Grace S. Richmond - "On Christmas Day in the Morning"

William Crosbie Hunter - "Evening Round Up"

Voltaire - "Candido, o El Optimismo"

Robert Neilson Stephens - "An Enemy To The King"

Annual Bibliography of Commonwealth Literature 2007
This paper argues that discourses of love in Ghanaian market literature for youth offer a view into complex negotiations of agency and empowerment. Drawing on Deborah Durham's notion of youth as "social `shifters'" and Francis Nyamnjoh's conception of the "interconnectedness" of agency, I take Ghanaian market literature as one specific case of how African literature for youth foregrounds questions of continuity and change as African societies enter into increasingly complex global relations. In this literature for youth, received notions of love, often constructed out of impressions from American pop and hip hop music, carry new notions of agency that compete with existing "domesticated" forms. Authors like Ike Tandoh and Evelyn Tay employ discourses of love to offer youth alternative avenues for empowerment in a context of socio-economic disenfranchizement. In a creative process of "straddling", this writing both reveals and reproduces the contradictions that obtain in youth configurations of agency.

The Mask

A >> Arthur Hornblow >> The Mask




But overshadowing these preoccupations at present were those other new
anxieties which preyed upon her sensitive mind with all the force of an
obsession. Was there any part of her husband's life that he had hidden
from her? Was he really as loyal as she had always fondly and blindly
believed; had his ambition led him to take grave financial risks that
might one day jeopardize their comfort and happiness, the very future
of their child?

Ray rose to put away the tea table, and she found herself sitting alone
with the lawyer. There was a moment's silence, and then, as if
thinking out aloud what was on her mind, she said:

"Thank God, he's safe; I had the most fearful premonitions----"

The lawyer laughed.

"Don't put your trust in premonitions--things happen or they don't
happen. It's absurd to believe that misfortunes are all prepared
beforehand."

"Then you are not a fatalist?"

"Decidedly not. I hope I have too much intelligence to believe in
anything so foolish."

"Do you believe in a Supreme Being who has the same power to suddenly
snuff us out of existence as he had to create us?"

"I neither believe nor disbelieve. Frankly, I do not know. What
people call God, Jehovah, Nature, according to my reasoning, is an
astounding energy, a marvellous chemical process, created and
controlled by some unknown, stupendous first cause, the origin of which
man may never understand. How should he? He has not time. We are
rushed into the world without preparation. We are ignorant, helpless,
blind. Gradually, by dint of much physical labor and mental toil, we
succeed in ferreting out a few facts regarding ourselves and the
physical laws that govern us. We are just on the verge of discovering
more--we are just beginning to understand and enjoy life--when suddenly
we find ourselves growing old and decrepit. Our physical and mental
powers fail us, and the same force that benevolently created us now
mercilessly destroys us, and we are hurled, willy-nilly, back into
eternity whence we came. Rather absurd, isn't it?"

Intensely interested Helen looked up. Eagerly she exclaimed:

"You have a whole system of philosophy in a mere handful of words,
haven't you?"

He smiled.

"It's all one needs, and perhaps as good as those more complicated and
more verbose."

More seriously and lowering her voice so Ray, who was still busy at the
other end of the room, might not overhear, she said:

"Mr. Steell--you are so clever--you know all about everything. Tell
me, do you know anything about Wall Street?"

The ingenuousness of the question amused him. With a laugh he answered:

"A little--to my sorrow."

"It's a dangerous place, isn't it?"

"Very; it has a graveyard at one end, the East River at the other, two
places highly convenient at times to those who play the game."

"If luck goes against him, a man could lose his all, then?"

"Not only his all but the all of others, too--if he's that kind of a
man."

She was silent for a moment. Then she continued:

"And sometimes even fine, honest men are tempted, are they not, to
gamble with money which is not theirs?"

