The Face and the Mask by Robert Barr (100 books to read in a lifetime TXT) 📕

been accustomed to hear only the nice things people say about you. That is the misfortune of many authors."

"It is a misfortune," answered Streeter.

"What a writer needs is somebody to tell him the truth."

"Ah!" said Miss Neville, "that is another thing I am not so sure about. Mrs. Woodford has told you, I suppose, that I have read all your books? Did she add that I detested them?"

Even Streeter was not able to conceal the fact that this remark caused him some surprise. He laughed uneasily, and said:

"On the contrary, Mrs. Woodford led me to believe that you had liked them."

The girl leaned back in her chair, and looked at him with half-closed eyes.

"Of course," she said, "Mrs. Woodford does not know. It is not likely that I would tell her I detested your books while I asked for an introduction to you. She took it for granted that I meant to say pleasant things to you, whereas I had made up my mind to do the exact reverse. No one would be more shocked than Mrs. Woodford--unless, perhaps, it is yourself--if she knew I was going to speak frankly with you."

"I am not shocked," said the young man, seriously; "I recognize that there are many things in my books that are blemishes."

"Of course you don't mean that," said the frank young woman; "because if you did you would not repeat the faults in book after book."

"A man can but do his best," said Streeter, getting annoyed in spite of himself, for no man takes kindly to the candid friend. "A man can but do his best, as Hubert said, whose grandsire drew a longbow at Hastings."

"Yes," returned Miss Neville, "a man can but do his best, although we should remember that the man who said that, said it just before he was defeated. What I feel is that you are not doing your best, and that you will not do your best until some objectionable person like myself has a good serious talk with you."

"Begin the serious talk," said Streeter; "I am ready and eager to listen."

"Did you read the review of your latest book which appeared in the Argus?"

"Did I?" said Streeter, somewhat startled--the thought of the meeting that was so close, which he had forgotten for the moment, flashing over him. "Yes, I did; and I had the pleasure of meeting the person who wrote it this evening."

Miss Neville almost jumped in her chair.

"Oh, I did not intend you to know that!" she said. "Who told you? How did you find out that I wrote reviews for the Argus?"

"You!" cried Streeter, astonished in his turn. "Do you mean to say that you wrote that review?"

Miss Neville sank back in her chair with a sigh.

"There!" she said, "my impetuosity has, as the Americans say, given me away. After all, you did not know I was the writer!"

"I thought Davison was the writer. I had it on the very best authority."

"Poor Davison!" said Miss Neville, laughing, "why, he is one of the best and staunchest friends you have: and so am I, for that matter-- indeed, I am even more your friend than Mr. Davison; for I think you can do good work, while Mr. Davison is foolish enough to believe you are doing it."

At this point in the conversation Streeter looked hurriedly at his watch.

"Ah! I see," said Miss Neville; "this conversation is not to your taste. You are going to plead an appointment--as if anyone could have an appointment at this hour in the morning!"

"Nevertheless," said Streeter, "I have; and I must bid you good-bye. But I assure you that my eyes have been opened, and that I have learned a lesson to-night which I will not soon forget. I hope I may have the pleasure of meeting you again, and continuing this conversation. Perhaps some time I may tell you why I have to leave."

Streeter found his friends waiting for him. He knew it was no use trying to see Davison before the meeting. There was a long drive ahead of them, and it was grey daylight when they reached the ground, where they found the other party waiting.

Each man took his place and the pistol that was handed to him. When the word "Fire!" was given, Streeter dropped his hand to his side. Davison stood with his pistol still pointed, but he did not fire.

"Why don't you shoot, George?" said Davison.

Harmon, at this point, rebuked his principal, and said he must have no communication with the other except through a second.

"Oh!" said Davison, impatiently, "I don't pretend to know the rules of this idiotic game!"

Streeter stepped forward.

"I merely wished to give you the opportunity of firing at me if you cared to do so," he said; "and now I desire to apologize for my action at the cafe. I may say that what I did was done under a misapprehension. Anything that I can do to make reparation I am willing to do."

"Oh, that's all right!" said Davison; "nothing more need be said. I am perfectly satisfied. Let us get back to the city; I find it somewhat chilly out here."

"And yet," said Harmon, with a sigh, "Englishmen have the cheek to talk of the futility of French duels!"



CRANDALL'S CHOICE.

