The mental health system is broken—and our mission at Two Chairs is to fix it

Two Chairs

The Big Four by Agatha Christie, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . THE BAITED TRAP XII. THE BAITED TRAP It was mid-January—a typical English winter day in London, damp and dirty. Poirot and I were sitting in two chairs well drawn up to the fire. I was aware of my friend looking at me with a quizzical smile, the meaning of which I could not fathom. "A penny for your thoughts," I said lightly. "I was thinking, my friend, that at midsummer, when you first arrived, you told me that you proposed to be in this country for a couple of months only." "Did I say that?" I asked, rather awkwardly. "I don't remember." Poirot's smile broadened. "You did, mon ami. Since then, you have changed your plan, is it not so?" "Er—yes, I have." "And why is that?" "Dash it all, Poirot, you don't think I'm going to leave you all alone when you're up against a thing like the 'Big Four,' do you?" Poirot nodded gently. "Just as I thought. You are a staunch friend, Hastings. It is to serve me that you remain on here. And your wife—little Cinderella as you call her, what does she say?" "I haven't gone into details, of course, but she understands. She'd be the last one to wish me to turn my back on a pal." "Yes, yes, she, too, is a loyal friend. But it is going to be a long business, perhaps." I nodded, rather discouraged. "Six months already," I mused, "and where are we? You know, Poirot, I can't help thinking that we ought to—well, to do something." "Always so energetic, Hastings! And what precisely would you have me do?" This was somewhat of a poser, but I was not going to withdraw from my position. "We ought to take the offensive," I urged. "What have we done all this time?" "More than you think, my friend. After all, we have established the identity of Number Two and Number Three, and we have learnt more than a little about the ways and methods of Number Four." I brightened up a little. As Poirot put it, things didn't sound so bad. "Oh! Yes, Hastings, we have done a great deal. It is true that I am not in a position to accuse either Ryland or Madame Olivier—who would believe me? You remember I thought once I had Ryland successfully cornered? Nevertheless I have made my suspicions known in certain quarters—the highest—Lord Aldington, who enlisted my help in the matter of the stolen submarine plans, is fully cognisant of all my information respecting the Big Four—and while others may doubt, he believes. Ryland and Madame Olivier, and Li Chang Yen himself may go their ways, but there is a searchlight turned on all their movements." "And Number Four?" I asked. "As I said just now—I am beginning to know and understand his methods. You may smile, Hastings—but to penetrate a man's personality, to know exactly what he will do under any given circumstances—that is the beginning of success. It is a duel between us, and whilst he is constantly giving away his mentality to me, I endeavour to let him know little or nothing of mine. He is in the light, I in the shade. I tell you, Hastings, that every day they fear me the more for my chosen inactivity." "They've let us alone, anyway," I observed. "There have been no more attempts on your life, and no ambushes of any kind." "No," said Poirot thoughtfully. "On the whole, that rather surprises me. Especially as there are one or two fairly obvious ways of getting at us which I should have thought certain to have occurred to them. You catch my meaning, perhaps?" "An infernal machine of some kind?" I hazarded. Poirot made a sharp click with his tongue expressive of impatience. "But no! I appeal to your imagination, and you can suggest nothing more subtle than bombs in the fireplace. Well, well, I have need of some matches, I will promenade myself despite the weather. Pardon, my friend, but is it possible that you read The Future of the Argentine, Mirror of Society, Cattle Breeding, The Clue of Crimson and Sport in the Rockies at one and the same time?" I laughed, and admitted that The Clue of Crimson was at present engaging my sole attention. Poirot shook his head sadly. "But replace then the others on the bookshelf! Never, never shall I see you embrace the order and the method. Mon Dieu, what then is a bookshelf for?" I apologised humbly, and Poirot, after replacing the offending volumes, each in its appointed place, went out and left me to uninterrupted enjoyment of my selected book. I must admit, however, that I was half asleep when Mrs. Pearson's knock at the door aroused me. "A telegram for you, captain." I tore the orange envelope open without much interest. Then I sat as though turned to stone. It was a cable from Bronsen, my manager out at the South American ranch, and it ran as follows:— "Mrs. Hastings disappeared yesterday, feared been kidnapped by some gang calling itself big four cable instructions have notified police but no clue as yet." Bronsen. I waved Mrs. Pearson out of the room, and sat as though stunned, reading the words over and over again. Cinderella—kidnapped! In the hands of the infamous Big Four! God, what could I do? Poirot! I must have Poirot. He would advise me. He would checkmate them somehow. In a few minutes now, he would be back. I must wait patiently until then. But Cinderella—in the hands of the Big Four! Another knock. Mrs. Pearson put her head in once more. "A note for you, captain—brought by a heathen Chinaman. He's a-waiting downstairs." I seized it from her. It was brief and to the point. "If you ever wish to see your wife again, go with the bearer of this note