The modern millionaire.pdf

Alan Trevor. Trevor was a painter. Of course, few people are not

these days. But he was also an artist, and artists are rather rare. He

was a strange, rough man, with a spotty face and an overgrown

red beard. But when he took up the brush he was a real master,

and his pictures were very popular. He had been much attracted

by Hughie at first, it must be admitted, just because of his

personal charm. 'The only people a painter should know,' he used

to say,'are people who are both beautiful and stupid, people who

are a pleasure to look at and restful to talk to.' But after he got to

know Hughie better, he liked him quite as much for his bright,

cheerful spirits, and his generous, carefree nature, and had asked

him to visit whenever he liked.

When Hughie came in, he found Trevor putting the finishing

touches to a wonderful life-size picture of a beggar. The beggar

himself was standing on a raised platform in a corner of the

room. He was a tired old man with a lined face and a sad

expression. Over his shoulder was thrown a rough brown coat, all

torn and full of holes; his thick boots were old and mended, and

with one hand he Ieant on a rough stick, while with the other he

held out his old hat for money.

'What

Unless one is wealthy there is no use in being a channillg pLTson.

The poor should be ordinary and practical. It is better to have a

permanent income than to be interesting. These are the great

truths of modern life which Hughie Erskine never realized. Poor

Hughie! He was not, we must admit, a man of great intelligence.

He never said a clever or even an unkind thing in his life. But

then he was wonderfully good-looking, with his brown hair, his

clear-cut features, and his grey eyes. He was as popular with men

as he was with women, and he had every quality except that of

making money. His father, on his death, had left him his sword

and a History of the Peninsular VVtzr in 15 parts. Hughie hung the

first above his mirror, put the second on a shelf, and lived on two

hundred pounds a year that an old aunt allowed him. He had

tFied everything. He had bought and sold shares for six months;

but how could he succeed among experienced men? He had

been a tea trader for a little longer, but he had soon tired of that.

Then he had tried selling wine, but nobody bought any. At last he

became

an astonishing model!' whispered

Hughie, as he shook

hands with his friend.

'An astonishing model?' shouted Trevor at the top of his voice;

'I should

nothing,

a charming,

useless young

man with

perfect

features and no profession.

To make matters worse, he was in love. The girl he loved was

Laura Merton, the daughter of a former army officer who had

lost his temper and his health in India, and had never found either

of them again. Hughie loved her so much that he was ready to

kiss her feet; and Laura loved him too. They were the best-looking

pair in London, and had no money at all. Her father was very

fond of Hughie, but would not hear of any marriage plans.

'Come to me, my boy, when you have got ten thousand

pounds of your own, and we will see about it,' he used to say.

One

think

so! Such beggars are not met with

every day.

Goo'tl heavensl What

a picture Rembrandt

would have made of

him!'

'Poor old man!' said Hughie. 'How miserable he looks! But I

suppose, to you painters, his face is his fortune.'

'Certainly,'

replied Trevor, 'you

don't want

a beggar to look

happy, do you?'

'How

much

does

a model

get

for

being

painted?'

asked

Hughie, as he found himself a comfortable

seat.

'A shilling an hour.'

morning,

Hughie

called in to see a great friend of his,

waiting for me when I go home. But, of course, you are only

joking. Poor old man! I wish I could do something for him. I

think it is terrible that anyone should be so miserable. I have got

piles of old clothes at home - do you think he would like any of

them? His clothes were falling to bits.'

'But he looks wonderful in them,' said Trevor. 'I would never

want to paint him in good clothes. But I'll tell him of your offer.'

'Alan,' said Hughie seriously, 'you painters are heartless men.'

'An artist's heart is in his head,' replied Trevor; 'and besides, our

business is to show the world as we see it, not to make it better.

And

'And how Illuch do you get fllr your picture,ALIII?'

'Oh, for this I get two thousalHI pOllllds:

'Well, I think the lI10dei should

haw ;\ sh;m': cried

Hughie,

laughing; 'he works quite as hard as you do:

'Nonsense, nonsense! Look at the trouble of laying on the

paint, and standing all day in front of the picture! It's easy,

Hughie, for you to talk. But you mustn't talk; I'm busy. Smoke a

cigarette, and keep quiet.'

After some time the servant came in, and told Trevor that the

frame maker wanted to speak to him.

'Don't

now

tell me

how

Laura

is. The

old

model

was quite

run away, Hughie,'

he said, as he went out, 'I will be

back in a moment.'

