"THE GREATEST NOVEL."
Archie Weil and Daisy Fern were married in June. There was no need of
waiting longer. It was a case of true love sanctified by suffering and
devotion. The bright eyes and ruddy cheeks of the bride testified to her
renewed health and spirits. The news of Hannibal's death--albeit it
brought a tear to her eyes, had removed the only shadow that stretched
across her pathway.
Shirley Roseleaf did not come to the wedding, to which he was the only
invited guest. He wrote that an important mission from his magazine made
it impossible to accept the invitation, but he sent a handsome present
and a letter to Archie, congratulating him in the warmest manner.
For some time Lawrence Gouger had been urging the novelist to hasten the
wonderful story that was to make his fortune and give a new impetus to
the house of Cutt & Slashem. They had consulted together a hundred
times, and the thirty chapters already finished seemed to leave but a
few weeks' steady work to be accomplished. Shortly after the wedding
Gouger went to Roseleaf's rooms, one evening, and begged him to lose no
further time.
"What is there to wait for now?" he asked. "All the dramatic incidents
have occurred. You only need to wind up with a glory of fireworks,
showing virtue triumphant and vice buried under a North Carolina
sycamore. Come, my dear boy, when may I expect to see the work
completed?"
Roseleaf did not answer for some seconds.
"There is a part of this story that you do not comprehend," he said,
finally. "A chapter is yet to be written at which you have not guessed."
"Indeed!" exclaimed the listener.
"Yes," nodded the other. "So far the character that is supposed to
represent myself appears that of a heartless, cold, unfeeling wretch. Do
you think I shall be satisfied to leave it that way?"
The critic stared at the speaker in astonishment.
"I--I do not understand," he replied.
"I thought not," said Roseleaf, soberly. "Well, this story, to be
truthful, must do justice to the one who is supposed to personate its
author. And, in the first place, to avoid all circumlocution, let me
tell you there has never been a moment since I first loved Daisy Fern
that she has not been the dearest thing on this earth to me!"
Mr. Gouger could not reconcile this statement with the events that had
taken place, and his puzzled countenance said as much.
"I acted like a villain, did I not," continued Roseleaf, after a slight
pause, "when the news was brought that she had disappeared? I seemed to
have no faith in her, no confidence in Archie, no trust in that poor old
man, her father. Why? I was so madly, insanely in love that every
possible phantasy got possession of my excited brain. To lose her was to
deprive me of all hope, all ambition, all care for life. So far, I acted
my real self. If what I supposed true had been proven I think there
would have been a murder. Not of Daisy; ah, no! but of the man who had
robbed me of my treasure. Then I went to Midlands with Archie and I saw
her. I heard her speak, and like a lightning flash it came to me. He was
as honorable as a man could be and she cared more for him than for my
unworthy self. She had contrasted us and discovered how much he was my
superior. And I said to myself at that moment, 'I will give her up! If
it costs me my happiness as long as I live I will give her up! No matter
what happens, I will unite these people, who have been so faithful to me
and toward whom I have acted the part of a cur and a coward!'"
The young man was speaking with perfect composure, but with intense
earnestness.
"The first thing to be done," he continued, "was to take myself out of
their way. The next was to unravel the mystery that had made the
trouble. I knew, when my mind had resumed its natural state, that,
whatever had occurred, Daisy was blameless. I knew that something far
out of the common line had caused her to commit the act which had cast a
blight over her reputation. For weeks I could find no clue. Then, one
day, in the street, I saw Hannibal, the negro for whom she had borrowed
my money and who I supposed was still in France. I cannot help the quick
temper I have inherited, and I confess that the sight of that fellow
aroused my suspicions against this girl, only they took a new and more
horrible form.
"I remembered distinctly what a strong hold Hannibal had on the Fern
family. I recalled, with frightful distinctness, the manner in which he
attended Daisy at table, his interest in her health, the $1,000 she had
given him, her quick movement to prevent my striking him when his
answers insulted us both. Perhaps--but I will not dilate on the things
that came to my distorted imagination. It was enough for me to put a
detective on his track. I engaged Hazen, and in three days he came to
tell me that a white woman had passed the night with Hannibal at a house
on Seventh Avenue, the date corresponding with the one on which I was to
have been married!"
Gouger listened spellbound. It seemed to him that the most exciting
chapter of this weird tale was yet to be written.
