King of the Cracksmen by Dennis O'Flaherty

King of the Cracksmen by Dennis O'Flaherty

Author:Dennis O'Flaherty
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: King of the Cracksmen
ISBN: 9781597805513
Publisher: Night Shade Books
Published: 2014-12-31T16:00:00+00:00


Chapter Seventeen

As Twain drew Liam into the interior of the sumptuously furnished chamber (one of Delmonico’s private dining rooms, as it turned out), two more strangers got to their feet: the first an impressive, dignified black man with a mass of long, wiry white hair, his big aquiline nose and fierce brow belied by a radiant smile, and the other an elegant and aristocratic old lady whose high, smooth forehead and unlined face were set off by blue eyes that sparkled with humor and intelligence.

Liam didn’t need any more introduction to them than he had to Mark Twain—or Sam Clemens, as he seemed to prefer—both had been pictured in New York’s journals and newspapers more often than Liam could count. The man was Frederic Douglass—a former slave, now a world-famous reformer, writer and statesman—and the woman was the Honorable Augusta Ada Byron, Countess of Lovelace and daughter of Liam’s beloved Lord Byron, not to mention her own eminence as a mathematical theorist and the inventor of the Lovelace “predictive engine.” Douglass stepped forward and Liam offered his hand:

“It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”

Douglass shook Liam’s hand warmly: “It’s my pleasure, Mr. McCool, it’s we who will be honored if you consent to join us in our undertaking.”

A tiny alarm went off in Liam’s brain, but it wasn’t enough to keep him from bowing to the daughter of the great poet:

“And a very great pleasure and honor to meet you, Countess.”

She burst into a peal of merry laughter and reached out to take Liam by the hand: “For goodness’ sake, Mr. McCool, I’ve been an American for a good many years now, and plain Ada Lovelace will suit me nicely!”

Becky smiled as she noted a rare blush climbing Liam’s cheeks. “I’m afraid you won’t turn yourself into plain Ada quite that easily for Mr. McCool, Ada dear, he’s a fervent devotée of your father’s poetry.”

Miss Lovelace chuckled and put her arm around Becky’s shoulders: “Your father’s a man of no mean fame himself, Becky, so you’ll know just what I mean when I say that every woman must struggle to step out of the shadows of the men in her life, but it’s even harder for those of us whose fathers cast particularly long shadows.”

She shook Liam’s hand warmly and he could feel the blush climbing the rest of the way into the roots of his hair as he returned her grip. Surely, he thought, it would take a downright monster of sang froid to shrug off falling in with such luminaries as these. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to stay on his toes—whatever they were all here for it looked like they wanted him to take a goodly piece of it and he didn’t want to end up buying a pig in a poke.

As Douglass and Ada Lovelace sat back down at the table, Twain pulled out two more chairs for Becky and Liam:

“All right, folks, everybody take a pew and let’s call this meeting to order! Miss Fox, Liam,



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