The Complete Works of Stephen Crane by Stephen Crane Read Free Book Online

here and there — enlist every young devil we see — drill ’em — best rifles — loads of ammunition — provisions — staff of doctors and nurses — a couple of dynamite guns — everything complete — best in the world. Now, isn’t that great? What’s the matter with that now? Eh? Eh? Isn’t that great? It’s great, isn’t it? Eh? Why, my boy, we’ll free—”
    Coleman did not seem to ignite. “I have been arrested four or five times already on fool matters connected with the newspaper business,” he observed, gloomily, “but I’ve never yet been hung. I think your scheme is a beauty.”
    Sturgeon paused in astonishment. “Why, what happens to be the matter with you? What are you kicking about?”
    Coleman made a slow gesture. “I’m tired,” he answered. “I need a vacation.”
    “Vacation!” cried Sturgeon. “Why don’t you take one then?”
    “That’s what I’ve come to see you about. I’ve had a pretty heavy strain on me for three years now, and I want to get a little rest.”
    “Well, who in thunder has been keeping you from it? It hasn’t been me.”
    “I know it hasn’t been you, but, of course, I wanted the paper to go and I wanted to have my share in its success, but now that everything is all right I think I might go away for a time if you don’t mind.”
    “Mind!” exclaimed Sturgeon falling into his chair and reaching for his check book. “Where do you want to go? How long do you want to be gone? How much money do you want?”
    “I don’t want very much. And as for where I want to go, I thought I might like to go to Greece for a while.”
    Sturgeon had been writing a check. He poised his pen in the air and began to laugh. “That’s a queer place to go for a rest. Why, the biggest war of modern times — a war that may involve all Europe — is likely to start there at any moment. You are not likely to get any rest in Greece.”
    “I know that,” answered Coleman. “I know there is likely to be a war there. But I think that is exactly what would rest me. I would like to report the war.”
    “You are a queer bird,” answered Sturgeon deeply fascinated with this new idea. He had apparently forgotten his vision of a Cuban volunteer battalion. “War correspondence is about the most original medium for a rest I ever heard of.”
    “Oh, it may seem funny, but really, any change will be good for me now. I’ve been whacking at this old Sunday edition until I’m sick of it, and sometimes I wish the Eclipse was in hell.”
    “That’s all right,” laughed the proprietor of the Eclipse. “But I still don’t see how you are going to get any vacation out of a war that will upset the whole of Europe. But that’s your affair. If you want to become the chief correspondent in the field in case of any such war, why, of course, I would be glad to have you. I couldn’t get anybody better. But I don’t see where your vacation comes in.”
    “I’ll take care of that,” answered Coleman. “When I take a vacation I want to take it my own way, and I think this will be a vacation because it will be different — don’t you see — different?”
    “No, I don’t see any sense in it, but if you think that is the way that suits you, why, go ahead. How much money do you want?”
    “I don’t want much. Just enough to see me through nicely.”
    Sturgeon scribbled on his check book and then ripped a check from it. “Here’s a thousand dollars. Will that do you to start with?”
    “That’s plenty.”
    “When do you want to start?”
    “To-morrow.”
    “Oho,” said Sturgeon. “You’re in a hurry.” This impetuous manner of exit from business seemed to appeal to him. “To-morrow,” he repeated smiling. In reality he was some kind of a poet using his millions romantically, spending wildly on a sentiment that might be with beauty or without beauty, according to the momentary vacillation. The vaguely-defined desperation in Coleman’s last announcement appeared to delight