"Many have done so. The prisons are full of them. There is nothing so
dangerous as the get-rich-quick fever. All the men who gamble in
stocks have it. It becomes a mania, an obsession. Their judgment
becomes warped; they lose all sense of right and wrong."

"There's something else I want to ask you. What do you think of Signor
Keralio?"

He hesitated a moment before he answered. Then, with some warmth, he
said:

"As I told you before, I think he's a crook, only we can't prove it.
I've been looking up his record. It's a bad one. The fellow has
behaved himself so far in New York, but out West he is known under
various names as one of the slickest rogues that ever escaped hanging.
At one time he was the chief of a band of international crooks and
blackmailers that operated in London, Paris, Buenos Ayres, and the City
of Mexico. The scheme they usually worked was to get some prominent
man so badly compromised that he would pay any amount to save himself
from exposure, and they played so successfully on the fears of their
victims that they were usually successful."

A worried look came into the young wife's face. Perhaps there was more
in Signor Keralio's relations with her husband than she had suspected.
Quickly she asked:

"Why do they permit a man of that character to be at large?"

The lawyer shrugged his shoulders.

"You can't proceed against a man unless there is some specific charge
made. The police have nothing now against him. He may have reformed
for all I know. But that was his record some years ago."

"I don't think he'll dare come here again," went on Helen. "He's
exceedingly offensive, and yet he has about him a certain magnetism
that compels your attention, even while his manner and look repels and
irritates. Only the other day he----"

Before she could complete the sentence, there was a loud ring at the
front door bell. Helen hastily rose, but Ray had already gone forward.

"It's Mr. Parker," she cried. "I saw him coming from the window."

The next instant the door of the drawing-room was flung open and Mr.
Parker appeared.

"Hallo, ladies! Howdy, Steell!"

The president of the Americo-African Mining Company was not looking his
usual debonair self that evening. His manner was nervous and
flustered, his face pale and drawn with anxious lines. His coat lacked
the customary boutonniere, and his crumpled linen and unshaved chin
suggested that he had come direct from his office after a strenuous day
without stopping to go through the formality of making a change of
attire.

Helen was quick to note the alteration in his appearance, and her first
instinct, naturally, was to associate it with her husband. Something
was amiss.

"There's nothing wrong, is there?" she asked in alarm.

"No, no, my dear woman!"

But his tone was not convincing. He always called her "my dear woman"
when nervous or excited, and "my dear lady" in his calmer moods. She
at once remarked it, and it did not tend to reassure her. Now greatly
alarmed she laid a trembling hand on his arm.

"Tell me, please! Don't hide anything from me. Has anything happened
to Kenneth?"

"No--no; of course not." Quickly changing the subject he asked: "You
got a message."

"Yes--a cablegram. It came just now."

"Have you got it? Let me see it."

"Yes, certainly," said Helen, looking around for the dispatch. Unable
to find it, she called to her sister.

"Ray, dear, what did you do with Kenneth's cablegram?"

Her sister came up to assist in the search, in which even Mr. Steell
joined. But the search was fruitless. The cablegram had disappeared.

"Oh, I know!" suddenly exclaimed Ray. "It must have been carried away
with the tea things."

"That's right! I never thought of that!" said Helen.

The next instant the two women hurried out of the room in the direction
of the kitchen.

The instant they had disappeared Mr. Parker turned to the lawyer. In a
whisper he said:

"There is terrible news! I don't know how to break it to the poor
woman----"

Steell sprang forward. Anxiously he exclaimed:

"Terrible news? Surely not----"

The president nodded.

"Yes--all lost, and the diamonds, too. A dispatch just received in
London says that, according to a wireless relayed from Cape Town, the
_Abyssinia_ caught fire twelve hours after sailing from that port and
all on board perished. It is shocking, and the pecuniary loss to us
disastrous. The stones were not insured. Hush! Here they come. Not
a word!"

"My God!" muttered the lawyer, as he fell back and turned away, so they
might not see the effect which the shocking news had made on him. With
an effort he managed to control himself.

