Humorous stories, American; United States -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
The days drifted along, and the bill of future squanderings rose higher
and higher, wilder and wilder, more and more foolish and reckless. It
began to look as if every member of the nineteen would not only spend
his whole forty thousand dollars before receiving-day, but be actually
in debt by the time he got the money. In some cases light-headed people
did not stop with planning to spend, they really spent--on credit.
They bought land, mortgages, farms, speculative stocks, fine clothes,
horses, and various other things, paid down the bonus, and made
themselves liable for the rest--at ten days. Presently the sober second
thought came, and Halliday noticed that a ghastly anxiety was beginning
to show up in a good many faces. Again he was puzzled, and didn’t know
what to make of it. “The Wilcox kittens aren’t dead, for they weren’t
born; nobody’s broken a leg; there’s no shrinkage in mother-in-laws;
_nothing_ has happened--it is an insolvable mystery.”
There was another puzzled man, too--the Rev. Mr. Burgess. For days,
wherever he went, people seemed to follow him or to be watching out for
him; and if he ever found himself in a retired spot, a member of the
nineteen would be sure to appear, thrust an envelope privately into
his hand, whisper “To be opened at the town-hall Friday evening,” then
vanish away like a guilty thing. He was expecting that there might be
one claimant for the sack--doubtful, however, Goodson being dead--but
it never occurred to him that all this crowd might be claimants. When
the great Friday came at last, he found that he had nineteen envelopes.
III.
The town-hall had never looked finer. The platform at the end of it
was backed by a showy draping of flags; at intervals along the walls
were festoons of flags; the gallery fronts were clothed in flags; the
supporting columns were swathed in flags; all this was to impress the
stranger, for he would be there in considerable force, and in a large
degree he would be connected with the press. The house was full. The
412 fixed seats were occupied; also the 68 extra chairs which had
been packed into the aisles; the steps of the platform were occupied;
some distinguished strangers were given seats on the platform; at the
horseshoe of tables which fenced the front and sides of the platform
sat a strong force of special correspondents who had come from
everywhere. It was the best-dressed house the town had ever produced.
There were some tolerably expensive toilets there, and in several cases
the ladies who wore them had the look of being unfamiliar with that
kind of clothes. At least the town thought they had that look, but the
notion could have arisen from the town’s knowledge of the fact that
these ladies had never inhabited such clothes before.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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