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    Mother
    Mother
    Mother
    Ebook59 pages42 minutes

    Mother

    By Owen Wister

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    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateSep 1, 1999
    Author

    Owen Wister

    Owen Wister (July 14, 1860 – July 21, 1938) was an American writer and historian, considered the "father" of western fiction. He is best remembered for writing The Virginian and a biography of Ulysses S. Grant.

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      Book preview

      Mother - Owen Wister

      The Project Gutenberg EBook of Mother, by Owen Wister

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

      almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or

      re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

      with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

      Title: Mother

      Author: Owen Wister

      Release Date: August 26, 2008 [EBook #1387]

      Last Updated: January 15, 2013

      Language: English

      *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MOTHER ***

      Produced by Bill Brewer, and David Widger

      MOTHER

      By Owen Wister

                 To My Favourite Broker With The Earnest Assurance

                 That Mr. Beverly Is Not Meant For Him

      NOTE

      IN 1901, this story appeared anonymously as the ninth of a sequence of short stories by various authors, in a volume entitled A House Party. It has been slightly remodelled for separate publication.

      June 7, 1907, OWEN WISTER

      MOTHER

      When handsome young Richard Field—he was very handsome and very young—announced to our assembled company that if his turn should really come to tell us a story, the story should be no invention of his fancy, but a page of truth, a chapter from his own life, in which himself was the hero and a lovely, innocent girl was the heroine, his wife at once looked extremely uncomfortable. She changed the reclining position in which she had been leaning back in her chair, and she sat erect, with a hand closed upon each arm of the chair.

      Richard, she said, do you think that it is right of you to tell any one, even friends, anything that you have never yet confessed to me?

      Ethel, replied Richard, although I cannot promise that you will be entirely proud of my conduct when you have heard this episode of my past, I do say that there is nothing in it to hurt the trust you have placed in me since I have been your husband. Only, he added, I hope that I shall not have to tell any story at all.

      Oh, yes you will! we all exclaimed together; and the men looked eager while the women sighed.

      The rest of us were much older than Richard, we were middle-aged, in fact; and human nature is so constructed, that when it is at the age when making love keeps it busy, it does not care so much to listen to tales of others' love-making; but the more it recedes from that period of exuberance, and ceases to have love adventures of its own, the greater become its hunger and thirst to hear about this delicious business which it can no longer personally practice with the fluency of yore. It was for this reason that we all yearned in our middle-aged way for the tale of love which we expected from young Richard. He, on his part, repeated the hope that by the time his turn to tell a story was reached we should be tired of stories and prefer to spend the evening at the card tables or in the music room.

      We were a house party, no brief week-end affair, but a gathering whose period for most of the guests covered a generous and leisurely ten days, with enough departures and arrivals to give that variety which is necessary among even the most entertaining and agreeable people. Our skilful hostess had assembled us in the country, beneath a roof of New York luxury, a luxury which has come in these later days to be so much more than princely. By day, the grounds afforded us both golf and tennis, the stables provided motor cars and horses

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