The two women entered the room joyfully.

"Here it is!" cried Helen exultantly, as she brandished the missing
telegram. "You see, he's just sailed, and all's well."

The president said nothing, but, taking the dispatch from her hands,
slowly read it. Nodding his head, he said slowly:

"Yes--he's just sailed, and--all's well."

"When do you think he'll be here?" questioned the young hostess,
looking anxiously up into his face.

The president shook his head.

"That is hard to tell," he answered evasively.

Mr. Steell had gone to the window, where he stood looking out, idly
drumming his fingers on the pane. How was it possible to break such
fearful tidings as that? What a horrible calamity! He wished himself
a hundred miles away, yet some one must tell her. At that moment
shrill cries arose in the street outside--the familiar, distressing,
almost exultant cries of news-venders, glad of any calamity that puts a
few nickels into their pockets.

"_Ex-tra! Ex-tra! Special ex-tra!_"

"What's that?" exclaimed Helen apprehensively. The sound of special
editions always filled her with anxiety, especially since Kenneth's
departure.

"_Ex-tra! Ex-tra! Special edition! Ex-tra! Big steamer gone down.
Great loss of life. Extra!_"

Her face was pale, as she turned and looked at the others, who also
stood in silence, listening to the hoarse accents of distress.

"A steamer gone down!" she faltered. "Isn't that terrible? I wonder
what steamer it was."

Ray ran to the door.

"I'll get a paper," she said.

Before Mr. Parker or Mr. Steell could prevent her the young girl had
opened the front door. Now there was no way of preventing Helen
knowing. The best thing was to prepare her gently.

"My dear Mrs. Traynor--I didn't tell you the trouble just now. There
has been a little trouble. The _Abyssinia_----"

Helen gave a cry of anguish.

"I knew it! I knew it! Kenneth is dead!"

"No, no, my dear lady. These newspaper reports are always grossly
exaggerated. The _Abyssinia_ has met with a little trouble--nothing
very serious, I assure you. Everything is all right, no doubt. Your
husband is well able to take care of himself. We may hear from him any
moment, reassuring us as to his safety."

His words of comfort went unheeded. Her face white as death Helen
tottered rather than walked to the door, reaching it just as Ray,
almost as pale, entered, reading the paper she had just purchased. On
seeing her sister she instinctively made an effort to hide the sheet,
but Helen quickly snatched it out of her hand. Her hand trembling so
violently that she could scarcely make out the letters she glanced at
the big scare-head, printed in red ink, to imitate blood, a merciful
custom sensational newspapers have of making the most of the agony of
others.

S. S. ABYSSINIA GONE DOWN!
ALL PERISH!


For a moment she stood still, looking at the big type with open,
staring eyes. Then, with a low cry, like a wounded animal, she let the
paper slip from her nerveless fingers. There was a furious throbbing
at her temples: her heart seemed to stop. The room spun round, and she
fainted just as Steell rushed forward to catch her in his arms.

"Brandy! Brandy!" he shouted. "She's fainted!"

While Ray ran for the smelling salts and Mr. Parker was bringing the
brandy there came another vigorous pull at the bell. An instant later
the maid entered with a cablegram, which Mr. Parker seized and tore
open. As he read the contents, a look of the greatest surprise and joy
lit up his face.

"Look at this!" he cried.

"What is it?" demanded Steell, still on his knees trying to revive the
unconscious woman.

"This will do her more good than all your brandy."

"What is it?" cried Ray impatiently.

"He's safe!" cried Mr. Parker exultantly.

"Safe!" they all cried.

"Yes--safe." Handing the dispatch to the lawyer, he added: "Here--read
this."

Steell took the dispatch and read:


CAPE TOWN, Saturday: Miraculously saved. Sail to-morrow on the
_Zanzibar_. KENNETH.




CHAPTER XI

The house of mourning had suddenly become transformed into a house of
joy.