immediately. Leave no message for your friend or she will suffer." It was signed with a big 4. What ought I to have done? What would you who read have done in my place? I had no time to think. I saw only one thing—Cinderella in the power of those devils. I must obey—I dare not risk a hair of her head. I must go with this Chinaman and follow whither he led. It was a trap, yes, and it meant certain capture and possible death, but it was baited with the person dearest to me in the whole world, and I dared not hesitate. What irked me most was to leave no word for Poirot. Once set him on my track, and all might yet be well? Dare I risk it? Apparently I was under no supervision, but yet I hesitated. It would have been so easy for the Chinaman to come up and assure himself that I was keeping to the letter of the command. Why didn't he? His very abstention made me more suspicious. I had seen so much of the omnipotence of the Big Four that I credited them with almost super-human powers. For all I know, even the little bedraggled servant girl might be one of their agents. No, I dared not risk it. But one thing I could do, leave the telegram. He would know then that Cinderella had disappeared, and who was responsible for her disappearance. All this passed through my head in less time than it takes to tell, and I had clapped my hat on my head and was descending the stairs to where my guide waited, in a little over a minute. The bearer of the message was a tall impassive Chinaman, neatly but rather shabbily dressed. He bowed and spoke to me. His English was perfect, but he spoke with a slight sing-song intonation. "You Captain Hastings?" "Yes," I said. "You give me note, please." I had foreseen the request, and handed him over the scrap of paper without a word. But that was not all. "You have telegram to-day, yes? Come along just now? From South America, yes?" I realised anew the excellence of their espionage system—or it might have been a shrewd guess. Bronsen was bound to cable me. They would wait until the cable was delivered and would strike hard upon it. No good could come of denying what was palpably true. "Yes," I said. "I did get a telegram." "You fetch him, yes? Fetch him now." I ground my teeth, but what could I do. I ran upstairs again. As I did so, I thought of confiding in Mrs. Pearson, at any rate as far as Cinderella's disappearance went. She was on the landing, but close behind her was the little maid-servant, and I hesitated. If she was a spy—the words of the note danced before my eyes. "... she will suffer...." I passed into the sitting-room without speaking. I took up the telegram and was about to pass out again when an idea struck me. Could I not leave some sign which would mean nothing to my enemies but which Poirot himself would find significant. I hurried across to the bookcase and tumbled out four books on to the floor. No fear of Poirot's not seeing them. They would outrage his eyes immediately—and coming on top of his little lecture, surely he would find them unusual. Next I put a shovelful of coal on the fire and managed to spill four knobs into the grate. I had done all I could—pray Heaven Poirot would read the sign aright. I hurried down again. The Chinaman took the telegram from me, read it, then placed it in his pocket and with a nod beckoned me to follow him. It was a long weary march that he led me. Once we took a bus and once we went for some considerable way in a train, and always our route led us steadily eastward. We went through strange districts, the existence of which I had never dreamed of. We were down by the docks now, I knew, and I realised that I was being taken into the heart of Chinatown. In spite of myself I shivered. Still my guide plodded on, turning and twisting through mean streets and byways, until at last he stopped at a dilapidated house and rapped four times upon the door. It was opened immediately by another Chinaman who stood aside to let us pass in. The clanging to of the door behind me was the knell of my last hopes. I was indeed in the hands of the enemy. I was now handed over to the second Chinaman. He led me down some rickety stairs and into a cellar which was filled with bales and casks and which exhaled a pungent odour, as of Eastern spices. I felt wrapped all round with the atmosphere of the East, tortuous, cunning, sinister— Suddenly my guide rolled aside two of the casks, and I saw a low tunnel-like opening in the wall. He motioned me to go ahead. The tunnel was of some length, and it was just too low for me to stand upright. At last, however, it broadened out into a passage, and a few minutes later we stood in another cellar. My Chinaman went forward, and rapped four times on one of the walls. A whole section of the wall swung out, leaving a narrow doorway. I passed through, and to my utter astonishment found myself in a kind of Arabian Nights' palace. A low long subterranean chamber hung with rich oriental silks, brilliantly lighted and fragrant with perfumes and spices. There five or six silk covered divans, and exquisite carpets of Chinese workmanship covered the ground. At the end of the room was a curtained recess. From behind these curtains came a voice. "You have brought our honoured guest?" "Excellency, he is here," replied my guide. "Let our guest enter," was the answer. At the same moment, the curtains were drawn aside by an unseen hand, and I was facing an immense cushioned divan on which sat a tall thin Oriental dressed in wonderfully embroidered robes, and clearly, by the length of his finger nails, a great man. "Be seated, I pray you, Captain