Sophie May - "Dotty Dimple at Her Grandmother's"

William Shakespeare - "Romeo und Julia"

Dillon Wallace - "Left on the Labrador"

Clinton Scollard - "From The Lips of the Sea"

Editorial
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.

Mr. Grex of Monte Carlo

E >> E. Phillips Oppenheim >> Mr. Grex of Monte Carlo




"I should be glad, sir, if you would allow me to speak to you for a
moment."

Mr. Grex's expression was one of cold surprise, unmixed with any
curiosity.

"Do you address me?" he asked.

His tone was vastly discouraging but it was too late to draw back.

"I should like to speak to you, if I may," Richard continued.

"I am not aware," Mr. Grex said, "that I have the privilege of your
acquaintance."

"You haven't," Richard admitted, "but all the same I want to speak to
you, if I may."

"Since you have gone so far," Mr. Grex conceded, "you had better finish,
but you must allow me to tell you in advance that I look upon any
address from a perfect stranger as an impertinence."

"You'll think worse of me before I've finished, then," Richard declared
desperately. "You don't mind if I sit down?"

"These seats," Mr. Grex replied coldly, "are free to all."

The young man took his place upon the divan with a sinking heart. There
was something in Mr. Grex's tone which seemed to destroy all his
confidence, a note of something almost alien in the measured contempt of
his speech.

"I am sorry to give you any offence," Richard began. "I happened to
notice that you were watching me. I was looking at your
daughter--staring at her. I am afraid you thought me impertinent."

"Your perspicuity," Mr. Grex observed, "seems to be of a higher order
than your manners. You are, perhaps, a stranger to civilised society?"

"I don't know about that," Richard went on doggedly. "I have been to
college and mixed with the usual sort of people. My birth isn't much to
speak of, perhaps, if you count that for anything."

Something which was almost like the ghost of a smile, devoid of any
trace of humour, parted Mr. Grex's lips.

"If I count that for anything!" he repeated, half closing his eyes for a
moment. "Pray proceed, young man."

"I am an American," Richard continued. "My name is Richard Lane. My
father was very wealthy and I am his heir. My sister is Lady Weybourne.
I was lunching with her at Ciro's to-day when I saw you and your
daughter. I think I can say that I am a respectable person. I have a
great many friends to whom I can refer you."

"I am not thinking of engaging anybody, that I know of," Mr. Grex
murmured.

"I want to marry your daughter," Richard declared desperately, feeling
that any further form of explanation would only lead him into greater
trouble.

Mr. Grex knocked the ash from his cigarette.

"Is your keeper anywhere in the vicinity?" he asked.

"I am perfectly sane," Richard assured him. "I know that it sounds
foolish but it isn't really. I am twenty-seven years old and I have
never asked a girl to marry me yet. I have been waiting until--"

The words died away upon his lips. It was impossible for him to
continue, the cold enmity of this man was too chilling.

"I am absolutely in earnest," he insisted. "I have been endeavouring all
day to find some mutual friend to introduce me to your daughter. Will
you do so? Will you give me a chance?"

"I will not," Mr. Grex replied firmly.

"Why not? Please tell me why not?" Richard begged. "I am not asking for
anything more now than just an opportunity to talk with her."

"It is not a matter which admits of discussion," Mr. Grex pronounced. "I
have permitted you to say what you wished, notwithstanding the colossal,
the unimaginable impertinence of your suggestion. I request you to leave
me now and I advise you most heartily to indulge no more in the most
preposterous and idiotic idea which ever entered into the head of an
apparently sane young man."

Richard rose slowly to his feet.

"Very well, sir," he replied, "I'll go. All the same, what you have said
doesn't make any difference."

"Does not make any difference?" Mr. Grex repeated, with arched eyebrows.

"None at all," Richard declared. "I don't know what your objection to me
is, but I hope you'll get over it some day. I'd like to make friends
with you. Perhaps, later on, you may look at the matter differently."

"Later on?" Mr. Grex murmured.

"When I have married your daughter," Richard concluded, marching
defiantly away.

Mr. Grex watched the young man until he had disappeared in the crowd.
Then he leaned hack amongst the cushions of the divan with folded arms.
Little lines had become visible around his eyes, there was a slight
twitching at the corners of his lips. He looked like a man who was
inwardly enjoying some huge joke.




CHAPTER VIII

UP THE MOUNTAIN


Richard, passing the Hotel de Paris that evening in his wicked-looking
grey racing car, saw Hunterleys standing on the steps and pulled up.

