In which Clarence Esmond places himself in the hands of the Bright-eyed Goddess of Adventure, and is entrusted by that Deity to the care of a Butcher’s Boy.
In which Clarence Esmond places himself in the hands of the Bright-eyed Goddess of Adventure, and is entrusted by that Deity to the care of a Butcher’s Boy.
In which Clarence Esmond places himself in the hands of the Bright-eyed Goddess of Adventure, and is entrusted by that Deity to the care of a Butcher's Boy.
On a morning early in September, the sun was shining brightly upon the village of McGregor. Nestled in a coulée between two hills, one rising squarely and rock-ribbed, lacking only the illusion of windows to give it the appearance of a ruined castle, the other to the northwest, sloping gently upwards, and crowned at the summit with a number of villas, McGregor, running down to the Mississippi River, was as pretty a town as Iowa could boast.
On this bright particular morning, an overgrown youth was sitting on the boat-landing, his feet dangling above the water, his face glooming darkly. Master Abe Thompson, age sixteen, was troubled in spirit.
He was homeless. He had lost his position, that of a butcher's boy, just a little after sunrise. It arose out of a difference of seventy-five cents in the butcher's accounts. Abe had been told under penalty of having "his face shoved in" never to darken the doors of the butcher-shop again. At the tender age of twelve Abe had left his home unostentatiously and without serving notice, and ever since had spent his time in losing jobs up and down the river. The trouble with Abe was that he never could resist "obeying that impulse," no matter what that impulse might be. He had been blessed, if one may say so, with an obedient mother and an indifferent father. The discipline of the public school which Abe was supposed to attend might have done something for the boy had he been present for so much as six days hand-running. But Abe had early made a successful course in the art of dodging duty. He was by way of joining that vast army of the unemployed who are the ornament of our country roads in summer and of our back alleys in winter. Abe was entitled to graduate with honors in the ranks of those who have learned the gentle art entitled "How not to do it." At the present moment Abe Thompson was in darkest mood. His soul just now was fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils. His gloomy eyes moved vacantly over the waters shimmering in the sun. Suddenly his air of listlessness disappeared, his eyes grew tense. Among the boats around the landing was one small skiff riding high on the water, in which (for some people will be careless) lay a pair of oars and a paddle.
Abe was still gazing at this boat and its contents with greedy eyes when there came upon his ears the sound of a sweet, piercing soprano voice, giving, to whoso should wish to hear, the ineffable chorus of an almost forgotten music-hall melody:
"Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay,
?Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay,
?Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay,
?Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay!"
Abe turned to discover coming blithely down street-the one street running through McGregor-a gay lad of about fourteen years of age, dressed in an immaculate white sailor-suit. The approaching youth was walking, skipping, and jumping in such wise that it was hard to define what he was doing at any particular moment. He was rather small for his years, but apparently of muscle all compact. Gracefulness characterized his wildest and most impetuous motions. He was a perfect blonde, and his hair, bobbed after the fashion of little girls of ten or eleven, gave him a somewhat feminine aspect, further emphasized by his cream-and-rose complexion. A close observer, studying his pretty features, might indeed have inferred from his tip-tilted nose and his square chin that the youngster was not safely to be treated as a mollycoddle. Abe was not a close observer.
"I say," he broke out, as the pretty boy drew near, "what sort of a lingo is that you're giving us? You don't call that American, do you?"
"Good morning, fair sir," replied the boy, raising his sailor hat and bowing elaborately, "may I have the pleasure of your acquaintance?"
"What lingo was that you was a-singing?"
"The language, fair sir, of adventure."
Abe frowned, and spat into the river.
"Permit me," continued the newcomer, "to introduce myself. I have the honor of informing you that my name is Clarence Esmond. What is yours?"
"I'm Abe Thompson. What are you looking for this morning?" continued Abe, as he noticed that Clarence was gazing longingly at the craft moored at the river's edge.
"Who?-me?" queried the debonair youth. He drew himself erect, threw back his head, raised his eyes, and with a dramatic gesture continued: "I am looking for the bright-eyed goddess of adventure!"
