Ranson's Folly (Fiscle Part 3) - Richard Harding Davis (reading diary .txt) 📗
- Author: Richard Harding Davis
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Engines And Of Throbbing Pulses Was Confused With The Story He Was
Writing, And While His Mind Was Inflamed With Pictures Of Warring
Battle-Ships, His Body Was Swept By The Fever, Which Overran Him Like
An Army Of Tiny Mice, Touching His Hot Skin With Cold, Tingling Taps
Of Their Scampering Feet.
From Time To Time The Captain Stopped At The Door Of The Chart-Room
And Observed Him In Silent Admiration. To The Man Who With Difficulty
Composed A Letter To His Family, The Fact That Channing Was Writing
Part 3 Title 1 (Ranson's Folly) Pg 91Something To Be Read By Millions Of People, And More Rapidly Than He
Could Have Spoken The Same Words, Seemed A Superhuman Effort. He Even
Hesitated To Interrupt It By An Offer Of Food.
But The Fever Would Not Let Channing Taste Of The Food When They
Placed It At His Elbow, And Even As He Pushed It Away, His Mind Was
Still Fixed Upon The Paragraph Before Him. He Wrote, Sprawling Across
The Desk, Covering Page Upon Page With Giant Hieroglyphics, Lighting
Cigarette After Cigarette At The End Of The Last One, But With His
Thoughts Far Away, And, As He Performed The Act, Staring
Uncomprehendingly At The Captain's Colored Calendar Pinned On The
Wall Before Him. For Many Months Later The Battle Of Santiago Was
Associated In His Mind With A Calendar For The Month Of July,
Illuminated By A Colored Picture Of Six White Kittens In A Basket.
At Three O'clock Channing Ceased Writing And Stood Up, Shivering And
Shaking With A Violent Chill. He Cursed Himself For This Weakness,
And Called Aloud For The Captain.
"I Can't Stop Now," He Cried. He Seized The Rough Fist Of The Captain
As A Child Clings To The Hand Of His Nurse.
"Give Me Something," He Begged. "Medicine, Quinine, Give Me Something
To Keep My Head Straight Until It's Finished. Go, Quick," He
Commanded. His Teeth Were Chattering, And His Body Jerked With Sharp,
Uncontrollable Shudders. The Captain Ran, Muttering, To His Medicine-
Chest.
"We've Got One Drunken Man On Board," He Said To The Mate, "And Now
We've Got A Crazy One. You Mark My Words, He'll Go Off His Head At
Sunset."
But At Sunset Channing Called To Him And Addressed Him Sanely. He
Held In His Hand A Mass Of Papers Carefully Numbered And Arranged,
And He Gave Them Up To The Captain As Though It Hurt Him To Part With
Them.
"There's The Story," He Said. "You've Got To Do The Rest. I Can't--I-
-I'm Going To Be Very Ill." He Was Swaying As He Spoke. His Eyes
Burned With The Fever, And His Eyelids Closed Of Themselves. He
Looked As Though He Had Been Heavily Drugged.
"You Put That On The Wire At Port Antonio," He Commanded, Faintly;
"Pay The Tolls To Kingston. From There They Are To Send It By Way Of
Panama, You Understand, By The Panama Wire."
"Panama!" Gasped The Captain. "Good Lord, That's Two Dollars A Word."
He Shook Out The Pages In His Hand Until He Found The Last One. "And
There's Sixty-Eight Pages Here," He Expostulated. "Why The Tolls Will
Be Five Thousand Dollars!" Channing Dropped Feebly To The Bench Of
The Chart-Room And Fell In A Heap, Shivering And Trembling.
"I Guess It's Worth It," He Murmured, Drowsily.
Part 3 Title 1 (Ranson's Folly) Pg 92
The Captain Was Still Staring At The Last Page.
"But--But, Look Here," He Cried, "You've--You've Signed Mr. Keating's
Name To It! 'James R. Keating.' You've Signed His Name To It!"
Channing Raised His Head From His Folded Arms And Stared At Him
Dully.
"You Don't Want To Get Keating In Trouble, Do You?" He Asked With
Patience. "You Don't Want The C. P. To Know Why He Couldn't Write The
Best Story Of The War? Do You Want Him To Lose His Job? Of Course You
Don't. Well, Then, Let It Go As His Story. I Won't Tell, And See You
Don't Tell, And Keating Won't Remember."
His Head Sank Back Again Upon His Crossed Arms. "It's Not A Bad
Story," He Murmured.
But The Captain Shook His Head; His Loyalty To His Employer Was Still
Uppermost. "It Doesn't Seem Right!" He Protested. "It's A Sort Of A
Liberty, Isn't It, Signing Another Man's Name To It, It's A Sort Of
Forgery."
Channing Made No Answer. His Eyes Were Shut And He Was Shivering
Violently, Hugging Himself In His Arms.
A Quarter Of An Hour Later, When The Captain Returned With Fresh
Quinine, Channing Sat Upright And Saluted Him.
