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Chapter 2

           FiveMillions!I,thestarvingliteraryhack—thefriendless,hopeless,almostrecklesshaunteroflownewspaperdens—I,thepossessorof"overFiveMillionsofPoundsSterling"!Itriedtograsptheastoundingfact—forfactitevidentlywas—butcouldnot.Itseemedtomeawilddelusion,bornofthedizzyvaguenesswhichlackoffoodengenderedinmybrain.Istaredroundtheroom;—themeanmiserablefurniture—thefirelessgrate—thedirtylamp—thelowtrucklebedstead—theevidencesofpenuryandwantoneveryside;—andthen—thentheoverwhelmingcontrastbetweenthepovertythatenvironedmeandthenewsIhadjustreceived,struckmeasthewildest,mostridiculousincongruityIhadeverheardoforimagined—andIgaveventtoashoutoflaughter.

           "WasthereeversuchacapriceofmadFortune!"Icriedaloud—"Whowouldhaveimaginedit!GoodGod!I!I,ofallmenintheworldtobesuddenlychosenoutforthisluck!ByHeaven!—Ifitisalltrue,I’llmakesocietyspinroundlikeatoponmyhandbeforeIammanymonthsolder!"

           AndIlaughedloudlyagain;laughedjustasIhadpreviouslysworn,simplybywayofrelieftomyfeelings.Someonelaughedinanswer—alaughthatseemedtoechomine.Icheckedmyselfabruptly,somewhatstartled,andlistened.Rainpouredoutside,andthewindshriekedlikeapetulantshrew—theviolinistnextdoorwaspractisingabrilliantrouladeupanddownhisinstrument—buttherewerenoothersoundsthanthese.

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