"Oh, talk American!"
"I will, gentle youth. I am looking for fun; and if something happens, so much the better."
"Do you want to go anywheres?"
"I want to go everywhere. I'd like to be on the ocean, running a liner; I'd like to be a cowboy, dodging Indians; I'd like to be a soldier in the trenches, and a sailor in a submarine. In fact, I'd like to be everywhere at the same time."
"You can't do that, you boob," said Abe with strong disfavor on his rugged face.
"I am one of those fellows," continued Clarence, "who wants to eat his cake and have it."
"Oh, jiminy!" roared Abe, breaking into a loud laugh, "you want to eat your cake and you want to have it at the same time?"
"That's it exactly. I want to eat my cake, and at the same time have it."
"Oh, jiminy! Why, do you know what you are?" asked Abe laughing with conscious superiority.
"Won't you please tell me?"
"Why, you are an idiot, a plumb-born idiot."
"Oh, am I?" and as Clarence asked the question his face beamed with joy.
"You sure are."
"I suppose," continued Clarence, "that you think I am one of those chaps who hasn't got enough sense to come in out of the rain when it is raining."
"You're the dumbdest idiot I ever met," said the frank butcher's boy.
"I guess you are right," assented the lad beamingly. "Lots of people have told me I am an idiot. And I never do come in out of the rain when it is raining. I use a cravenette."
"Oh, Lord!" cried Abe, all his crude humor stirred to scornful laughter, "what an awful ass you are!"
"Thank you so much," answered Clarence glowing with delight. "It's a pleasure to meet a fellow who says just what he thinks."
"Any more like you at home?"
"I happen to be the only child," answered Clarence. "I am the light of my mother's eyes. There are no others like me."
"I should say not! Say, who let you loose?"
"That reminds me," said Clarence, his smile leaving him. "I've got to be back at noon, and it's nearly eight-thirty now. Say, do you know this river?"
"I should say I do. Do you want me to row you?"
"Is there any place around here worth seeing?"
"Sure! Pictured Rocks! Everybody goes there. It's a mile down the river."
"Suppose I hire a boat, would you mind acting as my guide-salary, fifty cents?"
"I can do better than that," said Abe, becoming all of a sudden obsequious. "That's my boat down there-that little boat with the oars-and I'll take you to Pictured Rocks and bring you back for one dollar. That's fair enough, ain't it?"
Abe was young and his imagination undeveloped. Had he been older, he would have tried to sell the boat and a few houses nearest the river bank, all together, for a slightly larger sum.
"That's a go!" cried Clarence, running for the boat, jumping in and seating himself to row. "Come on quick. Cast off, old boy."
The boat was locked to a post. Abe was accustomed to facing such difficulties. He broke the lock under Clarence's unobservant eyes, and, shoving the skiff off and jumping in, seated himself in the stern.
"You row and I'll steer," he said, as he picked up the paddle.
Clarence dipped the oars into the water, and with a few strokes the two started down the river with the swift current. It was a beautiful morning, clear and crisp. The river, a vast lake in width with islands and inlets and lagoons and streams between the Iowa and the Wisconsin shores, was dancing in the sunlight. Birds, late though the season was, made the air gay. On the Wisconsin shore the solemn hills, noble and varied, stood sentinel over the smiling valleys of golden grain which ran almost to the river's banks; on the Iowa side, a twin range came down almost to the water. The river was clear and, despite the current, had all the appearance of a vast lake.
The air and the sunshine and the scenery entered into Clarence's soul.
"Hurrah!" he cried, brandishing an oar. "All aboard to meet the bright-eyed goddess of adventure!"
And the bright-eyed goddess was not deaf to the summons of the thoughtless lad. The goddess was awaiting him. The meeting was to be very soon, and the interview a long one. And it is because of the meeting that this veracious story is written.