"If I had lost control of my senses before," pursued Roseleaf, "what do
you suppose happened when this information was brought to me? But then I
found an excuse for my beloved one. I considered her the victim of one
of those forms of hypnotism of which there can no longer be any doubt.
She could not have gone there without the demoniac influence of a
stronger personality. He had charmed her from her home by the exercise
of diabolic arts. My fury was entirely for him. I sought him at once,
only to learn that he had left the city a few days before, leaving
absolutely no trace. I could not give over the hunt, however. If he was
on the earth I must find him and be avenged for the wrong he had done.
It occurred to me that an influence so strong as he had exerted would
not be given up. Wherever the Ferns had gone, he would probably be
found. I discovered the whereabouts of the family, after a great deal of
effort, and went to North Carolina. With the patience of a dog and the
cunning of a fox I laid in wait for weeks, and one night I saw and heard
Daisy Fern and Hannibal in conversation!"
There was no movement on the part of the critic. He sat as still as a
block of stone.
"When they began to speak I could have sworn that my recent guesses were
correct ones. It was at about the hour of midnight, and she had crept
quietly and alone out of her house to meet this African. But the first
dozen sentences that were uttered gave me a new version of the affair.
It was by no mesmeric power, but by a threat of injury to her father
that this fellow held her under bond. I learned that Mr. Fern had done
something--I could not then tell what--which rendered him liable to
imprisonment. I learned, also, beyond question--for they spoke without
restraint, supposing themselves alone--that, whatever the purpose of
Hannibal when Daisy came to his rooms on the day she was to have been
married, it had not been accomplished. She was afraid of him, but only
for her father's sake. And I discovered beside, though not with perfect
clearness, that a promise of secrecy accounted for her refusal to
explain the cause of that absence which had altered the whole course of
our lives.
"I have said I had watched with patience. I determined to continue my
watch till I understood the entire situation. About once a week they met
in the way I have described, and as the next date was always arranged in
my hearing there was no difficulty in my keeping the appointment. In the
meantime I learned that Hannibal was born in the vicinity, that he was
living a hermit life, and that nobody knew of the surreptitious visits
he was paying to Oakhurst. Then one day I heard that Archie was at the
hotel, and thinking it time that I let him into the secret I went there,
pretending I had just arrived from the north, when in reality I had been
boarding for months five miles away. The rest you know. I was enabled to
prove to him as well as to myself what had actually happened. Since
then justice has been done to us all."
Mr. Gouger had to speak at last.
"To _you_?" he asked. "Do you admit that all this is just to you?"
"Without doubt," said Roseleaf. "I forfeited every right to the woman I
had insulted by my suspicions. There are certain metals that can only be
tried by fire. I was placed in the crucible, and found wanting."
The critic shook his head sagely.
"You are a regular Roman father to your own delinquencies," he answered.
"But tell me another thing. Would you have shot Hannibal if Mr. Weil and
Miss Fern had not made their appearance?"
"I have not the least doubt of it. He was in my eyes at that moment a
crawling adder, whose fangs were liable to penetrate the flesh of some
one if he was not put out of the way. But I am more than glad I was
spared the infliction of his punishment."
Gouger wore a strange look.
"And yet he had one most human quality," said he.
"Yes, I admit that now," was the reply. "In his passionate, barbaric
way, he certainly loved. When I revise my novel I shall try to deal
fairly with him."
"And you will finish it very soon now?"
"As soon as possible."
A month later Lawrence Gouger received at his office a package marked on
the outside, "From Shirley Roseleaf." He could hardly control his
excitement until he had untied the strings, taken off the wrappings and
disclosed the tin box inside. It was a square box, just the right size
for manuscript paper such as he had seen Roseleaf use, and the heart of
the enthusiast beat high as he took it in his hands. A jewel case filled
with the costliest stones would not have seemed to him more precious.
The fame of a new author would soon resound through the world! Cutt &
Slashem would have the greatest work of fiction of recent years in their
next catalogue! And he, Lawrence Gouger, would be given the credit of
discovering--one might almost say of inventing--this wonder!
Opening the box, the critic looked at its contents and then dropped it
with an exclamation. It contained nothing but a small sealed envelope
and _a heap of ashes_!
Ashes! Ashes made from recently burned paper!
