Issue
number 45 September
29, 2002
Quorum of One is intended for adult
readers
This
issue:
Nice Surprise
Endings
Epilogues to classics of middle-brow literature
by Guy de Maupassant
. . . Madame Forestier had halted. "You say you bought a diamond necklace to replace mine?"
"Yes. You hadn't noticed it? They were very much
alike." And she smiled in proud and innocent happiness.
Madame Forestier, deeply moved, took her two hands.
"Oh, my poor Mathilde! But mine was imitation. It was worth at the very
most five hundred francs!"
- - -
Epilogue - - -
"Oh!" exclaimed Mathilde. "Then surely
you won't mind selling it and giving me back the difference."
Madame Forestier, even more deeply moved, grasped her
two shoulders. "Of course not, dear! Let's go to the jeweler's this
instant! With the appreciation on a thing like that I can easily buy another
rhinestone job and you should have enough money left to retire."
Mathilde breathed a profound sigh of relief. Her life
of deprivation was behind her at last. "Wow!" she gasped. "What
a pleasant surprise..."
An Occurence at
Owl Creek Bridge
by Ambrose Bierce
. . .
As he is about
to clasp her he feels a stunning blow upon the back of the neck; a blinding
white light blazes all about him with a sound like the shock of a cannon--then
all is darkness and silence! Peyton Farquhar was dead; his body, with a broken
neck, swung gently from side to side beneath the timbers of the Owl Creek
bridge.
- - -
Epilogue - - -
"Fer cryin' out loud Peyton, wake up and quit
moaning!" his wife shouted. "You're probably havin' that damn war
flashback nightmare again!"
"Woah!" Farquhar exclaimed. "It was so
vivid!"
"It was 'vivid' three times last month!" his
wife snapped. "Look -- they didn't hang you, all right? The rope broke,
you escaped, I hid you in the cellar for the rest of the war and now here we
both are, safe and sound. Fer chrissake, that was almost forty years ago --
think you'd get over it by now. Now shut the hell up and go back to
sleep."
"Why'd I ever marry the old bitch?" Peyton
muttered to himself as he rolled over. "But that dream! What a
shock!"
by O. Henry
. . .
Jim tumbled
down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled.
"Dell," said he, "let's put our Christmas presents away and keep
'em a while. They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get
the money to buy your combs."
- - -
Epilogue - - -
"Aw, thanks honey! You're really sweet," said
Della, as she bent down to give him a kiss. "Good thing I didn't cut off
ALL my hair. What the heck, it was almost to my ankles. These combs'll do just
fine for the page-boy cut I've got now. You think I should get the ends frosted
or...?"
But by this time Jim was on the phone to the pawnbroker.
"Hey, Max, could you do me a favor?" he said. After Max had listened
to the whole story and had a good laugh, he promised to hold on to the watch
until Della's hair grew out enough to sell again and they could redeem the
precious heirloom. "Oh, and Jim!" Max added before hanging up the phone.
"You ought to get yourself a literary agent and sell the rights to your
story. It's a real bombshell!"
by Mackinlay
Kantor
. . .
The blind man
stood for a long time, swallowing hoarsely. He gulped: "Parsons! I thought
you --- . . . Yes. Maybe so. MAYBE SO! BUT I'M BLIND! I'M BLIND, AND YOU'VE
BEEN STANDING HERE LETTING ME SPOUT TO YOU, AND LAUGHING AT ME EVERY MINUTE OF
IT! I'M BLIND!"
Mr. Parsons looked over, almost piteously and said
reflectively, "Well, don't make such a row about it, Markwardt . . . . So
am I."
- - -
Epilogue - - -
Markwardt gulped and said sheepishly, "Well,
actually Parsons, I'm not really blind. Truth is I'm a no-account lazy drunk. I
just pretend to be blind because I get more money panhandling that way."
"Aw hell," said Parsons, "I'm not really
blind either. I figured if you couldn't see me you wouldn't know I was lying
and I could get out of here without having to give you anything. But all right,
dammit, you got me -- here's a fifty. Now beat it."
"Thanks pal!" called the retreating Markwardt.
"What a windfall!"
by Edwin Arlington Robinson
. . . So
on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and
cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer
night,
Went home and put a bullet through
his head.
- - -
Epilogue - - -
'Twas only then that everyone found
out
He suffered from a dire and dread
disease
That would have done him in, there
was no doubt,
Before the coming autumn tinged the
trees.
His life insurance said it wouldn't
pay
For suicides. His will and testament
Was voided due to fiscal foul play.
His wife and kids were left without
a cent.
An inquest formed to delve into his
past
Revealed some startling news about
the man:
The day before he fired the fatal
blast
He'd introduced a profit-sharing
plan
For every worker toiling in his mill
From night shift to supplies to
cleaning crew.
We owned the fact'ry, stock, land
and goodwill
And all his private goods and
chattels too.
Our Corycorp shares soared to record heights.
We've cash for meat and scotch and
private school.
And after work on warm calm summer
nights
We swim in Richard Cory's heated pool.
©2002 by David Jaggard