Hastings," he said, with a wave of his hand. "You acceded to my request to come immediately, I am glad to see." "Who are you?" I asked. "Li Chang Yen?" "Indeed no, I am but the humblest of the master's servants. I carry out his behests, that is all—as do other of his servants in other countries—in South America, for instance." I advanced a step. "Where is she? What have you done with her out there?" "She is in a place of safety—where none will find her. As yet, she is unharmed. You observe that I say—as yet!" Cold shivers ran down my spine as I confronted this smiling devil. "What do you want?" I cried. "Money?" "My dear Captain Hastings. We have no designs on your small savings, I can assure you. Not—pardon me—a very intelligent suggestion on your part. Your colleague would not have made it, I fancy." "I suppose," I said heavily, "you wanted to get me into your toils. Well, you have succeeded. I have come here with my eyes open. Do what you like with me, and let her go. She knows nothing, and she can be no possible use to you. You've used her to get hold of me—you've got me all right, and that settles it." The smiling Oriental caressed his smooth cheek, watching me obliquely out of his narrow eyes. "You go too fast," he said purringly. "That does not quite—settle it. In fact, to 'get hold of you' as you express it, is not really our objective. But through you, we hope to get hold of your friend, M. Hercule Poirot." "I'm afraid you won't do that," I said, with a short laugh. "What I suggest is this," continued the other, his words running on as though he had not heard me. "You will write M. Hercule Poirot a letter, such a letter as will induce him to hasten hither and join you." "I shall do no such thing," I said angrily. "The consequences of refusal will be disagreeable." "Damn your consequences." "The alternative might be death!" A nasty shiver ran down my spine, but I endeavoured to put a bold face upon it. "It's no good threatening me, and bullying me. Keep your threats for Chinese cowards." "My threats are very real ones, Captain Hastings. I ask you again, will you write this letter?" "I will not, and what's more, you daren't kill me. You'd have the police on your tracks in no time." My interlocutor clapped his hands swiftly. Two Chinese attendants appeared as it were out of the blue, and pinioned me by both arms. Their master said something rapidly to them in Chinese, and they dragged me across the floor to a spot in one corner of the big chamber. One of them stooped, and suddenly, without the least warning, the flooring gave beneath my feet. But for the restraining hand of the other man I should have gone down the yawning gap beneath me. It was inky black, and I could hear the rushing of water. "The river," said my questioner from his place on the divan. "Think well, Captain Hastings. If you refuse again, you go headlong to eternity, to meet your death in the dark waters below. For the last time, will you write that letter?" I'm not braver than most men. I admit frankly that I was scared to death, and in a blue funk. That Chinese devil meant business, I was sure of that. It was good-bye to the good old world. In spite of myself, my voice wobbled a little as I answered. "For the last time, no! To hell with your letter!" Then involuntarily I closed my eyes and breathed a short prayer. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Agatha Christie (2023). The Big Four. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/70114/pg70114-images.html 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 , located at https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html .

THE BAITED TRAP

A FRIEND IN NEED

The Second Visit To Smerdyakov

The digital media landscape is displaying immense promise for brand awareness, growth, and overall profitability for companies of all sizes. By knowing the key trends and optimizing content, leaders from a multitude of industries can leverage and optimize their content to maximize their full potential. On today’s episode of Startups On Demand, I am joined by , Managing Partner, Head of Marketing and Creative at , and host of the podcast Jordan Kastrinsky JB Upscale High Tech on the Low. Today, Jordan talks about the ins and outs of starting a podcast channel, the key to reaching out for interviews, the most promising marketing trends of 2023, and the art of optimizing video content. Omri: Tell me something about yourself and the background of JB Upscale. Jordan: Yes, for sure. My name is Jordan, 28, living in Tel Aviv, originally from Denver, Colorado. I’ve been living in Israel now for 6 ½ years. JB Upscale is what I like to call a digital media company. We specialize in design, branding, and marketing, generally for startups and high-tech ventures. It’s really fun because we work with people from the earliest stage of building the company, and also medium-sized, and even bigger companies. Hightech on the Low is a podcast by accident. My co-producer and I started it when Corona hit and we were running a bunch of high-tech communities in Israel called “Front-Team Communities.” It had about 3,000 members in it, and all our programming went array. With Corona, you can’t do meetups and Zoom got old real fast, so basically we thought “how do we still get value from this community and not let it die?” So we started the podcast. It was generally in the communities, talking to people who were there, and they all suggested at one point “maybe you take this and make it bigger.” Now, it’s about a year of making it a little bigger, and it certainly did become bigger – we have more