From the deepest abyss of hopeless despair Helen, during the next few
days, was raised to the highest pinnacle of human felicity. Kenneth
was safe, that was all she wanted to know. Whether he had succeeded or
not in saving the diamonds she did not know or care.

Nothing more had been heard from him. Cable dispatches reported the
_Zanzibar_ to be making good time on her way to Southampton, but, until
the steamer arrived there, no further details were to be expected.
Much, however, had been gleaned as to the fate of the _Abyssinia_, and,
as the accounts of disaster began to come in, she could only thank God
that he had succeeded in escaping such a fearful fate. The ship had
mysteriously caught fire the first day out from Cape Town, and, in the
excitement, the crew, as well as the passengers, lost their heads.
Only one boat could be lowered, and in this Kenneth got away, together
with Francois, his valet, and some other passengers. A news item in
connection with the affair, which was of particular interest to Helen,
ran as follows:


"The loss of the _Abyssinia_ brought to a tragic ending a remarkable
romance in which Mr. Kenneth Traynor, one of the rescued passengers and
a prominent New York broker, is one of the principal figures. Mr.
Traynor is one of two twins so identical in appearance that no one, not
even their own mother, knew them apart. One of the children
mysteriously disappeared when a mere child and was believed to be dead.
Mr. Kenneth Traynor went recently to South Africa on business, and on
the diamond fields found in starving condition an unlucky miner who was
a perfect counterpart of himself. It was his lost brother. Mutual
explanations followed and the identity was established. Overjoyed at
the reunion the two brothers sailed for home on the _Abyssinia_.
Suddenly came the alarm of fire. While the panic on board was at its
worst, the broker lost sight of his brother, whom he never saw again
and whom it is only too certain went down with the ship."


"It's almost unbelievable, isn't it?" exclaimed Helen, as she read the
paragraph for the hundredth time and handed it to Wilbur Steell, who
had dropped in to hear if there was any news.

Ray, who loved a mystery better than anything else in the world,
clapped her hands.

"Isn't it perfectly stunning?"

"Not for Kenneth's brother--poor fellow," said Helen reprovingly. "He
did not live long to enjoy his bettered condition."

"That's right. How thoughtless of me!" said Ray contritely.

As he finished reading Mr. Steell looked puzzled. Looking toward Helen
he asked:

"Did you know that your husband had a twin brother?"

"I only knew it recently--just before he sailed. He did not know it
himself."

"How did he find it out?"

"His old nurse told him. I was present."

"Did the nurse know the brother was in South Africa?"

"No--she had no idea of it. I'm sure of that. It's one of those
wonderful coincidences one some-times hears of."

The lawyer shook his head. Thoughtfully he said:

"It's certainly strange--one of the strangest things I ever heard of."

"Kenneth will be able to tell us more about it when he comes," said Ray.

"Yes--no doubt," asserted her sister quickly.

The lawyer remained thoughtful for a moment. Then, lightly he said:

"We ought to give Kenneth a rousing welcome home. After such
experiences as he has had he richly deserves it."

Eagerly Helen caught at the suggestion.

"By all means!" she cried. "Suppose we give a dinner, followed by a
dance."

"Oh, lovely!" said Ray.

"The night following his arrival," went on Helen enthusiastically.
"We'll make it quite an affair and invite everyone we know--the
Parkers, the Galloways, the Fentons, everybody----"

"Don't forget me!" interrupted Steell.

"Oh, you, of course!" Roguishly she added: "Aren't you one of the
family?"

He looked at her and smiled. In an undertone which Ray, too busy
looking at the paper, did not hear, he added:

"Not yet, but I hope to be."

"The sooner the better, Wilbur," she said earnestly. With a
significant glance at her sister she added, "Don't let her keep you
waiting too long."

