The £1,000,000 bank-note, and other new stories — John Shaqi
The £1,000,000 bank-note, and other new storiesTwain, Mark
General
The £1,000,000 bank-note, and other new stories
Twain, Mark
American essays -- 19th century; American fiction -- 19th century; Humorous stories, American
They saw many honest faces go by that were not intelligent enough; many
that were intelligent but not honest enough; many that were both, but
the possessors were not poor enough, or, if poor enough, were not
strangers. There was always a defect, until I came along; but they
agreed that I filled the bill all around; so they elected me
unanimously, and there I was, now, waiting to know why I was called in.
They began to ask me questions about myself, and pretty soon they had my
story. Finally they told me I would answer their purpose. I said I was
sincerely glad, and asked what it was. Then one of them handed me an
envelope, and said I would find the explanation inside. I was going to
open it, but he said no; take it to my lodgings, and look it over
carefully, and not be hasty or rash. I was puzzled, and wanted to
discuss the matter a little further, but they didn’t; so I took my
leave, feeling hurt and insulted to be made the butt of what was
apparently some kind of a practical joke, and yet obliged to put up with
it, not being in circumstances to resent affronts from rich and strong
folk.
I would have picked up the pear, now, and eaten it before all the world,
but it was gone; so I had lost that by this unlucky business, and the
thought of it did not soften my feeling towards those men. As soon as I
was out of sight of that house I opened my envelope, and saw that it
contained money! My opinion of those people changed, I can tell you! I
lost not a moment, but shoved note and money into my vest-pocket, and
broke for the nearest cheap eating-house. Well, how I did eat! When at
last I couldn’t hold any more, I took out my money and unfolded it, took
one glimpse and nearly fainted. Five millions of dollars! Why, it made
my head swim.
I must have sat there stunned and blinking at the note as much as a
minute before I came rightly to myself again. The first thing I noticed,
then, was the landlord. His eye was on the note, and he was petrified.
He was worshipping, with all his body and soul, but he looked as if he
couldn’t stir hand or foot. I took my cue in a moment, and did the only
rational thing there was to do. I reached the note towards him, and said
carelessly:
‘Give me the change, please.’
Then he was restored to his normal condition, and made a thousand
apologies for not being able to break the bill, and I couldn’t get him
to touch it. He wanted to look at it, and keep on looking at it; he
couldn’t seem to get enough of it to quench the thirst of his eye, but
he shrank from touching it as if it had been something too sacred for
poor common clay to handle. I said:
‘I am sorry if it is an inconvenience, but I must insist. Please change
it; I haven’t anything else.’
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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