"Not going up to La Turbie, by any chance?" he enquired.

Hunterleys nodded.

"I'm going up to the dinner," he replied. "The hotel motor is starting
from here in a few minutes."

"Come with me," Richard invited.

Hunterleys looked a little doubtfully at the long, low machine.

"Are you going to shoot up?" he asked. "It's rather a dangerous road."

"I'll take care of you," the young man promised. "That hotel 'bus will
be crammed."

They glided through the streets on to the broad, hard road, and crept
upwards with scarcely a sound, through the blue-black twilight. Around
and in front of them little lights shone out from the villas and small
houses dotted away in the mountains. Almost imperceptibly they passed
into a different atmosphere. The air became cold and exhilarating. The
flavour of the mountain snows gave life to the breeze. Hunterleys
buttoned up his coat but bared his head.

"My young friend," he said, "this is wonderful."

"It's a great climb," Richard assented, "and doesn't she just eat it
up!"

They paused for a moment at La Turbie. Below them was a chain of
glittering lights fringing the Bay of Mentone, and at their feet the
lights of the Casino and Monte Carlo flared up through the scented
darkness. Once more they swung upwards. The road now had become narrower
and the turnings more frequent. They were up above the region of villas
and farmhouses, in a country which seemed to consist only of bleak
hill-side, open to the winds, wrapped in shadows. Now and then they
heard the tinkling of a goat bell; far below they saw the twin lights of
other ascending cars. They reached the plateau at last and drew up
before the club-house, ablaze with cheerful lights.

"I'll just leave the car under the trees," Richard declared. "No one
will be staying late."

Hunterleys unwound his scarf and handed his coat and hat to a page-boy.
Then he stood suddenly rigid. He bit his lip. His wife had just issued
from the cloak-room and was drawing on her gloves. She saw him and
hesitated. She, too, turned a little paler. Slowly Hunterleys approached
her.

"An unexpected pleasure," he murmured.

"I am here with Mr. Draconmeyer," she told him, almost bluntly.

Hunterleys bowed.

"And a party?" he enquired.

"No," she replied. "I really did not want to come. Mr. Draconmeyer had
promised Monsieur Pericot, the director here, to come and bring Mrs.
Draconmeyer. At the last moment, however, she was not well enough, and
he almost insisted upon my taking her place."

"Is it necessary to explain?" Hunterleys asked quietly. "You know very
well how I regard this friendship of yours."

"I am sorry," she said. "If I had known that we were likely to
meet--well, I would not have come here to-night."

"You were at least considerate," he remarked bitterly. "May I be
permitted to compliment you upon your toilette?"

"As you pay for my frocks," she answered, "there is certainly no reason
why you shouldn't admire them."

He bit his lip. There was a certain challenge in her expression which
made him, for a moment, feel weak. She was a very beautiful woman and
she was looking her best. He spoke quickly on another subject.

"Are you still," he asked, "troubled by the attentions of the person you
spoke to me about?"

"I am still watched," she replied drily.

"I have made some enquiries," Hunterleys continued, "and I have come to
the conclusion that you are right."

"And you still tell me that you have nothing to do with it?"

"I assure you, upon my honour, that I have nothing whatever to do with
it."

It was obvious that she was puzzled, but at that moment Mr. Draconmeyer
presented himself. The newcomer simply bowed to Hunterleys and addressed
some remark about the room to Violet. Then Richard came up and they all
passed on into the reception room, where two or three very fussy but
very suave and charming Frenchmen were receiving the guests. A few
minutes afterwards dinner was announced. A black frown was upon
Richard's forehead.

"She isn't coming!" he muttered. "I say, Sir Henry, you won't mind if we
leave early?"

"I shall be jolly glad to get away," Hunterleys assented heartily.

Then he suddenly felt a grip of iron upon his arm.

"She's come!" Richard murmured ecstatically. "Look at her, all in white!
Just look at the colour of her hair! There she is, going into the
reception room. Jove! I'm glad we are here, after all!"

Hunterleys smiled a little wearily. They passed on into the _salle a
manger_. The seats at the long dining-tables were not reserved, and they
found a little table for two in a corner, which they annexed. Hunterleys
was in a grim humour, but his companion was in the wildest spirits.
Considering that he was placed where he could see Mr. Grex and his
daughter nearly the whole of the time, he really did contrive to keep
his eyes away from them to a wonderful extent, but he talked of her
unceasingly.

