keep so. I came to Mistawis—saw Tom MacMurray’s island. My first book

had been published the year before, and made a hit—I had a bit of money

from my royalties. I bought my island. But I kept away from people. I

had no faith in anybody. I didn’t believe there was such a thing as

real friendship or true love in the world—not for me, anyhow—the son of

Purple Pills. I used to revel in all the wild yarns they told of me. In

fact, I’m afraid I suggested a few of them myself. By mysterious

remarks which people interpreted in the light of their own

prepossessions.

“Then—you came. I _had_ to believe you loved me—really loved _me_—not

my father’s millions. There was no other reason why you should want to

marry a penniless devil with my supposed record. And I was sorry for

you. Oh, yes, I don’t deny I married you because I was sorry for you.

And then—I found you the best and jolliest and dearest little pal and

chum a fellow ever had. Witty—loyal—sweet. You made me believe again in

the reality of friendship and love. The world seemed good again just

because you were in it, honey. I’d have been willing to go on forever

just as we were. I knew that, the night I came home and saw my

homelight shining out from the island for the first time. And knew you

were there waiting for me. After being homeless all my life it was

beautiful to have a home. To come home hungry at night and know there

was a good supper and a cheery fire—and _you_.

“But I didn’t realise what you actually meant to me till that moment at

the switch. Then it came like a lightning flash. I knew I couldn’t live

without you—that if I couldn’t pull you loose in time I’d have to die

with you. I admit it bowled me over—knocked me silly. I couldn’t get my

bearings for a while. That’s why I acted like a mule. But the thought

that drove me to the tall timber was the awful one that you were going

to die. I’d always hated the thought of it—but I supposed there wasn’t

any chance for you, so I put it out of my mind. Now I had to face

it—you were under sentence of death and I couldn’t live without you.

When I came home last night I had made up my mind that I’d take you to

all the specialists in the world—that something surely could be done

for you. I felt sure you couldn’t be as bad as Dr. Trent thought, when

those moments on the track hadn’t even hurt you. And I found your

note—and went mad with happiness—and a little terror for fear you

didn’t care much for me, after all, and had gone away to get rid of me.

But now, it’s all right, isn’t it, darling?”

Was she, Valancy being called “darling”?

“I _can’t_ believe you care for me,” she said helplessly. “I _know_ you

can’t. What’s the use, Barney? Of course, you’re sorry for me—of course

you want to do the best you can to straighten out the mess. But it

can’t be straightened out that way. You couldn’t love me—me.” She stood

up and pointed tragically to the mirror over the mantel. Certainly, not

even Allan Tierney could have seen beauty in the woeful, haggard little

face reflected there.

Barney didn’t look at the mirror. He looked at Valancy as if he would

like to snatch her—or beat her.

“Love you! Girl, you’re in the very core of my heart. I hold you there

like a jewel. Didn’t I promise you I’d never tell you a lie? Love you!

I love you with all there is of me to love. Heart, soul, brain. Every

fibre of body and spirit thrilling to the sweetness of you. There’s

nobody in the world for me but you, Valancy.”