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Updated: May 26, 2025
The hard, individualistic stories of selfish characters Ben Hecht's for example, and Scott Fitzgerald's have been written after a war period of enforced self-sacrifice and by young men who were familiar with suffering for a cause.
When they came in, the barrister saw that the millionaire looked haggard and ill, and there was a worried expression on his face. "There is my daughter, Calton," he said, after hurried greetings had been exchanged. "She wants to be present in Court during Fitzgerald's trial, and nothing I can say will dissuade her." Calton turned, and looked at the girl in some surprise.
A kind of low murmur, or rather groan, was now raised, and a slight motion was observable in the crowd, as if to intercept Fitzgerald's passage to his horse. M'Creagh, drawing the horse close to the spot where Fitzgerald stood, threatened, with the most awful imprecations, 'to blow the brains out of the first man who should dare to press on them.
"I am going to say that I took it for a joke," he declared. She hesitated. "Mrs. Fitzgerald's sense of humor is not elastic," she warned him. "She will be very angry, of course," he assented, "but she will not believe that I meant to steal it." The girl moved slowly a few steps away. "I suppose that I ought to thank you," she said, still with averted face and sullen manner.
"Like Carlyle, I gave up all hopes of him after The Princess," indeed it was not apt to conciliate Carlyle. "None of the songs had the old champagne flavour," said Fitz; and Lord Tennyson adds, "Nothing either by Thackeray or by my father met FitzGerald's approbation unless he had first seen it in manuscript." This prejudice was very human.
Those of the former who were seated rose, and one of the latter put out an arm and claimed her with a caressing touch. "You are late, child! So am I. They brought in a bad case of fever, and I waited for the night nurse. Sit here with us! Mrs. Fitzgerald's harp has been sent for and she is going to sing " Judith greeted the circle. A gentleman pushed forward a chair. "Thank you, Mr. Soule.
The admiral was like a boy starting out upon his first fishing-excursion. To him there existed nothing else in the world beyond a chest of money hidden somewhere in the pine forest of Aïtone. He talked and laughed, pinched Laura's ears, shook Fitzgerald's shoulder, prodded Coldfield, and fussed because the motor wasn't sixty-horse power. "Father," Laura asked suddenly, "where is Mr. Breitmann?"
Why ;" and then the young member stopped himself, for Herbert Fitzgerald's story was rife about London at this time. "How do you do, Moulsey?" said Herbert, very glumly, for he did not at all like being recognized. This was Lord Moulsey, the eldest son of the Earl of Hampton Court, who was now member for the River Regions, and had been one of Herbert's most intimate friends at Oxford.
Fitzgerald's leg was under the animal, and twice the barbarian drove his keen weapon at the prostrate officer, but each time the blow was parried; and at length, clearing himself from the dead horse, the strong man rose.
"Drop into my room before you turn in," urged Fitzgerald to Cathewe. "That I shall, my boy. I've some questions to ask of you." But a singular idea came into creation, and this was for him, Cathewe, to pay Breitmann a visit on the way to Fitzgerald's room. Not one man in a thousand would have dared put this idea into a plan of action.
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