The Perils of Pauline

The Perils of Pauline

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Title: The Perils of Pauline
Author: Charles Goddard
Release Date: July, 2004 [EBook #6065] [Yes, we are more than one
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PERILS OF PAULINE ***

Transcribed by Sean Pobuda
THE PERILS OF PAULINE
By Charles Goddard

CHAPTER I
THE BREATH OF DEAD CENTURIES
In one of the stateliest mansions on the lower Hudson, near New York,
old Stanford Marvin, president of the Marvin Motors Company, dozed
over his papers, while Owen, his confidential secretary, eyed him
across the mahogany flat-topped desk. A soft purring sound floated in
the open window and half-roused the aged manufacturer. It came from
one of his own cars -- six cylinders chanting in unison a litany of power
to the great modem god of gasoline.
These things had been in his mind since the motor industry started. He
had lived with them, wrestled with them during his meals and taken
them to his dreams at night. Now they formed a rhythm, and he heard
them in his brain just before the fainting spells, which had come so
frequently of late. He glanced at the secretary and noted Owen's gaze
with something of a start.
"What are you thinking about, Raymond?" he queried, with his
customary directness.
"Your health, sir," replied Owen, who, like all intelligent rascals, never
lied when the truth would do equally well. As a matter of fact, Owen
had wondered whether his employer would last a year or a month. He
much preferred a month, for there was reason to believe that the Marvin
will would contain a handsome bequest to "my faithful secretary."

"Oh, bosh!" said the old man. "You and Dr. Stevens would make a
mummy of me before I'm dead."
"That reminds me, sir," said Owen, smoothly, "that the International
Express Company has delivered a large crate addressed to you from
Cairo, Egypt. I presume it is the mummy you bought on your last trip.
Where shall I place it?"
Mr. Marvin's eye coursed around the walls of the handsome library,
which had been his office since the doctor had forbidden him to visit
his automobile works and steel-stamping mills.
"Take out that bust of Pallas Athene," he ordered, "and stand the
mummy up in its place."
Owen nodded, poised his pencil and prompted:
"You were just dictating about the new piston rings."
Mr. Marvin drew his hand across his eyes and looked out the window.
Within the range of his vision was one of the most charming sights in
the world -- a handsome youth and a pretty girl, arrayed in white
flannels, playing tennis.
"Never mind the letters. Tell Harry and Pauline I wish to see them."
Alone, the old man opened a drawer and took a dose of medicine, then
he unfolded Dr. Stevens's letter and read its final paragraph, which
prescribed a change of climate, together with complete and permanent
rest or "I will not answer for the consequences."
There was little doubt that no primer mover in a great industry was
better able to leave its helm than Standford Marvin. His lieutenants
were able, efficient and contented. The factories would go of their own
momentum for a year or two at least, then his son, Harry, just out of
college, should be able, perhaps, to help. His lieutenants had proved
Marvin's unerring instinct in judging character. Not one single case
came to the old employer's mind of a man who had failed to turn out

exactly as he expected. Yet the most trusted man of all, Raymond
Owen, the secretary, was disloyal and dishonest.
This one exception was easily enough explained. When Owen came to
Marvin's attention, fifteen years before, he was a fine, honest, faithful
man.