"Your Information, Sir," He Said, Addressing The Open Door Politely,
"Is Of The Greatest Value. Tell The Executive Officer To Proceed
Under Full Steam To Panama. He Will First Fire A Shot Across Her
Bows, And Then Sink Her!" He Sprang Upright And Stood For A Moment,
Sustained By The False Strength Of The Fever. "To Panama, You Hear
Me!" He Shouted. He Beat The Floor With His Foot. "Faster, Faster,
Faster," He Cried. "We've Got A Great Story! We Want A Clear Wire, We
Want The Wire Clear From Panama To City Hall. It's The Greatest Story
Ever Written--Full Of Facts, Facts, Facts, Facts For The Consolidated
Press--And Keating Wrote It. I Tell You, Keating Wrote It. I Saw Him
Write It. I Was A Stoker On The Same Ship."
The Mate And Crew Came Running Forward And Stood Gaping Stupidly
Through The Doors And Windows Of The Chart-Room. Channing Welcomed
Them Joyously, And Then Crumpled Up In A Heap And Pitched Forward
Into The Arms Of The Captain. His Head Swung Weakly From Shoulder To
Shoulder.
"I Beg Your Pardon," He Muttered, "I Beg Your Pardon, Captain, But
Your Engine-Room Is Too Hot. I'm Only A Stoker And I Know My Place,
Sir, But I Tell You, Your Engine-Room Is Too Hot. It's A Burning
Hell, Sir, It's A Hell!"
The Captain Nodded To The Crew And They Closed In On Him, And Bore
Him, Struggling Feebly, To A Bunk In The Cabin Below. In The Berth
Opposite, Keating Was Snoring Peacefully.
Part 3 Title 1 (Ranson's Folly) Pg 93
After The Six Weeks' Siege The Fruit Company's Doctor Told Channing
He Was Cured, And That He Might Walk Abroad. In This First Walk He
Found That, During His Illness, Port Antonio Had Reverted To Her
Original Condition Of Complete Isolation From The World, The Press-
Boats Had Left Her Wharves, The Correspondents Had Departed From The
Veranda Of Her Only Hotel, The War Was Over, And The Peace
Commissioners Had Sailed For Paris. Channing Expressed His Great
Gratitude To The People Of The Hotel And To The Fruit Company's
Doctor. He Made It Clear To Them That If They Ever Hoped To Be Paid
Those Lesser Debts Than That Of Gratitude Which He Still Owed Them,
They Must Return Him To New York And Newspaper Row. It Was Either
That, He Said, Or, If They Preferred, He Would Remain And Work Out
His Indebtedness, Checking Bunches Of Bananas At Twenty Dollars A
Month. The Fruit Company Decided It Would Be Paid More Quickly If
Channing Worked At His Own Trade, And Accordingly Sent Him North In
One Of Its Steamers. She Landed Him In Boston, And He Borrowed Five
Dollars From The Chief Engineer To Pay His Way To New York.
It Was Late In The Evening Of The Same Day When He Stepped Out Of The
Smoking-Car Into The Roar And Riot Of The Grand Central Station. He
Had No Baggage To Detain Him, And, As He Had No Money Either, He Made
His Way To An Italian Restaurant Where He Knew They Would Trust Him
To Pay Later For What He Ate. It Was A Place Where The Newspaper Men
Were Accustomed To Meet, Men Who Knew Him, And Who, Until He Found
Work, Would Lend Him Money To Buy A Bath, Clean Clothes, And A Hall
Bedroom.
Norris, The World Man, Greeted Him As He Entered The Door Of The
Restaurant, And Hailed Him With A Cry Of Mingled Fright And Pleasure.
"Why, We Didn't Know But You Were Dead," He Exclaimed. "The Boys Said
When They Left Kingston You Weren't Expected To Live. Did You Ever
Get The Money And Things We Sent You By The Red Cross Boat?"
Channing Glanced At Himself And Laughed.
"Do I Look It?" He Asked. He Was Wearing The Same Clothes In Which He
Had Slept Under The Fruit-Sheds At Port Antonio. They Had Been Soaked
And Stained By The Night-Dews And By The Sweat Of The Fever.
"Well, It's Great Luck, Your Turning Up Here Just Now," Norris
Assured Him, Heartily. "That Is, If You're As Hungry As The Rest Of
The Boys Are Who Have Had The Fever. You Struck It Just Right; We're
Giving A Big Dinner Here To-Night," He Explained, "One Of Maria's
Best. You Come In With Me. It's A Celebration For Old Keating, A
Farewell Blow-Out."
Channing Started And Laughed.
"Keating?" He Asked. "That's Funny," He Said. "I Haven't Seen Him
Since--Since Before I Was Ill."
"Yes, Old Jimmie Keating. You've Got Nothing Against Him, Have You?"
Part 3 Title 1 (Ranson's Folly) Pg 94
Channing Shook His Head Vehemently, And Norris Glanced Back
Complacently Toward The Door Of The Dining-Room, From Whence Came The
Sound Of Intimate Revelry.
"You Might Have Had, Once," Norris Said, Laughing; "We Were All Up
Against Him Once. But Since He's Turned Out Such A Wonder And A War-
Hero, We're Going To Recognize It. They're Always Saying We Newspaper
Men Have It In For Each Other, And So We're Just Giving Him This
Subscription-Dinner To Show It's Not So. He's Going Abroad, You Know.
He Sails To-Morrow Morning."
"No, I Didn't Know," Said Channing.
"Of Course Not, How Could You? Well, The Consolidated Press's Sending
Him And His
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