"Say, I'm sorry for you, Sir Henry!" he declared. "It's just your bad
luck, being here with me while I've got this fit on, but I've got to
talk to some one, so you may as well make up your mind to it. There
never was anything like that girl upon the earth. There never was
anything like the feeling you get," he went on, "when you're absolutely
and entirely convinced, when you know--that there's just one girl who
counts for you in the whole universe. Gee whiz! It does get hold of you!
I suppose you've been through it all, though."

"Yes, I've been through it!" Hunterleys admitted, with a sigh.

The young man bit his lip. The story of Hunterleys' matrimonial
differences was already being whispered about. Richard talked polo
vigorously for the next quarter of an hour. It was not until the coffee
and liqueurs arrived that they returned to the subject of Miss Grex.
Then it was Hunterleys himself who introduced it. He was beginning to
rather like this big, self-confident young man, so full of his simple
love affair, so absolutely honest in his purpose, in his outlook upon
life.

"Lane," he said, "I have given you several hints during the day, haven't
I?"

"That's so," Richard agreed. "You've done your best to head me off. So
did my future father-in-law. Sort of hopeless task, I can assure you."

Hunterleys shook his head.

"Honestly," he continued, "I wouldn't let myself think too much about
her, Lane. I don't want to explain exactly what I mean. There's no real
reason why I shouldn't tell you what I know about Mr. Grex, but for a
good many people's sakes, it's just as well that those few of us who
know keep quiet. I am sure you trust me, and it's just the same,
therefore, if I tell you straight, as man to man, that you're only
laying up for yourself a store of unhappiness by fixing your thoughts so
entirely upon that young woman."

Richard, for all his sublime confidence, was a little staggered by the
other's earnestness.

"Look here," he said, "the girl isn't married, to start with?"

"Not that I know of," Hunterleys confessed.

"And she's not engaged because I've seen her left hand," Richard
proceeded. "I'm not one of those Americans who go shouting all over the
world that because I've got a few million dollars I am the equal of
anybody, but honestly, Sir Henry, there are a good many prejudices over
this side that you fellows lay too much store by. Grex may be a nobleman
in disguise. I don't care. I am a man. I can give her everything she
needs in life and I am not going to admit, even if she is an aristocrat,
that you croakers are right when you shake your heads and advise me to
give her up. I don't care who she is, Hunterleys. I am going to marry
her."

Hunterleys helped himself to a liqueur.

"Young man," he said, "in a sense I admire your independence. In
another, I think you've got all the conceit a man needs for this world.
Let us presume, for a moment, that she is, as you surmise, the daughter
of a nobleman. When it suits her father to throw off his incognito, she
is probably in touch with young men in the highest circles of many
countries. Why should you suppose that you can come along and cut them
all out?"

"Because I love her," the young man answered simply. "They don't."

"You must remember," Hunterleys resumed, "that all foreign noblemen are
not what they are represented to be in your comic papers. Austrian and
Russian men of high rank are most of them very highly cultivated, very
accomplished, and very good-looking. You don't know much of the world,
do you? It's a pretty formidable enterprise to come from a New York
office, with only Harvard behind you, and a year or so's travel as a
tourist, and enter the list against men who have had twice your
opportunities. I am talking to you like this, young fellow, for your
good. I hope you realise that. You're used to getting what you want.
That's because you've been brought up in a country where money can do
almost anything. I am behind the scenes here and I can assure you that
your money won't count for much with Mr. Grex."

"I never thought it would," Richard admitted. "I think when I talk to
her she'll understand that I care more than any of the others. If you
want to know the reason, that's why I'm so hopeful."

Monsieur le Directeur had risen to his feet. Some one had proposed his
health and he made a graceful little speech of acknowledgment. He
remained standing for a few minutes after the cheers which had greeted
his neat oratorical display had died away. The conclusion of his remarks
came as rather a surprise to his guests.

"I have to ask you, ladies and gentlemen," he announced, "with many,
many regrets, and begging you to forgive my apparent inhospitality, to
make your arrangements for leaving us as speedily as may be possible.
Our magnificent situation, with which I believe that most of you are
familiar, has but one drawback. We are subject to very dense mountain
mists, and alas! I have to tell you that one of these has come on most
unexpectedly and the descent must be made with the utmost care. Believe
me, there is no risk or any danger," he went on earnestly, "so long as
you instruct your chauffeurs to proceed with all possible caution. At
the same time, as there is very little chance of the mist becoming
absolutely dispelled before daylight, in your own interests I would
suggest that a start be made as soon as possible."