followers so it’s really exciting. Omri: What is the actual process of starting your podcast? What was that like for you? Jordan: It was an organic process. When we started, I was using my terrible headphones in my studio apartment over Streamyard. It was a mess. But that’s how I started, and that’s okay, and I wanted to get the content out and get moving. And slowly but surely, I think it was 20 episodes in, I connected with a good friend of mine who runs a production studio and we began making it as a studio-based podcast with an environment and ambiance with better recording quality. And that also coincided when we took it out of the communities, and it helped a ton to build up. And we started getting more notoriety, which also changes the game in your head where you also start curating your content a little bit differently. https://youtu.be/GerT7MKBDSQ?embedable=true Omri: What is your podcast structure like? Jordan: I work with Black Box studios and they do excellent video and audio productions. Basically what we do is I have the podcast studio setup, and it’s two chairs, and we do it on a partner basis with their goal of trying to help me grow my podcast. And it’s also beneficial for them by building another business mechanism for them. Omri: What’s your process like in reaching out for interviews? Jordan: At the start, I got so overwhelmed because you’re trying to set schedules, you’re trying to find relevant people, you’re trying to talk to the person, and it’s a little bit of a mess. But how I do it is I find someone I like and start an intro call and see if they’re really relevant to me, because sometimes some people aren’t really cut out for the show or their business is not really what I’m focused on. And from there, it’s an easy setup process. And I think having that intro call is really key because you learn about that person and find out if they have a connection with you so you can actually have a good conversation with them. Omri: What are your two cents on handling high-profile clients and dealing with their egos? Jordan: Honestly, I think it’s such a wasted opportunity, and they’re just holding time, and the podcast market isn’t getting any less saturated. At the end of the day, you got to execute. On the ego side, I’m also wondering if the client just doesn’t want to be vulnerable. Ultimately, they just need to be okay to be out there and roll with the punches. Also published here

Podcast Optimization and The Art of Networking: An Interview With Jordan Kastrinsky

. The Art of Money Getting or, Golden Rules for Making Money by P. T. Barnum is part of HackerNoon’s Book Blog Post series . The table of Links for this book can be found here Men should be systematic in their business. A person who does business by rule, having a time and place for everything, doing his work promptly, will accomplish twice as much and with half the trouble of him who does it carelessly and slipshod. By introducing system into all your transactions, doing one thing at a time, always meeting appointments with punctuality, you find leisure for pastime and recreation; whereas the man who only half does one thing, and then turns to something else, and half does that, will have his business at loose ends, and will never know when his day's work is done, for it never will be done. Of course, there is a limit to all these rules. We must try to preserve the happy medium, for there is such a thing as being too systematic. There are men and women, for instance, who put away things so carefully that they can never find them again. It is too much like the "red tape" formality at Washington, and Mr. Dickens' "Circumlocution Office,"—all theory and no result. When the "Astor House" was first started in New York city, it was undoubtedly the best hotel in the country. The proprietors had learned a good deal in Europe regarding hotels, and the landlords were proud of the rigid system which pervaded every department of their great establishment. When twelve o'clock at night had arrived, and there were a number of guests around, one of the proprietors would say, "Touch that bell, John;" and in two minutes sixty servants, with a water-bucket in each hand, would present themselves in the hall. "This," said the landlord, addressing his guests, "is our fire-bell; it will show you we are quite safe here; we do everything systematically." This was before the Croton water was introduced into the city. But they sometimes carried their system too far. On one occasion, when the hotel was thronged with guests, one of the waiters was suddenly indisposed, and although there were fifty waiters in the hotel, the landlord thought he must have his full complement, or his "system" would be interfered with. Just before dinner-time, he rushed down stairs and said, "There must be another waiter, I am one waiter short, what can I do?" He happened to see "Boots," the Irishman. "Pat," said he, "wash your hands and face; take that white apron and come into the dining-room in five minutes." Presently Pat appeared as required, and the proprietor said: "Now Pat, you must stand behind these two chairs, and wait on the gentlemen who will occupy them; did you ever act as a waiter?" "I know all about it, sure, but I never did it." Like the Irish pilot, on one occasion when the captain, thinking he was considerably out of his course, asked, "Are you certain you understand what you are doing?" Pat replied, "Sure and I knows every rock in the channel." That moment, "bang" thumped the vessel against a rock. "Ah! be-jabers, and that is one of 'em," continued the pilot. But to return to the dining-room. "Pat," said the landlord, "here we do everything systematically. You must first give the gentlemen each a plate of soup, and when they finish that, ask them what they will have next." Pat replied, "Ah! an' I understand parfectly the vartues of shystem." Very soon in came the guests. The plates of soup were placed before them. One of Pat's two gentlemen ate his soup; the other did not care for it. He said: "Waiter, take this plate away and bring me some fish." Pat looked at the untasted plate of soup, and remembering the instructions of the landlord in regard to "system," replied: "Not till ye have ate yer supe!" Of course that was carrying "system" entirely too far. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. *This book is part of the public domain.Barnum P. T. (1980).The Art of Money Getting