The old beggar took advantage of Trevor's absence to rest for

a moment. He looked so miserable that Hughie pitied him, and

felt in his pockets to see what money he had. All he could find

was a pound and some pennies. 'Poor old man,' he thought, 'he

needs it more than I do, but I shan't have much money myself for

a: week or two'; and he walked across the room and slipped the

pound into the beggar's hand.

The old man jumped, and a faint smile passed across his old

lips. 'Thank you, sir,' he said, 'thank you.'

Then Trevor arrived, and Hughie left, a little red in the face at

what

interested in her.'

'You don't

mean

to say you talked to him about

her?' said

Hughie.

'Certainly

I did. He

knows

all about

the

cruel

father, the

lovely Laura, and the ten thousand pounds.'

'You told the old beggar all about

my private

affairs?' cried

Hughie.

'My dear boy,' said Trevor, smiling, 'that old beggar, as you call

him, is one of the richest men in Europe. He could buy all

London tomorrow and still have money in the bank. He has a

house in every capital, eats off plates of gold, and can prevent

Russia going to war when he wishes.'

'What on earth do you mean?' cried Hughie.

'What I say,' said Trevor. 'The old man you saw today in my

room was Baron Hausberg. He is a great friend of mine, buys all

my pictures and that sort of thing, and asked me a month

had

done.

spent

the

day with

Laura, who

was

charmingly

cross that he had given away a pound,

and had to

walk home because he had no money for transport.

That night he went to his club at about 11 o'clock, and found

Trevor sitting by himself in the smoking room.

'Well, Alan, did you finish the picture all right?' he asked.

'Finished and framed, my boy!' answered Trevor; 'and, by the

way, that old model you saw has become very fond of you. I had

to tell him all about you - who you are, where you live, what

your income is, what hopes you have ... '

'My

ago to

paint

him

as a beggar. There's

nothing

surprising. about

that.

These

rich

men

have some

strange ideas. And

I must

say he

looked fine in those old clothes.'

'Baron Hausberg!' cried Hughie. 'Good heavens! I gave him a

pound!' and he sank back into his chair in shock.

'Gave

dear Alan,' cried

Hughie,

shall probably

find

him

a pound!'

shouted

Trevor

and

roared

with

laughter. 'My dear boy, you'll never see it again. His business is

with other people's money.'

'I think you ought to have told me, Alan,' said Hughie in a bad

temper, 'and not have let me make such a fool of myself.'

'Well, to begin with, Hughie,' said Trevor, 'I never thought that

you went about giving your money away in that careless manner.

I can understand your kissing a pretty model, but not giving

money to an ugly one. Besides, when you came in I didn't know

whether Hausberg would like his name mentioned. You know he

wasn't in his usual dress!'

'How stupid he must think me!' said Hughie.

'Not at all. He was in the highest spirits after you left, and kept

laughing to himself. I couldn't understand why he was so

interested in knowing all about you, but I see it all now. He'll

keep your pound for you, pay you interest every six months, and

have a story to tell after dinner.'

'I am an unlucky devil,' said Hughie. 'The best thing I can do

is to go to bed; and, my dear Alan, you mustn't

have

come

from

Baron

Hausberg,'

continued.

'The

Baron-'

'I beg, sir, that you will tell him how truly sorry I am,' said

Hughie quickly.

'The Baron,' said the old gentleman with a smile, 'has asked me

to bring you this letter'; and he held out an envelope.

On the outside was written 'A wedding present to Hugh

Erskine and Laura Merton, from an old beggar', and inside was a

cheque for ten thousand pounds.

tell anyone. I

wouldn't dare show my face if people knew.'

'Nonsense!

It shows your

kindness

of spirit, Hughie.

Have

another

cigarette, and you can talk about Laura as much as you

like.'

But Hughie refused to stay; he walked home, feeling very

unhappy, and leaving Alan Trevor helpless with laughter.

The next morning, as he was at breakfast, the servant brought

him a card on which was written, 'Mr Gustave Naudin, for Baron

Hausberg'.

'I suppose

he wants

say I am sorry

about

yesterday,' said Hughie

to himself, and he told

the servant to

bring the visitor in.

An old gentleman

with gold glasses and grey hair came into

the

room

and

said, 'Have

I the

honour

of speaking

Erskine?'

Hughie

agreed that he was Mr Erskine.

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