Every one rose at once, Richard and Hunterleys amongst them.

"This will test your skill to-night, young man," Hunterleys remarked.
"How's the nerve, eh?"

Richard smiled almost beatifically. For once he had allowed his eyes to
wander and he was watching the girl with golden hair who was at that
moment receiving the respectful homage of the director.

"Lunatics, and men who are head over heels in love," he declared, "never
come to any harm. You'll be perfectly safe with me."




CHAPTER IX

IN THE MISTS


Their first glimpse of the night, as Hunterleys and Lane passed out
through the grudgingly opened door, was sufficiently disconcerting. A
little murmur of dismay broke from the assembled crowd. Nothing was to
be seen but a dense bank of white mist, through which shone the
brilliant lights of the automobiles waiting at the door. Monsieur le
Directeur hastened about, doing his best to reassure everybody.

"If I thought it was of the slightest use," he declared, "I would ask
you all to stay, but when the clouds once stoop like this, there is not
likely to be any change for twenty-four hours, and we have not, alas!
sleeping accommodation. If the cars are slowly driven and kept to the
inside, it is only a matter of a mile or two before you will drop below
the level of the clouds."

Hunterleys and Lane made their way out to the front, and with their coat
collars turned up, groped their way to the turf on the other side of the
avenue. From where they stood, looking downwards, the whole world seemed
wrapped in mysterious and somber silence. There was nothing to be seen
but the grey, driving clouds. In less than a minute their hair and
eyebrows were dripping. A slight breeze had sprung up, the cold was
intense.

"Cheerful sort of place, this," Lane remarked gloomily. "Shall we make a
start?"

Hunterleys hesitated.

"Not just yet. Look!"

He pointed downwards. For a moment the clouds had parted. Thousands of
feet below, like little pinpricks of red fire, they saw the lights of
Monte Carlo. Almost as they looked, the clouds closed up again. It was
as though they had peered into another world.

"Jove, that was queer!" Lane muttered. "Look! What's that?"

A long ray of sickly yellow light shone for a moment and was then
suddenly blotted out by a rolling mass of vapour. The clouds had closed
in again once more. The obscurity was denser than ever.

"The lighthouse," Hunterleys replied. "Do you think it's any use
waiting?"

"We'll go inside and put on our coats," Lane suggested. "My car is by
the side of the avenue there. I covered it over and left it."

They found their coats in the hall, wrapped themselves up and lit
cigarettes. Already many of the cars had started and vanished cautiously
into obscurity. Every now and then one could hear the tooting of their
horns from far away below. The chief steward was directing the
departures and insisting upon an interval of three minutes between each.
The two men stood on one side and watched him. He was holding open the
door of a large, exceptionally handsome car. On the other side was a
servant in white livery. Lane gripped his companion's arm.

"There she goes!" he exclaimed.

The girl, followed by Mr. Grex, stepped into the landaulette, which was
brilliantly illuminated inside with electric light. Almost immediately
the car glided noiselessly off. The two men watched it until it
disappeared. Then they crossed the road.

"Now then, Sir Henry," Richard observed grimly, as he turned the handle
of the car and they took their places in the little well-shaped space,
"better say your prayers. I'm going to drive slowly enough but it's an
awful job, this, crawling down the side of a mountain in the dark, with
nothing between you and eternity but your brakes."

They crept off. As far as the first turn the lights from the club-house
helped them. Immediately afterwards, however, the obscurity was
enveloping. Their faces were wet and shiny with moisture. Even the
fingers of Lane's gloves which gripped the wheel were sodden. He
proceeded at a snail's pace, keeping always on the inside of the road
and only a few inches from the wall or bank. Once he lost his way and
his front wheel struck a small stump, but they were going too slowly for
disaster. Another time he failed to follow the turn of the road and
found himself in a rough cart track. They backed with difficulty and got
right once more. At the fourth turn they came suddenly upon a huge car
which had left the road as they had done and was standing amongst the
pine trees, its lights flaring through the mist.

"Hullo!" Lane called out, coming to a standstill. "You've missed the
turn."

"My master is going to stay here all night," the chauffeur shouted back.

A man put his head from the window and began to talk in rapid French.

"It is inconceivable," he exclaimed, "that any one should attempt the
descent! We have rugs, my wife and I. We stay here till the clouds
pass."

"Good night, then!" Lane cried cheerfully.

"Not sure that you're not wise," Hunterleys added, with a shiver.

