Ellice Quentin, and other storiesHawthorne, Julian
General
Ellice Quentin, and other stories
Hawthorne, Julian
American fiction -- 19th century; Short stories, American
I laughed and rang for beer, which happened to be the only beverage at
that moment subject to my orders. Old Joanna brought in bottles and
glasses on a tray, and as she set the tray down, I observed that there
was a note upon it, in a rather soiled envelope, though ornamented
with a handsome monogram. I took no further notice of it at the time,
my mind being occupied with other thoughts. The hints which Floyd had
dropped made me uneasy. I could not doubt that he had by some means
either found out the whole truth about my transfer of my grandfather's
bequest, or at least learned enough of the circumstances to enable him
to ask me very pertinent questions. And inasmuch as I possessed nothing
of his command of countenance and readiness of wit and self-possession,
it was plain that I was destined to let the cat out of the bag whenever
he chose to make me do so. Be that as it might, I was resolved to allow
of no readjustment of the property; and as I had reason to believe that
my tenacity of purpose was fully equal to his, whatever my inferiority
otherwise, I consoled myself as well as the case allowed.
Meanwhile Floyd had produced a gigantic cigar-case, which seemed to be
the only thing in the way of luggage that he had brought with him, and
held it towards me. The cigar which I laid hold of proved to be upwards
of six inches in length and thick in proportion, while the aroma which
proceeded from it, even before it was lighted, was such as would have
made the least enthusiastic smoker devoutly bless his stars.
'They're wretched little things, I know,' murmured Floyd, as he stuck
one of these brobdingnags into the corner of his mouth, and scratched
a match. 'As a general thing, of course, I only smoke them before
breakfast, or between courses at dinner. My regular weeds--the big
ones--are in my trunk at the "Saxe." Raised 'em myself. Well, now go
ahead, Tom, old man; let's see what sort of an account you can give of
your adventures since the old Cambridge days--eh?'
Now my rejoicing at Floyd's unexpected arrival had been twofold: first,
I was glad to see him for his own sake; secondly, because of the
sympathy and advice which no man was better qualified than he to give
me in my present love difficulty. In a word, I regarded him as sent by
Providence especially to be made a confidant of. His proposal that I
should give an account of myself since our last meeting afforded me a
good opening whereby to lead comfortably up to the intended revelation.
Such topics, when one is really serious and in earnest, require to be
softly approached as well as delicately handled; and it seemed to me,
now that I was actually face to face with my confession, that I could
not begin too far back or work my way along too circumspectly.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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