Paul Rundel: A NovelHarben, Will N. (Will Nathaniel)
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Paul Rundel: A Novel
Harben, Will N. (Will Nathaniel)
Fugitives from justice -- Fiction; Georgia -- Fiction; Ku Klux Klan (19th century) -- Fiction
“Because the little girl ought to know,” he answered. “She should
be told of the clinging effect her promise--her prayers--had on a
storm-tossed human soul. The scene, the voice, the picture, never left
the wanderer. They grew like pure flowers in the mire of his deepest
sin. In many cases it is the memory of prayers at a mother's knee in
childhood that haunts the worldly minded in after-life; but my childhood
had no prayers, and that little girl became my guardian angel.”
“Oh, Paul, Paul, don't, don't!” Ethel cried, and for a moment she seemed
to have forgotten her grief.
“But I must go on,” Paul answered. “I finally reached Portland and
settled down. I was tired of roaming, and under a small printer I began
to learn type-setting. I made rapid progress. I had access to a good
public library, and I passed most of my evenings in study. Later I began
reporting on a big newspaper, and from that I gradually drifted into the
writing of editorials. I don't take any credit for the success I met,
for the articles I wrote were readable only because they were without
heart or soul, and appealed only to individuals like myself. I ridiculed
everything, tore down everything. A thing only had to be praised by
others for me to hurl my vitriol upon it. The arrant hypocrisy of
the church-members, the mental weakness of the preachers, and the
gullibility of the public were my choice themes. Birds of my own
particular feather flocked about me and congratulated me. I became vain
of my powers. I was sure that I was a great intellectual force in
the world. My salary was raised, and I found myself in comfortable
circumstances. I belonged to a small society of advanced thinkers, as
we styled ourselves. We held meetings once a week and prepared and read
essays. The great materialistic scientists and writers were our guides
and gods. We pitied all the rest of the world for its inability to reach
our height. That went on for several years, then an odd thing happened.”
“What was that?” Ethel was now almost eagerly leaning forward, her pale
lips parted.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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