 or, Golden Rules for Making Money: Project Gutenberg. Release Date: July 30, 2009 [EBook #8581] Last Updated: February 4, 2013, from [ https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/8581 ]( https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/8581 ).*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[ https://www.gutenberg.org ]( http://www.gutenberg.org/ ), located at [ https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html ] (https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html)

The Art of Money Getting or, Golden Rules for Making Money - Chapter 11 - Be Systematic

Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, by Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens) is part of HackerNoon’s Book Blog Post series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . here CHAPTER XXV. The news was all over town in two minutes, and you could see the people tearing down on the run from every which way, some of them putting on their coats as they come. Pretty soon we was in the middle of a crowd, and the noise of the tramping was like a soldier march. The windows and dooryards was full; and every minute somebody would say, over a fence: “Is it them?” And somebody trotting along with the gang would answer back and say: “You bet it is.” When we got to the house the street in front of it was packed, and the three girls was standing in the door. Mary Jane was red-headed, but that don’t make no difference, she was most awful beautiful, and her face and her eyes was all lit up like glory, she was so glad her uncles was come. The king he spread his arms, and Mary Jane she jumped for them, and the hare-lip jumped for the duke, and there they had it! Everybody most, leastways women, cried for joy to see them meet again at last and have such good times. Then the king he hunched the duke private—I see him do it—and then he looked around and see the coffin, over in the corner on two chairs; so then him and the duke, with a hand across each other’s shoulder, and t’other hand to their eyes, walked slow and solemn over there, everybody dropping back to give them room, and all the talk and noise stopping, people saying “Sh!” and all the men taking their hats off and drooping their heads, so you could a heard a pin fall. And when they got there they bent over and looked in the coffin, and took one sight, and then they bust out a-crying so you could a heard them to Orleans, most; and then they put their arms around each other’s necks, and hung their chins over each other’s shoulders; and then for three minutes, or maybe four, I never see two men leak the way they done. And, mind you, everybody was doing the same; and the place was that damp I never see anything like it. Then one of them got on one side of the coffin, and t’other on t’other side, and they kneeled down and rested their foreheads on the coffin, and let on to pray all to themselves. Well, when it come to that it worked the crowd like you never see anything like it, and everybody broke down and went to sobbing right out loud—the poor girls, too; and every woman, nearly, went up to the girls, without saying a word, and kissed them, solemn, on the forehead, and then put their hand on their head, and looked up towards the sky, with the tears running down, and then busted out and went off sobbing and swabbing, and give the next woman a show. I never see anything so disgusting. Well, by and by the king he gets up and comes forward a little, and works himself up and slobbers out a speech, all full of tears and flapdoodle about its being a sore trial for him and his poor brother to lose the diseased, and to miss seeing diseased alive after the long journey of four thousand mile, but it’s a trial that’s sweetened and sanctified to us by this dear sympathy and these holy tears, and so he thanks them out of his heart and out of his brother’s heart, because out of their mouths they can’t, words being too weak and cold, and all that kind of rot and slush, till it was just sickening; and then he blubbers out a pious goody-goody Amen, and turns himself loose and goes to crying fit to bust. And the minute the words were out of his mouth somebody over in the crowd struck up the doxolojer, and everybody joined in with all their might, and it just warmed you up and made you feel as good as church letting out. Music is a good thing; and after all that soul-butter and hogwash I never see it freshen up things so, and sound so honest and bully. Then the king begins to work his jaw again, and says how him and his nieces would be glad if a few of the main principal friends of the family would take supper here with them this evening, and help set up with the ashes of the diseased; and says if his poor brother laying yonder