Twice they stopped while Lane rubbed the moisture from his gloves and
lit a fresh cigarette.

"This is a test for your nerve, young fellow," Hunterleys remarked. "Are
you feeling it?"

"Not in the least," Lane replied. "I can't make out, though, why that
steward made us all start at intervals of three minutes. Seems to me we
should have been better going together at this pace. Save any one from
getting lost, anyhow."

They crawled on for another twenty minutes. The routine was always the
same--a hundred yards or perhaps two, an abrupt turn and then a similar
distance the other way. They had one or two slight misadventures but
they made progress. Once, through a rift, they caught a momentary vision
of a carpet of lights at a giddy distance below.

"We'll make it all right," Lane declared, crawling around another
corner. "Gee! but this is the toughest thing in driving I've ever known!
I can do ninety with this car easier than I can do this three. Hullo,
some one else in trouble!"

Before them, in the middle of the road, a light was being slowly swung
backwards and forwards. Lane brought the car to a standstill. He had
scarcely done so when they were conscious of the sound of footsteps all
around them. The arms of both men were seized from behind. They were
addressed in guttural French.

"Messieurs will be pleased to descend."

"What the--what's wrong?" Lane demanded.

"Descend at once," was the prompt order.

By the light of the lantern which the speaker was holding, they caught a
glimpse of a dozen white faces and the dull gleam of metal from the
firearms which his companions were carrying. Hunterleys stepped out. An
escort of two men was at once formed on either side of him.

"Tell us what it's all about, anyhow?" he asked coolly.

"Nothing serious," the same guttural voice answered,--"a little affair
which will be settled in a few minutes. As for you, monsieur," the man
continued, turning to Lane, "you will drive your car slowly to the next
turn, and leave it there. Afterwards you will return with me."

Richard set his teeth and leaned over his wheel. Then it suddenly
flashed into his mind that Mr. Grex and his daughter were already
amongst the captured. He quickly abandoned his first instinct.

"With pleasure, monsieur," he assented. "Tell me when to stop."

He drove the car a few yards round the corner, past a line of others.
Their lights were all extinguished and the chauffeurs absent.

"This is a pleasant sort of picnic!" he grumbled, as he brought his car
to a standstill. "Now what do I do, monsieur?"

"You return with me, if you please," was the reply.

Richard stood, for a moment, irresolute. The idea of giving in without a
struggle was most distasteful to this self-reliant young American. Then
he realised that not only was his captor armed but that there were men
behind him and one on either side.

"Lead the way," he decided tersely.

They marched him up the hill, a little way across some short turf and
round the back of a rock to a long building which he remembered to have
noticed on his way up. His guide threw open the door and Richard looked
in upon a curious scene. Ranged up against the further wall were about a
dozen of the guests who had preceded him in his departure from the
Club-house. One man only had his hands tied behind him. The others,
apparently, were considered harmless. Mr. Grex was the one man, and
there was a little blood dripping from his right hand. The girl stood by
his side. She was no paler than usual--she showed, indeed, no signs of
terror at all--but her eyes were bright with indignation. One man was
busy stripping the jewels from the women and throwing them into a bag.
In the far corner the little group of chauffeurs was being watched by
two more men, also carrying firearms. Lane looked down the line of
faces. Lady Hunterleys was there, and by her side Draconmeyer.
Hunterleys was a little apart from the others. Freddy Montressor, who
was leaning against the wall, chuckled as Lane came in.

"So they've got you, too, Dicky, have they?" he remarked. "It's a
hold-up--a bully one, too. Makes one feel quite homesick, eh? How much
have you got on you?"

"Precious little, thank heavens!" Richard muttered.

His eyes were fixed upon the brigand who was collecting the jewels, and
who was now approaching Miss Grex. He felt something tingling in his
blood. One of the guests began to talk excitedly. The man who was
apparently the leader, and who was standing at the door with an electric
torch in one hand and a revolver in the other, stepped a little forward.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "once more I beg you not to be alarmed.
So long as you part with your valuables peaceably, you will be at
liberty to depart as soon as every one has been dealt with. If there is
no resistance, there will be no trouble. We do not wish to hurt any
one."

The collector of jewels had arrived in front of the girl. She unfastened
her necklace and handed it to him.

"The little pendant around my neck," she remarked calmly, "is valueless.
I desire to keep it."

"Impossible!" the man replied. "Off with it."

"But I insist!" she exclaimed. "It is an heirloom."

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