DOI article:
Le Gallienne, Richard: Four Prose Francies
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.26392#0256
Four Prose Fancies
252
gamekeeper now, and of course, dear old fellow, you’ll come and
live with me—like a prince—and just write your own books and
say farewell to journalism for ever. Of course I can hardly believe
it’s true yet. It seems too much of a dream, and yet there’s no
doubt about it. I had a letter from my solicitors this morning,
saying that they were engaged in going through the securities
and—and—but the letter’s somewhere over there, you might read
it. No ? can’t you find it ? It’s there somewhere about I know.
Never mind, you can see it again . . . .” he finished wearily.
“ Yes ! ” he presently said, half to himself, “ it will be a won-
derful change ! a wonderful change ! ”
At length the time came to say good-bye, a good-bye I knew
must be the last, for my affairs were taking me so far away from
him that I could not hope to see him for some days.
“ I’m afraid, old man,” I said, “ that I mayn’t be able to see
you for another week.”
“ O never mind, old fellow, don’t worry about me. I’m much
better now—and by the time you come again we shall know all
about the securities.”
The securities ! My heart had seemed like a stone, incapable
of feeling, all those last unreal hours together, but the pathos of
that sad phrase, so curiously symbolic, suddenly smote it with over-
whelming pity, and the tears sprang to my eyes for the first time.
As I bent over him to kiss his poor damp forehead, and press
his hand for the last farewell, I murmured:
“Yes—dear, dear old friend. We shall know all about the
securities . . . .”
“ That
252
gamekeeper now, and of course, dear old fellow, you’ll come and
live with me—like a prince—and just write your own books and
say farewell to journalism for ever. Of course I can hardly believe
it’s true yet. It seems too much of a dream, and yet there’s no
doubt about it. I had a letter from my solicitors this morning,
saying that they were engaged in going through the securities
and—and—but the letter’s somewhere over there, you might read
it. No ? can’t you find it ? It’s there somewhere about I know.
Never mind, you can see it again . . . .” he finished wearily.
“ Yes ! ” he presently said, half to himself, “ it will be a won-
derful change ! a wonderful change ! ”
At length the time came to say good-bye, a good-bye I knew
must be the last, for my affairs were taking me so far away from
him that I could not hope to see him for some days.
“ I’m afraid, old man,” I said, “ that I mayn’t be able to see
you for another week.”
“ O never mind, old fellow, don’t worry about me. I’m much
better now—and by the time you come again we shall know all
about the securities.”
The securities ! My heart had seemed like a stone, incapable
of feeling, all those last unreal hours together, but the pathos of
that sad phrase, so curiously symbolic, suddenly smote it with over-
whelming pity, and the tears sprang to my eyes for the first time.
As I bent over him to kiss his poor damp forehead, and press
his hand for the last farewell, I murmured:
“Yes—dear, dear old friend. We shall know all about the
securities . . . .”
“ That