could speak he knows who he would name, for they was names that was very dear to him, and mentioned often in his letters; and so he will name the same, to wit, as follows, vizz.:—Rev. Mr. Hobson, and Deacon Lot Hovey, and Mr. Ben Rucker, and Abner Shackleford, and Levi Bell, and Dr. Robinson, and their wives, and the widow Bartley. Rev. Hobson and Dr. Robinson was down to the end of the town a-hunting together—that is, I mean the doctor was shipping a sick man to t’other world, and the preacher was pinting him right. Lawyer Bell was away up to Louisville on business. But the rest was on hand, and so they all come and shook hands with the king and thanked him and talked to him; and then they shook hands with the duke and didn’t say nothing, but just kept a-smiling and bobbing their heads like a passel of sapheads whilst he made all sorts of signs with his hands and said “Goo-goo—goo-goo-goo” all the time, like a baby that can’t talk. So the king he blattered along, and managed to inquire about pretty much everybody and dog in town, by his name, and mentioned all sorts of little things that happened one time or another in the town, or to George’s family, or to Peter. And he always let on that Peter wrote him the things; but that was a lie: he got every blessed one of them out of that young flathead that we canoed up to the steamboat. Then Mary Jane she fetched the letter her father left behind, and the king he read it out loud and cried over it. It give the dwelling-house and three thousand dollars, gold, to the girls; and it give the tanyard (which was doing a good business), along with some other houses and land (worth about seven thousand), and three thousand dollars in gold to Harvey and William, and told where the six thousand cash was hid down cellar. So these two frauds said they’d go and fetch it up, and have everything square and above-board; and told me to come with a candle. We shut the cellar door behind us, and when they found the bag they spilt it out on the floor, and it was a lovely sight, all them yaller-boys. My, the way the king’s eyes did shine! He slaps the duke on the shoulder and says: “Oh, this ain’t bully nor noth’n! Oh, no, I reckon not! Why, bully, it beats the Nonesuch, don’t it?” The duke allowed it did. They pawed the yaller-boys, and sifted them through their fingers and let them jingle down on the floor; and the king says: “It ain’t no use talkin’; bein’ brothers to a rich dead man and representatives of furrin heirs that’s got left is the line for you and me, Bilge. Thish yer comes of trust’n to Providence. It’s the best way, in the long run. I’ve tried ’em all, and ther’ ain’t no better way.” Most everybody would a been satisfied with the pile, and took it on trust; but no, they must count it. So they counts it, and it comes out four hundred and fifteen dollars short. Says the king: “Dern him, I wonder what he done with that four hundred and fifteen dollars?” They worried over that awhile, and ransacked all around for it. Then the duke says: “Well, he was a pretty sick man, and likely he made a mistake—I reckon that’s the way of it. The best way’s to let it go, and keep still about it. We can spare it.” “Oh, shucks, yes, we can spare it. I don’t k’yer noth’n ’bout that—it’s the count I’m thinkin’ about. We want to be awful square and open and above-board here, you know. We want to lug this h-yer money up stairs and count it before everybody—then ther’ ain’t noth’n suspicious. But when the dead man says ther’s six thous’n dollars, you know, we don’t want to—” “Hold on,” says the duke. “Le’s make up the deffisit,” and he begun to haul out yaller-boys out of his pocket. “It’s a most amaz’n’ good idea, duke—you have got a rattlin’ clever head on you,” says the king. “Blest if the old Nonesuch ain’t a heppin’ us out agin,” and he begun to haul out yaller-jackets and stack them up. It most busted them, but they made up the six thousand clean and clear. “Say,” says the duke, “I got another idea. Le’s go up stairs and count this money, and then take and give it to the girls.” “Good land, duke, lemme hug you! It’s the most dazzling idea ’at ever a man struck. You have cert’nly got the most astonishin’ head I ever see. Oh, this is the boss dodge, ther’ ain’t no mistake ’bout it. Let ’em fetch along their suspicions now if they want to—this ’ll lay ’em out.” When we got up-stairs everybody gethered around the table, and the king he counted it and stacked it up, three hundred dollars in a pile—twenty elegant little piles. Everybody looked hungry at it, and licked their chops. Then they raked it into the bag again, and I see the king begin to swell himself up for another speech. He says: “Friends all, my poor brother that lays yonder has done generous by them that’s left behind in the vale of sorrers. He has done generous by these yer poor little lambs that he loved and sheltered, and that’s left fatherless and motherless. Yes, and we that knowed him knows that he would a done more generous by ’em if he hadn’t ben afeard o’ woundin’ his dear William and me. Now, wouldn’t he? Ther’ ain’t no question ’bout it in my mind. Well, then, what kind o’ brothers would it be that ’d stand in his way at sech a time? And what kind o’ uncles would it be that ’d rob—yes, rob—sech poor sweet lambs as these ’at he loved so at sech a time? If I know William—and I think I do—he—well, I’ll jest ask him.” He turns around and begins to make a lot of signs to the duke with his hands, and the duke he looks at him stupid and leather-headed a while; then all of a sudden he seems to catch his meaning, and jumps for the king, goo-gooing with all his might for joy, and hugs him about fifteen times before he lets up. Then the king says, “I knowed it; I reckon that ’ll convince anybody the way he feels about it. Here, Mary Jane, Susan, Joanner, take the money—take it all. It’s the gift of him that lays yonder, cold but joyful.” Mary Jane she went for him, Susan and the hare-lip went for the duke, and then such another hugging and kissing I never see yet. And everybody crowded up with the tears in their eyes, and most shook the hands off of them frauds, saying all the time: “You dear good souls!