Every hour brought nearer the happy day when they would see Kenneth
again. A cablegram from England reported that the _Zanzibar_ had
reached Southampton. Closely following this came a brief message from
Kenneth himself, stating that he was on the point of sailing for New
York on the _Adriatic_. In five more days he would be in New York.

Expectation now reached fever heat, the excitement being communicated
to everyone in the house. Every time the front door bell rang there
was a rush downstairs in the hope that it might be another message.

Ray, bubbling over with excitement, was almost as eager as her sister.

"Won't it be jolly to go down to the dock and meet him?"

Helen shook her head.

"I won't go to meet him. I prefer to be here when he arrives."
Anxiously she added: "I hope everything is all right."

"Why shouldn't it be all right?"

Her sister was silent. It seemed absurd, when everything seemed to
point to her happiness, that she should still feel depressed and
nervous, but, somehow, she could not shake off the feeling that
something was wrong. It was certainly strange that no letter had been
received from Kenneth since the accident. Yet perhaps it was wicked of
her to expect more. She ought to be grateful that he had been spared.
Almost unconsciously she remarked:

"Isn't it strange that Ken hasn't written for so long? I haven't had a
line from him since he left Cape Town."

"Yes--you have," protested her sister. "You had a cablegram telling
you of his safety."

"A cablegram--yes, but no letter. I have had no letter since he left
Cape Town."

"That's true. But how could he write? He has been traveling faster
than the mails."

"I hope he's not hurt."

"Of course not. You would have heard it before this. Bad news travels
fast."

Every moment from now on was devoted to getting the house ready for the
arrival of its lord and master. Ray had skilfully fashioned out of red
letters on white paper, a big "Welcome" sign, which was to be suspended
in the hall on the complacent horns of two gigantic moose heads,
souvenirs of a month's vacation in the Adirondacks. While this was
being done downstairs Helen busied herself in the library and bedroom,
getting ready the things for his comfort--his dressing-gown, his
slippers, his pipe. She detested pipes, as do most women, but she
could not refrain from giving this pipe a furtive kiss, as she laid it
lovingly on the table within easy reach of the arm-chair. The maids,
changed since he went away, were laboriously instructed in what they
should and should not do, what towels should be put in the luxurious
bathroom, what pajamas should be laid on the bed.

Well Helen remembered the first time she had entered this bedroom.
Just married, in the full flush of her new-found happiness, it had all
seemed so beautiful, so ideal. The dull pink color scheme, so chaste
and delicate, the gracefully carved furniture, so luxurious and
elegant, the cupids flying above the massive beautifully carved bed, a
veritable bower of love--all this seemed only a realization of her
girlhood dreams of what married life should be. And now Kenneth was
coming back, after his long absence in South Africa, it would be like
getting married all over again.

The next four days seemed longer than any Helen had ever spent in all
her life. The delay was interminable. The minutes appeared to be like
hours, the hours like days. Having to wait patiently for what one
desired so ardently was simply intolerable. She tried to divert her
mind by busying herself about the library, dusting his favorite books,
tidying his papers, but constantly came back the thoughts that filled
her with uneasiness, a vague, undefinable alarm. Was he all right?

At last the great day arrived. A Western Union telegram announced that
the _Adriatic_ would dock at 2 o'clock. Long before that time, Ray,
unable to restrain her impatience, was on her way down town,
accompanied by Mr. Steell, while Helen, her face a little paler than
usual, her heart beating a little faster, sat in the great recessed
window of the library, and waited for the arrival of the loved one.

Anxiously, impatiently, she watched the hands of the clock move round.
How exasperatingly slow it was: how indifferent it seemed to her
happiness! If the ship docked at two they could hardly arrive at the
house until four. It would take at least two hours to get through the
customs. Oh, would the moment never come when she would see his dear
face and clasp him in her arms?

It was nearly half past two when suddenly the front door bell rang.
Her heart leaping to her mouth, she rushed to the top of the stairs.
It was only Mr. Parker, who had dropped in on the chance of finding his
associate already arrived.

