The Mississippi Bubble: How the Star of Good Fortune Rose and Set and Rose Again, by a Woman's Grace, for One John Law of LauristonHough, Emerson
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The Mississippi Bubble: How the Star of Good Fortune Rose and Set and Rose Again, by a Woman's Grace, for One John Law of Lauriston
Hough, Emerson
Law, John, 1671-1729 -- Fiction
It was on one of these less crowded highways that there was this morning
enacted a curious little drama. The sun was still young and not too
strong for comfort, and as it rose back of the square of Sadler's it
cast a shadow from a hedge which ran angling toward the southeast. Its
rays, therefore, did not disturb the slumbers of two young men who were
lying beneath the shelter of the hedge. Strange enough must have been
the conclusions of the sun could it have looked over the barrier and
peered into the faces of these youths. Evidently they were of good
breeding and some station, albeit their garb was not of the latest
fashion. The gray hose and the clumsy shoes plainly bespoke some
northern residence. The wig of each lacked the latest turn, perhaps the
collar of the coat was not all it should have been. There was but one
coat visible, for the other, rolled up as a pillow, served to support
the heads of both. The elder of the two was the one who had sacrificed
his covering. The other was more restless in his attitude, and though
thus the warmer for a coat, was more in need of comfort. A white bandage
covered his wrist, and the linen was stained red. Yet the two slept on,
well into the morn, well into the rout of Sadler's Wells. Evidently they
were weary.
The elder man was the taller of the two; as he lay on the bank beneath
the hedge, he might even in that posture have been seen to own a figure
of great strength and beauty. His face, bold of outline, with well
curved, wide jaw and strong cheek bones, was shaded by the tangled mat
of his wig, tousled in his sleep. His hands, long and graceful, lay idly
at his side, though one rested lightly on the hilt of the sword which
lay near him. The ruffles of his shirt were torn, and, indeed, had
almost disappeared. By study one might have recognized them in the
bandage about the hand of the other. Somewhat disheveled was this
youth, yet his young, strong body, slender and shapely, seemed even in
its rest strangely full of power and confidence.
The younger man was in some fashion an epitome of the other, and it had
needed little argument to show the two were brothers. But why should two
brothers, well-clad and apparently well-to-do, probably brothers from a
country far to the north, be thus lying like common vagabonds beneath an
English hedge?
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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