The Lightning Conductor Discovers America

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Williamson Charles Norris. The Lightning Conductor Discovers America

I. THE HONBLE MRS. WINSTON (NÉE MOLLY RANDOLPH) TO HER FRIEND, THE COUNTESS OF LANE

II. THE HONBLE MRS. WINSTON TO HER FRIEND THE COUNTESS OF LANE

III. THE HONBLE MRS. WINSTON TO THE COUNTESS OF LANE

IV. PATRICIA MOORE TO ADRIENNE DE MONCOURT, HER BEST FRIEND IN THE CONVENT SCHOOL AT NEUILLY

V. PETER STORM TO JAMES STRICKLAND, A NEW YORK LAWYER CELEBRATED FOR HIS BRILLIANT DEFENCE OF CERTAIN FAMOUS CRIMINALS

VI. THE HONBLE MRS. WINSTON TO THE COUNTESS OF LANE

VII. EDWARD CASPIAN TO MRS. L. SHUSTER

VIII. PATRICIA MOORE TO ADRIENNE DE MONCOURT

IX. ANGÉLE DUBOIS, PATRICIA MOORE'S MAID, TO THE MARQUISE DE MONCOURT

X. EDWARD CASPIAN TO MRS. SHUSTER

XI. PETER STORM TO JAMES STRICKLAND

XII. PATRICIA MOORE TO ADRIENNE DE MONCOURT

XIII. MOLLY WINSTON TO MERCÉDES LANE

XIV. PETER STORM TO JAMES STRICKLAND

XV. MOLLY WINSTON TO MERCÉDES LANE

XVI. ANGÉLE, PATRICIAS MAID, TO THE MARQUISE DE MONCOURT

XVII. PETER STORM TO JAMES STRICKLAND

XVIII. MOLLY WINSTON TO LORD AND LADY LANE

XIX. PATRICIA MOORE TO ADRIENNE DE MONCOURT

XX. NIGHT LETTER TELEGRAM FROM PETER STORM TO JAMES STRICKLAND

XXI. MOLLY WINSTON TO MERCÉDES LANE

XXII. MOLLY WINSTON TO MERCÉDES LANE

XXIII. PETER STORM TO JAMES STRICKLAND

XXIV. EDWARD CASPIAN TO RICHARD MOYLE, KNOWN PROFESSIONALLY AS "CAMERA-EYED DICK"

XXV. MOLLY WINSTON TO MERCÉDES LANE

XXVI. MOLLY WINSTON TO MERCÉDES LANE

XXVII. EDWARD CASPIAN TO DANIEL WINTERTON THE MANAGER OF A DETECTIVE AGENCY IN NEW YORK

XXVIII. PATRICIA MOORE TO ADRIENNE DE MONCOURT

XXIX. MOLLY WINSTON TO MERCÉDES LANE

XXX. EDWARD CASPIAN TO DANIEL WINTERTON

XXXI. MOLLY WINSTON TO MERCÉDES LANE

XXXII. MOLLY WINSTON TO MERCÉDES LANE

XXXIII. MOLLY WINSTON TO MERCÉDES LANE

Отрывок из книги

You dear, to send us such a nice expensive cablegram! We found it waiting when we arrived. Of course the name of the place limped out of England hopelessly mutilated. But how could a British telegraph operator be expected to spell Awepesha? The name is more American than the United States, being Indian; and meaning "it calms." Belonging to Long Island, it is Algonquian of course. Don't you think that rather a nice name for a place on a shady shore by quiet waters, where fierce winds never blow, and soft mists often make you look at the world as through an opal? It's an appropriate name, too, because poor Cousin John Randolph Payton, who died and left Awepesha to me, built it after separating from a Xantippe wife who made his life a Nell.

Everything is sweet; and the large white house has the calmest face you ever saw: wide-apart eyes, and a high, broad forehead, under drooping green hair – elm hair. Jack loves it. He says I mustn't dream of selling, as he rather thought it would be wise to do, before he saw my legacy. Now his feeling is that even if we don't spend more than two months out of twenty-four at the place, we simply must keep it for ours. You know we were married abroad, and this is Jack's first sight of anything Colonial. When I used to talk about a house being "Colonial," it left him cold. He had an idea that to the trained eye of a true Englishman "Colonial" would mean debased Georgian. But now he admits – he's a darling about admitting things, which I hear is a rare virtue in husbands! – that there's a delicious uniqueness about an American Colonial house not to be found anywhere or in anything else the world over. It is, he thinks, as if America had spiritualized the Georgian era and expressed it in terms of airy lightness unknown to the solid Georges themselves. Of course, our home isn't quite the real thing, but a copy. It's forty years old, whereas Kidd's Pines – but oh, my dear, that reminds me! You'd never believe what has happened to that poor child, Patricia Moore, whom I "starred" in my ship's letter to you. When I wrote, she seemed on the topmost crest of the wave. "Poor" was the last adjective I should have selected to describe her position in life.

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Of course, I didn't dream that he could help by word or deed, but I thought if he just hurled himself blindly into the breach it would be something. By the time Mr. Caspian could renew his offer, Larry Moore might be at hand to look after his own interests and Pat's.

Mr. Peter Storm (perhaps I've mentioned this?) is tall and has therefore very long legs – soldier legs – that is, they can take prodigious strides as if they had a redoubt or something to carry in record time. Whether my glance had lassoed him, or whether he wanted to be introduced to Mrs. Shuster's rich friend, I couldn't tell. Anyhow, he landed among us like an arrow shot from an unseen bow, and "Jill came tumbling after." (By the way, "Jill" would be a lovely name for Mrs. S. I believe her real one is Lily.)

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