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Updated: May 1, 2025
The question of shortening one's life is one that nobody has a right to decide except for himself." Then he asked abruptly. "What sort of person is Maxfield Ware?" She attempted no palliations here. "He kissed me last night," she said, "taking his cigar out of his mouth for the purpose. He's not a sort of person I can endure or manage. Paula hates him as much as I do, but she can manage him.
"Easy, young man," said the latter, a substantial-looking, bony individual with a wrinkled face, and speaking with a decided American twang. "You'll hurt yourself, I reckon, if you talk like that. It's bad for the jaws." Mr Ratman took a contemptuous survey of the stranger and quitted the platform. His first idea was to return to Maxfield and demand entertainment there for the night.
Then, turning to the stranger, he said, "What may be thy name, good fellow?" "My name is Gamwell," answered the other. "Ha!" cried Robin, "is it even so? I have near kin of that name. Whence camest thou, fair friend?" "From Maxfield Town I come," answered the stranger. "There was I born and bred, and thence I come to seek my mother's young brother, whom men call Robin Hood.
I should despise myself if I sat idle here." So it happened that, just when Maxfield was preparing in a quiet way to celebrate the coming of age of the heir; just as the gloom which had followed on Captain Oliphant's tragic death was beginning to lift a little and allow Tom and Jill decorously to think of football; just as Rosalind was beginning to make up her mind that she was not destined for ever to teach the elements of art and science to the Vicarage children; just when everything seemed to be settling down for the last scene of the drama, Roger and his tutor vanished once more on their familiar wild-goose chase.
What transpired subsequently, and how he dropped for a season out of all knowledge, the reader already knows. The suspense occasioned by his sudden disappearance, as may be imagined, added a new element of wretchedness to the situation at Maxfield. Telegrams, letters, inquiries, alike failed to discover his whereabouts or the secret of his silence.
It is difficult to single out, among the many suggestive pictures, the most alluring one, but I may safely say that the first half hour after the close of day, as enjoyed around the lagoon, with the Fine Arts Building in the background, reflected in the waters, will linger forever in the minds of all who are privileged to see it. Such blues I have seen only in pictures by Maxfield Parrish.
No, he must climb down, own himself wrong, and sue for permission to assist in a quest in which he had little faith and still less inclination. While he is making up his mind, it may be worth the reader's while to remark what was happening at Maxfield. Tom and Jill woke one morning to discover themselves lord and lady of the situation.
The discovery of Captain Oliphant's body at the foot of the cliff, with the clear traces of a struggle on the brink above, had created a profound sensation at Maxfield and the country round.
His brother that wild-eyed, fascinating, defiant boy in the picture lived still, and all this place was his. Till that moment Roger had never imagined what it would be to be anything but the heir of Maxfield. Every dream of his for the future had Maxfield painted into the background. He loved the place as his own, as his sphere in life, as his destiny. Was that a dream after all?
It wanted but a month to Roger's majority, that important day on which the fate of so many persons was to be decided, when a letter was delivered to the heir of Maxfield as he sat at breakfast. The weeks that had passed since Captain Oliphant's sudden death had been uneventful.
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