The $30,000 Bequest, and Other Stories — John Shaqi
The $30,000 Bequest, and Other StoriesTwain, Mark
General
The $30,000 Bequest, and Other Stories
Twain, Mark
Humorous stories, American; Short stories, American; United States -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
By and by came my little puppy, and then my cup was full, my happiness
was perfect. It was the dearest little waddling thing, and so smooth
and soft and velvety, and had such cunning little awkward paws, and such
affectionate eyes, and such a sweet and innocent face; and it made me
so proud to see how the children and their mother adored it, and fondled
it, and exclaimed over every little wonderful thing it did. It did seem
to me that life was just too lovely to--
Then came the winter. One day I was standing a watch in the nursery.
That is to say, I was asleep on the bed. The baby was asleep in the
crib, which was alongside the bed, on the side next the fireplace. It
was the kind of crib that has a lofty tent over it made of gauzy stuff
that you can see through. The nurse was out, and we two sleepers were
alone. A spark from the wood-fire was shot out, and it lit on the slope
of the tent. I suppose a quiet interval followed, then a scream from the
baby awoke me, and there was that tent flaming up toward the ceiling!
Before I could think, I sprang to the floor in my fright, and in a
second was half-way to the door; but in the next half-second my mother's
farewell was sounding in my ears, and I was back on the bed again.,
I reached my head through the flames and dragged the baby out by the
waist-band, and tugged it along, and we fell to the floor together in a
cloud of smoke; I snatched a new hold, and dragged the screaming little
creature along and out at the door and around the bend of the hall,
and was still tugging away, all excited and happy and proud, when the
master's voice shouted:
“Begone you cursed beast!” and I jumped to save myself; but he was
furiously quick, and chased me up, striking furiously at me with his
cane, I dodging this way and that, in terror, and at last a strong
blow fell upon my left foreleg, which made me shriek and fall, for
the moment, helpless; the cane went up for another blow, but never
descended, for the nurse's voice rang wildly out, “The nursery's on
fire!” and the master rushed away in that direction, and my other bones
were saved.
The pain was cruel, but, no matter, I must not lose any time; he might
come back at any moment; so I limped on three legs to the other end
of the hall, where there was a dark little stairway leading up into a
garret where old boxes and such things were kept, as I had heard say,
and where people seldom went. I managed to climb up there, then I
searched my way through the dark among the piles of things, and hid in
the secretest place I could find. It was foolish to be afraid there, yet
still I was; so afraid that I held in and hardly even whimpered, though
it would have been such a comfort to whimper, because that eases the
pain, you know. But I could lick my leg, and that did some good.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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