Storytelling. The terrible Solomons and other stories. Сборник

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СКАЧАТЬ a black pearl, was mentioned in an old bill of sale as – She – which seemed queer to me.

      It was maddening. Here, guarded by a vision of sudden death, was wealth “beyond the dreams of avarice.” I am not a clever or ingenious man; I know little beyond how to keep a ledger, and so I was, and am, no doubt, absurd about many of my notions as to how to solve this riddle.

      At one time I thought of finding a man who would take the risk of unlocking the box, but what right had I to subject any one else to the trial I dared not face? I could easily drop the box from a height somewhere, and if it did not explode could then safely unlock it; but if it did blow up when it fell, good-by to my rubies. Mine, indeed! I was rich, and I was not. I grew thin and morbid, and so miserable that, being a good Catholic, I at last carried my troubles to my father confessor. He thought it simply a cruel jest of my uncle’s, but was not so eager for another world as to be willing to open my box. He, too, counselled me to cease thinking about it. Good heavens! I dreamed about it. Not to think about it was impossible. Neither my own thought nor science nor religion had been able to assist me.

      Two years have gone by, and I am one of the richest men in the city, and have no more money than will keep me alive.

      Susan said I was half cracked like Uncle Philip, and broke off her engagement. In my despair I have advertised in the “Journal of Science,” and have had absurd schemes sent me by the dozen. At last, as I talked too much about it, the thing became so well known that when I put the horror in a safe, in bank, I was promptly desired to withdraw it. I was in constant fear of burglars, and my landlady gave me notice to leave, because no one would stay in the house with that box. I am now advised to print my story and await advice from the ingenuity of the American mind.

      I have moved into the suburbs and hidden the box and changed my name and my occupation. This I did to escape the curiosity of the reporters. I ought to say that when the government officials came to hear of my inheritance, they very reasonably desired to collect the succession tax on my uncle’s estate.

      I was delighted to assist them. I told the collector my story, and showed him Uncle Philip’s letter. Then I offered him the key, and asked for time to get half a mile away. That man said he would think it over and come back later.

      This is all I have to say. I have made a will and left my rubies and pearls to the Society for the Prevention of Human Vivisection. If any man thinks this account a joke or an invention, let him coldly imagine the situation:

      Given an iron box, known to contain wealth, said to contain dynamite, arranged to explode when the key is used to unlock it – what would any sane man do? What would he advise?

      The Peterkins snowed-up

      by Lucretia P. Hale

      Mrs. Peterkin awoke one morning to find a heavy snow-storm raging. The wind had flung the snow against the windows, had heaped it up around the house, and thrown it into huge white drifts over the fields, covering hedges and fences.

      Mrs. Peterkin went from one window to the other to look out; but nothing could be seen but the driving storm and the deep white snow. Even Mr. Bromwick’s house, on the opposite side of the street, was hidden by the swift-falling flakes.

      “What shall I do about it?” thought Mrs. Peterkin. “No roads cleared out! Of course there’ll be no butcher and no milkman!”

      The first thing to be done was to wake up all the family early; for there was enough in the house for breakfast, and there was no knowing when they would have anything more to eat.

      It was best to secure the breakfast first.

      So she went from one room to the other, as soon as it was light, waking the family, and before long all were dressed and downstairs.

      And then all went round the house to see what had happened.

      All the water-pipes that there were were frozen. The milk was frozen. They could open the door into the wood-house; but the wood-house door into the yard was banked up with snow; and the front door, and the piazza door, and the side door stuck.

      Nobody could get in or out!

      Meanwhile, Amanda, the cook, had succeeded in making the kitchen fire, but had discovered there was no furnace coal.

      “The furnace coal was to have come to-day,” said Mrs. Peterkin, apologetically.

      “Nothing will come to-day,” said Mr. Peterkin, shivering.

      But a fire could be made in a stove in the dining-room.

      All were glad to sit down to breakfast and hot coffee. The little boys were much pleased to have “ice-cream” for breakfast.

      “When we get a little warm,” said Mr. Peterkin, “we will consider what is to be done.”

      “I am thankful I ordered the sausages yesterday,” said Mrs. Peterkin. “I was to have had a leg of mutton to-day.”

      “Nothing will come to-day,” said Agamemnon, gloomily.

      “Are these sausages the last meat in the house?” asked Mr. Peterkin.

      “Yes,” said Mrs. Peterkin.

      The potatoes also were gone, the barrel of apples empty, and she had meant to order more flour that very day.

      “Then we are eating our last provisions,” said Solomon John, helping himself to another sausage.

      “I almost wish we had stayed in bed,” said Agamemnon.

      “I thought it best to make sure of our breakfast first,” repeated Mrs. Peterkin.

      “Shall we literally have nothing left to eat?” asked Mr. Peterkin.

      “There’s the pig!” suggested Solomon John.

      Yes, happily, the pigsty was at the end of the wood-house, and could be reached under cover.

      But some of the family could not eat fresh pork.

      “We should have to ‘corn’ part of him,” said Agamemnon.

      “My butcher has always told me,” said Mrs. Peterkin, “that if I wanted a ham I must keep a pig. Now we have the pig, but have not the ham!”

      “Perhaps we could ‘corn’ one or two of his legs,” suggested one of the little boys.

      “We need not settle that now,” said Mr. Peterkin. “At least the pig will keep us from starving.”

      The little boys looked serious; they were fond of their pig.

      “If we had only decided to keep a cow,” said Mrs. Peterkin.

      “Alas! yes,” said Mr. Peterkin, “one learns a great many things too late!”

      “Then we might have had ice-cream all the time!” exclaimed the little boys.

      Indeed, the little boys, in spite of the prospect of starving, were quite pleasantly excited at the idea of being snowed-up, and hurried through their breakfasts that they might go and try to shovel out a path from one of the doors.

      “I ought to know more about the water-pipes,” said Mr. Peterkin. “Now, I shut off the water last night in the СКАЧАТЬ