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Oppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips), 1866-1946

"A Millionaire of Yesterday"

It is true there is the Syndicate,
that great scheme of yours yesterday from which you were so careful
to exclude me - you are to get great monies from them in cash. Bah!
don't you see that Monty's existence breaks up that Syndicate -
smashes it into tiny atoms, for you have sold what was not yours to
sell, and they do not pay for that, eh? They call it fraud!"
He paused, out of breath, and Trent remained silent; he knew very
well that he was face to face with a great crisis. Of all things
this was the most fatal which could have happened to him. Monty
alive! He remembered the old man's passionate cry for life, for
pleasure, to taste once more, for however short a time, the joys of
wealth. Monty alive, penniless, half-witted, the servant of a few
ill-paid missionaries, toiling all day for a living, perhaps fishing
with the natives or digging, a slave still, without hope or
understanding, with the end of his days well in view! Surely it
were better to risk all things, to have him back at any cost? Then
a thought more terrible yet than any rose up before him like a
spectre, there was a sudden catch at his heart-strings, he was cold
with fear. What would she think of the man who deserted his partner,
an old man, while life was yet in him, and safety close at hand?
Was it possible that he could ever escape the everlasting stigma of
cowardice - ay, and before him in great red letters he saw written
in the air that fatal clause in the agreement, to which she and all
others would point with bitter scorn, indubitable, overwhelming
evidence against him.


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