—how lovely!—how could you!” Well, then, pretty soon all hands got to talking about the diseased again, and how good he was, and what a loss he was, and all that; and before long a big iron-jawed man worked himself in there from outside, and stood a-listening and looking, and not saying anything; and nobody saying anything to him either, because the king was talking and they was all busy listening. The king was saying—in the middle of something he’d started in on— “—they bein’ partickler friends o’ the diseased. That’s why they’re invited here this evenin’; but tomorrow we want all to come—everybody; for he respected everybody, he liked everybody, and so it’s fitten that his funeral orgies sh’d be public.” And so he went a-mooning on and on, liking to hear himself talk, and every little while he fetched in his funeral orgies again, till the duke he couldn’t stand it no more; so he writes on a little scrap of paper, “Obsequies, you old fool,” and folds it up, and goes to goo-gooing and reaching it over people’s heads to him. The king he reads it and puts it in his pocket, and says: “Poor William, afflicted as he is, his heart’s aluz right. Asks me to invite everybody to come to the funeral—wants me to make ’em all welcome. But he needn’t a worried—it was jest what I was at.” Then he weaves along again, perfectly ca’m, and goes to dropping in his funeral orgies again every now and then, just like he done before. And when he done it the third time he says: “I say orgies, not because it’s the common term, because it ain’t—obsequies bein’ the common term—but because orgies is the right term. Obsequies ain’t used in England no more now—it’s gone out. We say orgies now in England. Orgies is better, because it means the thing you’re after more exact. It’s a word that’s made up out’n the Greek orgo, outside, open, abroad; and the Hebrew jeesum, to plant, cover up; hence inter. So, you see, funeral orgies is an open er public funeral.” He was the worst I ever struck. Well, the iron-jawed man he laughed right in his face. Everybody was shocked. Everybody says, “Why, doctor!” and Abner Shackleford says: “Why, Robinson, hain’t you heard the news? This is Harvey Wilks.” The king he smiled eager, and shoved out his flapper, and says: “Is it my poor brother’s dear good friend and physician? I—” “Keep your hands off of me!” says the doctor. “You talk like an Englishman, don’t you? It’s the worst imitation I ever heard. You Peter Wilks’s brother! You’re a fraud, that’s what you are!” Well, how they all took on! They crowded around the doctor and tried to quiet him down, and tried to explain to him and tell him how Harvey ’d showed in forty ways that he was Harvey, and knowed everybody by name, and the names of the very dogs, and begged and begged him not to hurt Harvey’s feelings and the poor girl’s feelings, and all that. But it warn’t no use; he stormed right along, and said any man that pretended to be an Englishman and couldn’t imitate the lingo no better than what he did was a fraud and a liar. The poor girls was hanging to the king and crying; and all of a sudden the doctor ups and turns on them. He says: “I was your father’s friend, and I’m your friend; and I warn you as a friend, and an honest one that wants to protect you and keep you out of harm and trouble, to turn your backs on that scoundrel and have nothing to do with him, the ignorant tramp, with his idiotic Greek and Hebrew, as he calls it. He is the thinnest kind of an impostor—has come here with a lot of empty names and facts which he picked up somewheres, and you take them for proofs, and are helped to fool yourselves by these foolish friends here, who ought to know better. Mary Jane Wilks, you know me for your friend, and for your unselfish friend, too. Now listen to me; turn this pitiful rascal out—I beg you to do it. Will you?” Mary Jane straightened herself up, and my, but she was handsome! She says: “Here is my answer.” She hove up the bag of money and put it in the king’s hands, and says, “Take this six thousand dollars, and invest for me and my sisters any way you want to, and don’t give us no receipt for it.” Then she put her arm around the king on one side, and Susan and the hare-lip done the same on the other. Everybody clapped their hands and stomped on the floor like a perfect storm, whilst the king held up his head and smiled proud. The doctor says: “All right; I wash my hands of the matter. But I warn you all that a time ’s coming when you’re going to feel sick whenever you think of this day.” And away he went. “All right, doctor,” says the king, kinder mocking him; “we’ll try and get ’em to send for you;” which made them all laugh, and they said it was a prime good hit. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved April 2022 from Twain, Mark,1993. Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. https://www.gutenberg.org/files/76/76-h/76-h.htm#c25 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 , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html Photo by on micheile dot com Unsplash