When he recovered enough to open the envelope, this note was found
within:
"TO LAWRENCE GOUGER, ESQ:--DEAR SIR: Enclosed herewith you
will find the novel for which you have waited so long. I
hope it will please you in all respects, as I certainly
have taken the greatest pains with it.
"On reading it over I thought it best to more thoroughly
disguise the personality of the characters, lest any of
them might be injured by its publication. There was the
happiness of a newly-made bride to be considered; her
husband's ease of mind; her father's serene old age; her
sister's feelings. There was even a black man who had
perhaps suffered enough, and a critic employed by a large
publishing firm who would not like his true character made
manifest in type. In order to protect these people I have
applied a match to the pages. You can best tell whether I
have performed the work too well.
"If this novel does not bring me the fame you anticipate I
shall not much care; I have lost some of my ambitions. If
it fails to add to my fortune, never mind; a single man has
no great need of wealth.
"I go to-night on board a steamer which sails for Europe at
daybreak. When you read this I shall be on the sea. I have
secured a position as resident correspondent abroad for one
of the great newspapers. Perhaps I never shall return.
Truly your friend, S. R."
"_The idiot!_" cried the reader, as he finished perusing this letter.
"_The imbecile!_ Was there ever such a fool born on this earth!"
Then he apostrophised the heap of ashes that lay in the box before him.
"There never was and never will be so great a work of fiction as you
were yesterday! And yet a little touch of flame, and all was
extinguished! How like you were to man! Let him have the brain of a
Shakespeare, and a pound weight falling on his skull ends everything.
"There was a flood in Hungary last week, in which a thousand people were
drowned. There was an earthquake in Peru where five hundred perished. A
vessel went down off the Caroline Islands. Taken all together, they did
not equal to this world your loss.
"The poet knew what he was saying: 'Great wits are sure to madness near
allied.' Oh, to think that a mind that could execute your thrilling
pages knew no more than to destroy them!
"I will not cast you, sublime ashes, to the winds of heaven! I will keep
you reverently, as one preserves the cloak of a great man, or the bones
of a mastodon. Behold, I close you again in your covers, where the eye
of no mortal shall henceforth behold you."
With the words the disappointed critic performed the action. And to this
day visitors to his room read with wonder the inscription he has placed
on the box:
"_The greatest novel that ever was written._"
THE END.
* * * * *
Transcriber's note:
Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully
as possible, including obsolete and variant spellings. Obvious
typographical errors in punctuation (misplaced quotes and the
like) have been fixed. Corrections [in brackets] in the text are
noted below:
Table of Contents: typographical error corrected
I. A Rejected Manuscript 1[9]
page 41: possible typographical error queried (not changed in
the text)
would[wouldn't] touch the mooney, maundering mess. It makes
my flesh creep, sometimes, to read it." v
page 106: duplicate word removed
playing at love with each other, might afterwards find that
[that] they were experimenting with fire.
page 108: possible typographical error queried (not changed in
the text)
arm around her again, checking himself with difficulty from
completeing[completing] the movement) "and dull, and wanting
in manners, but you are the only young
page 116: typographical errors corrected
about this matter. She shought[thought] the innocent man at
her side had not quite guaged[gauged] the interest that Mr.
page 118: typographical error corrected
caught her passionately in his arms, and knew no better way
to bring her to consiousness[consciousness] than to rain
kisses on her cheeks. As might be expected this
page 126: typographical error corrected
abilities of Mr. Weil, and he had no idea of
dispuing[disputing] the conclusions of that wise guide.
page 133: typographical error corrected
"To me? He would not dare?[!] What angers me is the way he
speaks to the rest of you. He
page 149: typographical errors corrected
called the Good side nothing stronger that[than] wines were
found on the bill of fare. On the Wicked side every decoction
know[known] to the modern drinker was to
page 155: typographical error corrected
sexes. He half believed that Jennie Pelham and Mrs.
Delevan[Delavan] were sitting by his bed, more brazen
page 194: typographical error corrected
young novelist. More than this, she would have
sufficent[sufficient] on hand to send the future amounts that
page 251: typographical error corrected
Roseleaf waved him back with a sweeep[sweep] of his arm.
page 278: typographical error corrected
countenance, the utter hopelessness had in a measure
diappeared[disappeared]. When Daisy came into the parlor, she
page 297: typographical error corrected
came with him. Mr. Fern upraided[upbraided] Weil for using so
much ceremony, remarking that although he was