"A Modern Hercules," the Tale of a SculptressWinstock, Melvin G.
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"A Modern Hercules," the Tale of a Sculptress
Winstock, Melvin G.
American fiction -- 19th century
“I am helping him court my cousin, Georgie. He likes her better than
you ever thought he cared for me. You see, father, I have never ceased
to truly love Milton. Pray, forgive me, but I thought the best way to
rid myself of Mr. Clafton’s attentions, was to have him fall in love
with Cousin Georgie. He has entered into the trap beautifully, and I
am spared much annoyance. Dear old dad, you are not mad?”
“I ought to be,” said Mr. Salmon, “but I cannot help admiring your
professional method in outwitting the old gentleman. Your scheme
was clever, even if I am the victim. But think not that I will ever
withdraw my objection to Milton.”
“I don’t expect you to,” said Marie with a deep sigh.
“Then you will give him up?”
“No,” said she, “I won’t ask your consent. We’ll slip off quietly some
day when he returns, and your newspaper friend, Doane, will, in his
journal, record an elopement.”
“Never worry,” said Salmon, much annoyed, “your Milton will never come
back. He’ll get tangled up in Rome with some Italian beauty, and she
will keep him abroad. These stone cutters always act that way.”
“Father,” said the girl, almost in tears, “you are most unkind and most
unjust,” and she left the room, looking for consolation.
Paul entered about this time, for the purpose of having an interview
with Mr. Salmon, who was his lawyer.
“These are the papers which the lady requested me to present to you.
She settles her entire fortune upon you, giving you full power to make
such disposition of the same as you see fit. In fact, she is most
liberal,” said Mr. Salmon.
“Are these the papers?” said Paul, as he took them from the hand of the
lawyer.
“Yes, they are all pinned together.”
Paul sat down and glanced over them. When he had finished their
perusal, which did not take long, he tore them up and threw the pieces
in the fire, where they were quickly devoured by the flames.
“What have you done?” said the startled lawyer.
“Nothing,” simply said Paul. “I refuse any gift of property from her.
On the contrary, you know exactly how my affairs stand. Convey to her,
by proper deeds and instruments, the full one-half of my fortune. The
cash transfer to her credit at the Chemical Bank.”
“But, sir--” said Salmon.
But he was interrupted by Paul, who said: “No buts, sir. This is my
will. Either carry out, with as little delay as possible, my expressed
desire, or I will be under the painful necessity of securing the
services of another lawyer.”
“I shall do as you desire, and--”
“Remember,” said Paul, as he left the lawyer’s presence, “not a word to
her. I must leave you now, to prepare for the ceremony.”
A few more guests had arrived by this time. Mr. Connors came, and
at about the same time Olivia Winters, the journalist, put in an
appearance in the room, accompanied by Marie.
“A queer wedding,” said Olivia, “and yet it may turn out well.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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