A Young Monte Cristo
Or, Back to the World for Vengeance
Jas C. Merritt
16 pages
Pluck and Luck n° 697 - 1911 - États-Unis
Roman
Intérêt: 0
Ce fascicule de la série Pluck and Luck porte
le n° 697. Il a été publié à New York le 11 octobre
1911.
Fred Howard n’a vraiment pas de chance. Cet adolescent
de bonne famille a vu son père, homme d’affaires, ruiné
par le banquier Ralph Pomeroy. Puis, un jour où il
rentre chez lui, à New York, après sa journée de
travail, il trouve ses parents assassinés et sa sœur
disparue. Et le même jour, il est accusé d’avoir volé de
l’argent au Pomeroy en question. Le voilà orphelin et
jeté en prison.
 Condamné à un an (!) de
détention, il s’évade avec son vieux co-détenu juste
avant d’être libéré… Le vieil homme meurt durant
l’évasion. Mais il a eu le bon goût de révéler à Fred
l’emplacement de l’épave d’un bateau chargé de lingots
d’or, qui a coulé trente ans plus tôt. Le navire
transportait toute la fortune d’une famille dont il ne
reste a priori aucun héritier.
Fred s’évade et entreprend de récupérer le trésor. Il
n’a pas trop de mal, le bateau a coulé dans la baie de
New York, par 4 mètres de fond: Fred et un ami n’ont
qu’à aller en barque et à plonger pour remonter les
lingots à la main…
Un an plus tard, le banquier Pomeroy est très
contrarié: toutes ses affaires tournent mal, car il se
heurte sans cesse aux interventions d’un richissime et
mystérieux britannique, du nom d’Hazelwood. Ce dernier
n’est autre – attention à la surprise – que Fred
lui-même, devenu méconnaissable depuis qu’il s’est
laissé pousser la barbe (sic !).
Fred sauve de la noyade une jeune désespérée qui
tentait de se suicider. Un beau geste dont il sera bien
récompensé. Il apparaît en effet que la jeune fille est
la seule héritière de la famille aux lingots d’or, et
donc la légitime propriétaire de la fortune de Fred.
Autre menue coïncidence: elle a aussi été victime des
manigances de Pomeroy. Du coup, Fred l’épouse,
récupérant ainsi sa fortune. Sa sœur disparue est
retrouvée: devenue folle, elle était séquestrée par
Pomeroy. Mais elle recouvre la raison d’un seul coup et
accuse ce dernier de l’assassinat de ses parents, auquel
elle a assisté.
Pomeroy est arrêté et exécuté. Fred vivra heureux avec
sa femme et son or jusqu’à la fin de ses jours.
Il n’y a pas grand-chose à dire sur un texte aussi
consternant, sinon qu’il est difficile d’imaginer
lecture plus caricaturale du Comte de Monte-Cristo.
On en arrive à se demander si l’auteur l’a fait exprès,
mais non: le texte est désespérément écrit au premier
degré.
Extrait du chapitre 8 Pomeroy & Co.
receive a new depositor
The suddenness with which Pomeroy & Co. had
blossomed into life had, in the business world which
centers around Wall street, been for more than a year
the one subject of conversation in every one’s mouth.
In 1881 Ralph Pomeroy was just nobody at all, being
nothing more than a clerk for the then rich real-estate
operator, Samuel Howard, whose brutal murder and that of
his wife created such a stir at the time it had
occurred, at a salary which, although perhaps liberal
enough as far as it went, was by no means adequate to
keep up the reckless style of living which the man
maintained.
In 1882, by some unknown means, Pomeroy became
possessed of all his former employer's real-estate, the
family mansion in Fifth avenue, stores on Broadway,
stores on Grand street, and other valuable buildings in
various parts of the town, and establishing himself as a
broker, had bought a seat upon the Stock Exchange, and
began transacting business upon his own account.
Now all this caused sufficient talk, it is true, and
there were many ugly rumors aficat as to the manner in
which the broker come into possession of his
newly-acquired wealth; but the interest felt in his
affairs was as nothing to that displayed at the
beginning of 1883, when the man established himself as a
private banker in an elegant suite of offices upon Wall
street, just below Broad, and displayed the sign
"Pomeroy & Co., Bankers", above his door.
By what means Ralph Pomeroy had suddenly acquired
wealth no one knew and, so long as the world could be
actually assured he had it, no one cared.
A bold operator in stock and real estate, civil and
polite in his address to those whom he chose to favor,
the business of this newcomer in the banking world
increased with the most extraordinary rapidity; every
scheme in which he invested, every undertaking in which
he embarked, seemingly yielded gold to his touch.
Now in this world it is common saying, and one likewise
true, that "nothing succeeds like success".
Ralph Pomeroy had succeeded with a rapidity unparalled
in the annals of the "street," and in less than a year's
time Pomeroy & Co. had taken place among the leading
bankers of New York.
Upon the morning of the 15th of August, 1884, Ralph
Pomeroy was late in arriving at the bank.
It was fully noon when he entered its doors and passed
haughtily through the elegantly fitted counting-room,
with its mahogany desks, its carved partitions and solid
brass railings, and entered his private office beyond.
From the expression of his face it was evident that
the great banker was in no very pleasant mood.
He laid aside his hat, and seating himself at his desk
with a dissatisfied air, began to open his morning mail.
"Confound it!" he muttered, as he tore open letter
after letter and hastily scanned their contents. "I had
set my heart upon that span of horses, Rarus and Lady
Betty, and now here steps in this mysterious individual
and snaps them up under my very nose at double the price
I offered to pay. The horses are valuable, it is true,
but they are not worth no twenty thousand apiece, and
yet that is the sum given by this man, Hazelwood, whom
nobody knows, or seems to have even heard of before. I
wonder—Hello! what in the world is this? A written
communication from Clemmans & Co. stating that the
block of Elevated Railway stock upon which I expected to
turn half a million has passed at a better price into
other hands! Was there ever anything so confoundedly
unlucky! The fates seem against me to-day!"
Dashing the letter angrily to the desk, the banker
rose and entering the closet which contained his private
telephone rung the bell with an angry jerk.
"Give me Clemmans & Co.," he shouted through the
instrument in no pleasant tone.
A moment of silence followed.
Then the telephone bell tinkled again.
"Is this Clemmans & Co.?"
From over the wire came the distant reply:
"Yes. Who are you?"
"This is Pomeroy & Co. I am Mr. Pomeroy. I want to
talk with Mr. Clemmans."
"All right; Mr. Clemmans is here."
"How about that Manhattan Elevated stock, Clemmans?"
"Sold, as I wrote you."
The reply that came over the wire was disgustingly
plain.
"But you promised it to me."
"Can’t help it. Got a better offer. Had to let it go."
"Who is your purchaser?"
" ‘Tain’t business, but I don’t mind telling you. Name
of Hazelwood. Rich young Englishman, just arrived in New
York in his yacht, the Justice."
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