John Crandall sat at his office desk and thought the situation over. Everybody had gone and he was in the office alone. Crandall was rather tired and a little sleepy, so he was inclined to take a gloomy view of things. Not that there was anything wrong with his business; in fact, it was in a first-rate condition so far as it went, but it did not go far enough; that was what John thought as he brooded over his affairs. He was making money, of course, but the trouble was that he was not making it fast enough.

As he thought of these things John gradually and imperceptibly went to sleep, and while he slept he dreamt a dream. It would be quite easy to pretend that the two persons who came to him in the vision, actually entered the office and that he thought them regular customers or something of that sort, while at the end of the story, when everybody was bewildered, the whole matter might be explained by announcing the fact that it was all a dream, but this account being a true and honest one, no such artifice will be used and at the very beginning the admission is made that John was the victim of a vision.

In this dream two very beautiful ladies approached him. One was richly dressed and wore the most dazzling jewelry. The other was clad in plain attire. At first, the dreaming Mr. Crandall thought, or dreamt he thought, that the richly dressed one was the prettier. She was certainly very attractive, but, as she came closer, John imagined that much of her beauty was artificial. He said to himself that she painted artistically perhaps, but at any rate she laid it on rather thick.

About the other there was no question. She was a beauty, and what loveliness she possessed was due to the bounties of Providence and not to the assistance of the chemist. She was the first to speak.

"Mr. Crandall," she said, in the sweetest of voices, "we have come here together so that you may choose between us. Which one will you have?"

"Bless me," said Crandall, so much surprised at the unblushing proposal that he nearly awoke himself, "bless me, don't you know that I am married?"

"Oh, that doesn't matter," answered the fair young lady, with the divinest of smiles.

"Doesn't it?" said Mr. Crandall. "If you had the pleasure of meeting Mrs. Crandall I think you would find that it did--very much indeed."

"But we are not mortals; we are spirits."

"Oh, are you? Well, of course that makes a difference," replied Mr. Crandall much relieved, for he began to fear from the turn the conversation had taken that he was in the presence of two writers of modern novels.

"This lady," continued the first speaker, "is the spirit of wealth. If you choose her you will be a very rich man before you die."

"Oh, ho!" cried Crandall. "Are you sure of that?"

"Quite certain."

"Well, then I won't be long making my choice. I choose her, of course."

"But you don't know who I am. Perhaps when you know, you may wish to reverse your decision."

"I suppose you are the spirit of power or of fame or something of that sort. I am not an ambitious person; money is good enough for me."

"No, I am the spirit of health. Think well before you make your choice. Many have rejected me, and afterwards, have offered all their possessions fruitlessly, hoping to lure me to them."

"Ah," said Mr. Crandall, with some hesitation. "You are a very pleasant young person to have around the house. But why cannot I have both of you? How does that strike you?"

"I am very sorry, but I am not permitted to give you the choice of both."

"Why is that? Many people are allowed to choose both."

"I know that; still we must follow our instructions."

"Well, if that is the case, without wishing to offend you in the least, I think I will stand by my first choice. I choose wealth."

As he said this the other lady advanced toward him and smiled somewhat triumphantly as she held out her hand. Crandall grasped it and the first spirit sighed. Just as the spirit of wealth seemed about to speak, there was a shake at the office door, and Mr. John Crandall saw the spirits fade away. He rubbed his eyes and said to himself: "By George! I have been asleep. What a remarkably vivid dream that was."

As he yawned and stretched his arms above his head, the impatient rattle at the door told him that at least was not a part of the dream.

He arose and unlocked the door.

"Hello, Mr. Bullion," he said, as that solid man came in. "You're late, aren't you."

"Why, for that matter, so are you. You must have been absorbed in your accounts or you would have heard me sooner. I thought I would have to shake the place down."

"Well, you know, the policeman sometimes tries the door and I thought at first it was he. Won't you sit down?"

"Thanks! Don't care if I do. Busy tonight?"

"Just got through."

"Well, how are things going?"

"Oh, slowly as usual. Slowly because we have not facilities enough, but we've got all the work we can do."

"Does it pay you for what work you do?"

"Certainly. I'm not in this business as a philanthropist, you know."

"No. I didn't suppose you were. Now, see here, Crandall, I think you have a good thing of it here and one of the enterprises that if extended would develop into a big business."

"I know it. But what am I to do? I've practically no capital to enlarge the business, and I don't care to mortgage what I have and pay a high rate of interest when, just at the critical moment, we might have a commercial crisis and I would then lose everything."

"Quite right; quite right, and a safe principle.