To-day the president of the Americo-African Mining Company was in the
highest spirits. Everything had gone according to his expectations.
Kenneth was home with the big diamonds safe in his possession. The
directors could not fail to give him (Parker) credit for his sagacity
and enterprise. The stocks of the company would soar above par.
Fortune was smiling on them in no uncertain way. Was it a wonder he
was feeling in the best of humors?

"How do you know the diamonds are safe?" questioned Helen anxiously.
"In such a terrible panic as there must have been on that ship a man
thinks only of saving himself."

"Pshaw!" replied the president confidently. "I'm as sure of it as that
I'm here. It was understood that he was never to part with the stones
under any circumstances. They are in a belt he wears round his waist
next to his skin. If the diamonds were not here, Kenneth would not be
here. Knowing he is safe I am convinced that they are safe."

"Will you wait here until he comes?"

"No, I can't. There's a meeting of the directors this afternoon. I
must attend. I'll call him up on the telephone----"

"But you are coming to dinner this evening----"

"Yes, yes, of course." With a smile he added: "Now, don't get too
spoony when he comes, or else Ken will have no head for business."

"No fear," laughed Helen. "We are too long married for that."

"Well, good-bye. I'll see you later."

The president took his hat and turned to go. As he reached the door he
turned round.

"By the bye, have you seen Signor Keralio lately?"

Helen's face grew more serious.

"No--Signor Keralio does not call here any more-at my request."

The president gave a low, expressive whistle. Holding out his hand he
said:

"Got his walking papers, eh? Well, I guess if you don't like him he
isn't much good. I never did care for the look of him."

"Why did you ask?" she inquired.

"I was just curious--that's all. He's a persistent, uncomfortable kind
of man. I don't like his face. It's a face I wouldn't trust----"

"That's why he's not coming here any more," she replied calmly. "He
forgot himself and that was the end----"

The president turned to go.

"Well, good-bye. Ken will be here soon."

"Good-bye."

He went away, and once more Helen resumed her lonely vigil at the
library window, straining her ears to catch the direction of every
passing car, catching her breath with suspense as each pedestrian came
into view. They could not be much longer. She wondered if he had
missed her as much as she had him. No, men do not feel these things in
the way women do. They are too busy--their minds too much preoccupied
with their work. The turmoil of affairs absorbed their attention.

The clock struck the three-quarters, and the reverberations of the
chimes had not entirely died away, when through the partly opened
window came the sound of a taxicab suddenly stopping in front of the
door.

At last he had come! It was surely Kenneth. Her bosom heaving with
suppressed excitement she ran to the stairs and was already in the
lower hall before the maid had answered the bell. Quickly she threw
open the door, eager to throw herself in the traveler's arms. A tall
shadow darkened the doorway. It was Francois, the French valet.

Helen fell back in dismay.

"Oh, it's you!" she exclaimed, looking over his shoulder to see if
Kenneth were following. "Where is your master?"

A curious expression, half-defiant, half-cunning, came over the
servant's face, as he replied:

"Monsieur coming. He sent me ahead with light baggage. He detained at
customs."

"Oh!" she exclaimed, disappointed. "When will he be here?"

"He come presently--perhaps quarter of an hour."

"How is your master?"

"He very well, except his eyes--they bother him a leetle."

Helen stared at him in alarm.

"His eyes," she exclaimed. "What is the matter with his eyes?"

The valet avoided her direct gaze, and, shifting uneasily on his feet,
began to fuss with the leather bags he was carrying. Awkwardly he said:

"Didn't madame hear?"

"Hear what?" she gasped, now thoroughly alarmed.

The man put out his hand deprecatingly.

"Oh, it's nothing to make madame afraid. It will soon be all right. I
assure madame----"

"But tell me what it is, will you?" she interrupted impatiently.
"Don't have so much to say--tell me what it is----"

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