Elena, once a pampered heiress, suddenly lost everything when the real daughter framed her, her fiancé ridiculed her, and her adoptive parents threw her out. They all wanted to see her fall. But Elena unveiled her true identity: the heiress of a massive fortune, famed hacker, top jewelry designer, secret author, and gifted doctor. Horrified by her glorious comeback, her adoptive parents demanded half her newfound wealth. Elena exposed their cruelty and refused. Her ex pleaded for a second chance, but she scoffed, “Do you think you deserve it?” Then a powerful magnate gently proposed, “Marry me?”
Lucia Balstone thought she had chosen the right man to spend the rest of her life with, but he was the one who ended her life. Their ten-year marriage seemed like a joke when her husband stabbed her with a dagger. Fortunately, God is never blind to people's tears. Lucia got a second chance. She was reborn at the age of 22, before all the terrible things had happened. This time, she was determined to avenge herself and let those who hurt her pay! She made an elaborate list of her goals, and the first thing on her list was to marry her ex-husband's enemy, Alonso Callen!
I received a pornographic video. "Do you like this?" The man speaking in the video is my husband, Mark, whom I haven't seen for several months. He is naked, his shirt and pants scattered on the ground, thrusting forcefully on a woman whose face I can't see, her plump and round breasts bouncing vigorously. I can clearly hear the slapping sounds in the video, mixed with lustful moans and grunts. "Yes, yes, fuck me hard, baby," the woman screams ecstatically in response. "You naughty girl!" Mark stands up and flips her over, slapping her buttocks as he speaks. "Stick your ass up!" The woman giggles, turns around, sways her buttocks, and kneels on the bed. I feel like someone has poured a bucket of ice water on my head. It's bad enough that my husband is having an affair, but what's worse is that the other woman is my own sister, Bella. ************************************************************************************************************************ "I want to get a divorce, Mark," I repeated myself in case he didn't hear me the first time-even though I knew he'd heard me clearly. He stared at me with a frown before answering coldly, "It's not up to you! I'm very busy, don't waste my time with such boring topics, or try to attract my attention!" The last thing I was going to do was argue or bicker with him. "I will have the lawyer send you the divorce agreement," was all I said, as calmly as I could muster. He didn't even say another word after that and just went through the door he'd been standing in front of, slamming it harshly behind him. My eyes lingered on the knob of the door a bit absentmindedly before I pulled the wedding ring off my finger and placed it on the table. I grabbed my suitcase, which I'd already had my things packed in and headed out of the house.
Sunlit hours found their affection glimmering, while moonlit nights ignited reckless desire. But when Brandon learned his beloved might last only half a year, he coolly handed Millie divorce papers, murmuring, "This is all for appearances; we'll get married again once she's calmed down." Millie, spine straight and cheeks dry, felt her pulse go hollow. The sham split grew permanent; she quietly ended their unborn child and stepped into a new beginning. Brandon unraveled, his car tearing down the street, unwilling to let go of the woman he'd discarded, pleading for her to look back just once.
Two years of marriage left Brinley questioning everything, her supposed happiness revealed as nothing but sham. Abandoning her past for Colin, she discovered only betrayal and a counterfeit wedding. Accepting his heart would stay frozen, she called her estranged father, agreeing to the match he proposed. Laughter followed her, with whispers of Colin's power to toss her aside. Yet, she reinvented herself-legendary racer, casino mastermind, and acclaimed designer. When Colin tried to reclaim her, another man pulled Brinley close. "She's already carrying my child. You can't move on?"
Dayna had worshiped her husband, only to watch him strip her late mother's estate and lavish devotion on another woman. After three miserable years, he discarded her, and she lay broken-until Kristopher, the man she once betrayed, dragged her from the wreckage. He now sat in a wheelchair, eyes like tempered steel. She offered a pact: she would mend his legs if he helped crush her ex. He scoffed, yet signed on. As their ruthless alliance caught fire, he uncovered her other lives-healer, hacker, pianist-and her numb heart stirred. But her groveling ex crawled back. "Dayna, you were my wife! How could you marry someone else? Come back!"
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