Adventures of Huckleberry Finn: Chapter XXV

The Great Gatsby: Chapter 2

“I’m so glad we’re getting along,” said the founder while he dry erased the board in the large WeWork conference room for the group waiting outside. “Do you want to have lunch now?” “Sure, sounds good!” I replied. I had done my research on this guy to think that if I worked for him and this new startup idea was successful it could really help my career. He was, after all, a successful serial entrepreneur. I knew this was just another part of the interview process and was all about fit. cultural We walked to a non-descript ramen place that he liked and sat side-by-side at the bar since we would have had to wait for a table. Over our bowls of mediocre ramen, I listened to stories about his wife and how he had so many ideas for startups that he needed someone like me to help him. After we finished and he paid, he turned to me and asked, “Would you like to go for a walk? I do better thinking and walking anyway.” “Sure, sounds good!” I kept up my interview act, thinking this was now part two of the cultural fit process. Zigzagging through Chinatown, he continued to do most of the talking. I heard more personal stories about how he met his wife on a dating app, his family and what property he owned. Then we arrived at the Embarcadero. I sat on a bench looking out towards the pier and water while he stood facing me with his elbows resting on the rail. “How old are you?” he asked, then continued quickly, “Well, you know, some men trade up but I don’t really get that at all.” “I think that’s an illegal thing to ask,” I replied, thinking he should have known this if he gotten to be so successful. “Well, do you smoke? For my team, we’ll go on these weekend retreats and if you join, we can all hang out and smoke.” The day interview was now over when I made up some excuse of having to go somewhere. I ended up signing a contract with the entrepreneur and doing a remote project for which he has never paid me. *** It was at least fifteen minutes past the start time I was supposed to be at an interview somewhere on the Peninsula. I quickly got out of my car and walked through the large parking lot to the glass doors of the building lobby. As I entered the building lobby, there was a woman standing waiting for me. “I’m so sorry I’m late,” I smiled, trying to make a good first impression. The woman shook my hand and reassured me that she was happy to meet me. We entered a very bright, fluorescently-light room that only had one table and two chairs. As we sat down, she began to explain to me that this was a “transition office space” and that most of their time was spent out “in the field” at schools who were their current clients. After a bunch of questions about my background, she started to describe the schools. The schools had very diverse student populations and intercultural communication skills would be of value. “Our team has experience working with people from all over the world — Latin America, the Middle East, Asia — everywhere! The families are great at all our schools. We want to build stronger relationships and hire the right people to match the ,” she explained. culture “I love to travel and I love kids,” I replied. “And, so, what country do your parents come from? I can tell you about which school that could relate to your ethnic background so you can see who’d you be working with.” “Sorry, what? I’m from Ohio,” I replied, feeling a sinking feeling in my stomach. “Where in Latin America did your parents come from? Did you speak Spanish at home?” she continued. “I’m from Ohio,” I said again, uneasy for the second time. “OK, well, we’ll be in touch,” she said unfazed and walked me to the door. The next day I wrote her an email with links to references to why asking about a candidate’s ethnicity was illegal and that I was not interested in pursuing the opportunity with her company. *** The line was out the door for this group interview in The Mission. It was my first group interview for a startup and wasn’t sure what to expect. I finally got to the check-in table where I got my name tag and moved along in the process. “Stand there,” a man said, as he pointed to a space out in front of him. “I don’t want my picture taken,” I said upset, imaging that my picture could end up on some intranet HR page for perpetuity. “Everyone has to. It’s so we remember who you are,” said the man snootily, and quickly took a picture. The next person was already at my side, ready to have their picture taken when I turned right to follow the person in front of me down a hallway and into a kitchen. Every table in the kitchen had an XL pizza box on it. Looking around to see if any employees were there in the kitchen, I saw a small group of employees in the corner of the kitchen talking together and sizing up the rest of us. After a few minutes, the employees disbanded to divide us into groups. I was in a group that migrated to take a skill assessment test of the company’s product on some employee’s desk. While I was completing the assessment, a Nerf arrow hit me in the head. I looked up to notice a woman employee a few desks away with a Nerf gun in her hand. I looked back to my assessment as if nothing had happened. I knew this had to do with the startup’s but I didn’t want to engage. culture (For more on this read my post: Culture Eats Diversity For Breakfast .) The group interview quickly ended after the skill assessment was over. And I ended up not being offered a job at the startup.

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