E-Book, Englisch, Band 14, 610 Seiten
E-Book, Englisch, Band 14, 610 Seiten
Reihe: Big Book of Best Short Stories
ISBN: 978-3-96858-562-8
Verlag: Tacet Books
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark
William Pett Ridge (18591930), English author, was born at Chartham, near Canterbury, Kent, on 22 April 1859, and was educated at Marden, Kent, and at the Birkbeck Institute, London. Sir Horatio Gilbert George Parker, 1st Baronet PC (23 November 1862 6 September 1932), known as Gilbert Parker, Canadian novelist and British politician, was born at Camden East, Addington, Ontario, the son of Captain J. Parker, R.A. Harriet Elizabeth Prescott Spofford(April 3, 1835 August 14, 1921) was an American writer of novels, poems and detective stories. Elizabeth Garver Jordan (May 9, 1865 February 24, 1947) was an American journalist, author, editor, and suffragist, now remembered primarily for having edited the first two novels of Sinclair Lewis, and for her relationship with Henry James, especially for recruiting him to participate in the round-robin novel The Whole Family. Richard Austin Freeman (11 April 1862 28 September 1943) was a British writer of detective stories, mostly featuring the medico-legal forensic investigator Dr. Thorndyke. Alice Duer Miller (July 28, 1874 August 22, 1942) was a writer from the U.S. whose poetry actively influenced political opinion. Her feminist verses made an impact on the suffrage issue, and her verse novel The White Cliffs encouraged U.S. entry into World War II. She also wrote novels and screenplays. Leonard Merrick(21 February 1864 7 August 1939) was an English novelist. Anthony Hope(9 February 1863 8 July 1933), was an English novelist and playwright.He was a prolific writer, especially of adventure novels. Ethel Watts Mumford (1876/1878 1940) was an American author from New York City. Anne O'Hagan Shinn(August 8, 1869 June 24, 1933) was an American feminist, suffragist, journalist, and writer of short stories, regularly contributing to publications such as Vanity Fair, and Harper's. In particular, she is known for her writings detailing the exploitation of young women working as shop clerks in early 20th Century America.
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William Pett Ridge (1859–1930), English author, was born at Chartham, near Canterbury, Kent, on 22 April 1859, and was educated at Marden, Kent, and at the Birkbeck Institute, London. He was for some time a clerk in the Railway Clearing House, and began about 1891 to write humorous sketches for the St James's Gazette and other papers. He published first novel was A Clever Wife (1895), but he secured his first striking success with his fifth, Mord Em'ly (1898), an excellent example of his ability to draw humorous portraits of lower class life. In 1924, fellow novelist Edwin Pugh recalled his early memories of Pett Ridge in the 1890s: I see him most clearly, as he was in those days, through a blue haze of tobacco smoke. We used sometimes to travel together from Waterloo to Worcester Park on our way to spend a Saturday afternoon and evening with H. G. Wells. Pett Ridge does not know it, but it was through watching him fill his pipe, as he sat opposite me in a stuffy little railway compartment, that I completed my own education as a smoker... Pett Ridge had a small, dark, rather spiky moustache in those days, and thick, dark, sleek hair which is perhaps not quite so thick or dark, though hardly less sleek nowadays than it was then. Pett Ridge was a compassionate man, giving generously of both his time and money to charity. He founded the Babies Home at Hoxton in 1907 and was an ardent supporter of many organisations that had the welfare of children as their object. This charitable zeal, and the fact that he established himself as the leading novelist of London life and character, led to him being characterised as the natural successor of Dickens. All his friends considered Pett Ridge to be one of life's natural bachelors. They were rather surprised therefore in 1909 when he married Olga Hentschel. Four of his books, including Mord Em'ly, were adapted as films in the early 1920s, all with scripts by Eliot Stannard. Pett Ridge's great popularity as a novelist in the early part of the century declined in the latter years of his life. His work was considered to be rather old fashioned, though he still wrote and had published at least one book in each year in the final decade of his life. His last work, Led by Westmacott, was published in the year after his death. William Pett Ridge died, aged 71, at his home, Ampthill, Willow Grove, Chislehurst, on 29 September 1930 and was cremated at West Norwood on 2 October 1930. His ashes were taken away by his surviving family, his wife, a son and a daughter. Ah Lun's Gift
IDON'T reckon," said the boy who was dusting a cigarette advertisement, "that we've got what you may call an exciting business, sir." Mr. Bourne, behind the counter, looked up from the romance that he was reading and fingered his slight moustache nervously. "Two packets of cigarette papers," went on the boy gloomily, "a screw of shag, and a couple of cheeky kids trying to sell us matches—that's what we've done to-day. And my argument—— ("Now then, Tottie." This to an amazing young woman on a tobacco advertisement that had gone awry. "Sit up straight, can't you, when I keep telling you)—And my argument is that we might do a lump better." "If I'd only got a bit more capital," said the young proprietor wistfully to the boy. "Kepital?" echoed the boy. "Kepital ain't everything. What you want, sir, is push; what you want is enterprise; what you want is to fling yourself about." "Another fifty pound," said Mr. Bourne thoughtfully, "and I could 'ave got into a main thoroughfare, where a demand for a good sound twopenny goes on the whole day long." "People ain't coming down this by-street to get no twopennies," agreed Robert Henry, "sound or unsound." He took a broom and swept the spotless floor with something of fury. "Nobody never comes 'ere; nothing never 'appens; no one never——Ullo!" Robert Henry ran to the doorway. From the direction of Limehouse Causeway there was a sound of voices. The noise came nearer. "What's up?" asked Mr. Bourne. He went round to the door leisurely. "Shindy of some kind," shouted Robert Henry with excitement. "One of them sailor's rows, I expect. Time we had anofer murder. 'Ere comes someone!" Someone had indeed turned the corner of the dim, narrow street. Mr. Bourne, peeping over the head of Robert Henry, saw a Chinaman slipping eel-like in the shadow of the houses. As he neared the shop, a noisy crowd appeared at the end of the street, cheering two short infuriated Japanese sailors. The pursued Chinaman looked over his shoulder and, turning swiftly, slipped between Mr. Bourne and the lad into the tobacconist's shop. He jumped nimbly on the counter, turned out the four gas jets, and disappeared. The crowd swept past the doorway and then wavered, and some of it returned. "Seen a Chink?" demanded a swollen-faced man, in a gasp. "There's one come down this way. These two Japs are after him, and they'll 'ave his blood if they can find him." "He went on that way," said Robert Henry readily. "Frough that court." "Sure he didn't turn into your shop?" The two Japanese sailors came back breathless, their entourage of interested men and women with them. "Fink we shouldn't know it if he had?" asked Robert Henry indignantly. "Ast the guv'nor, if you don't believe me" The swollen-faced man looked interrogatively at Mr. Bourne, and the two Japanese pressed forward to hear his answer. From inside the dark shop came the sound of partially repressed breathing. "What the boy says," declared Mr. Bourne, "is gospel." "Come on!" shouted the swollen-faced man, with the ardour of a true sportsman. "He's gone up this court. We'll ketch him there like a bloomin' rat in a bloomin' 'ole." The two Japanese sailors rushed on, and the crowd followed, enjoying to the full the pleasures of the chase and screaming with enthusiasm. A constable of the K division stamped down the narrow street and spoke to Mr. Bourne. "What's up? " asked K 052. "’Unting a Chinaman," said Mr. Bourne. "I wish all the foreigners," said K 052 strenuously, "was put in a balloon and carried away to sea and drowned." "Wouldn't be a bad idea," agreed Mr. Bourne. "Oblige me with 'alf an ounce of best navy cut before you go to by-bye." "With pleasure," said Mr. Bourne. Robert Henry went round to the other side of the counter, and the constable at the doorway found his pouch. Robert Henry stumbled against the escaped Chinaman, who, crouching down, kissed Robert Henry's coat-sleeve. The lad made the tobacco into a packet and brought it it to the doorway. "Fall over yourself?" asked the constable kindly. "Very nigh," replied Robert Henry. "Never mind about the twopence ha'penny," said Mr. Bourne. "Very well," remarked K. 052 agreeably, "I won't. So long!" "So long!" said Mr. Bourne. "Robert 'Enry, put the shutters up." Mr. Bourne did not move from the doorway until this undertaking was completed, being, as a matter of fact, a young man with only the usual amount of courage, and not, under the circumstances, disinclined for the presence and support of Robert Henry. When the last shutter was fixed the two went inside and closed the door. "Strike a match," suggested Robert Henry. The wax vesta illumined the shop and showed a blue linen cap beyond the counter. "It's all right, old chap," said Robert Henry. "Come out." The blue linen cap rose slowly, and a face with high cheek bones, over which the yellow skin was tightly stretched, peeped over the counter. "All gol away?" asked the Chinaman, in an awed whisper. "Clean away," replied Mr. Bourne. The Chinaman raised himself tremblingly to his full height and stood blinking on the inside of the counter. His long, skinny hands, with tapering nails, trembled as he laid them on the glass case which contained packets of cigarettes. His long pigtail slipped from underneath his cap. He looked at the proprietor and at the boy, and then, deciding apparently that Mr. Bourne was the more important of the two, back to the proprietor again. "You save," he said laboriously, in his loose-tongued way, "Ah Lun. You save his life. Ah Lun much oblige." "You'd 'a' been a deader by this time," said Robert Henry, "if we hadn't given you a 'and. You wouldn't never 'ave eaten no more bird's nests if we hadn't let you slip in 'here." "I play you," said Ah Lun, still addressing Mr. Bourne. "I play you." "Never touch cards," said the proprietor. "I say I play you for what you do." "He means he'll pay you," interpreted Robert Henry. "How much?" asked Mr. Bourne. He lighted a second jet of gas. "Got no moley," said Ah Lun regretfully. "Ah!" said Mr. Bourne, turning out the second jet of gas. "That's a drawback." "What was the row about?" asked Robert Henry. "I sell him," said the Chinaman, with a grin that flickered over his bony face and disappeared, "I sell him lilee diamond. He no likee." "Rum chap, not to like diamonds," said the boy. "But, 'arking back, how do you reckon you're going to recompense me and the guv'nor for saving your life if you ain't got no money? " The question was a long one and had to be repeated in an abbreviated form. Ah Lun came softly from behind the counter and went to look through the round hole in the shutters of the shop door. He started back suddenly. "Lil Chilaman go there!" he begged, shivering with fear. He pointed to the rear of the shop. "Look...
