English
22.
Joseph A, Cone.
First
Year Special.
Theme #12
-
Second
Connected Theme
April
23, 1895.
You have improved this I think by giving it
this form. You treat your subject conventionally however however.
Neither of the women has any individuality. The constant recurrence of “young
ladies”, by the way is amateurish. I do not rely too much upon coincidences
like the presentation, and the overhearing of the conversation; these are
rather cheap makeshifts for obviating obvious difficulties.
Be careful that your conversation does not become too “literary” – make it as
natural as possible.
Revise or rewrite as you please.
F.E.F.
{A Month at “Mountview”}
CHAPTER II.
The
first thing the young journalist did after he gained his room was to dispatch a
letter to Grant. He informed him of the discovery he had made, and instructed
him to forward all mail under his newly assumed name, concluding with a request
to keep his whereabouts, as far as possible, a secret from his friends in town.
He had started in to play a deep game, and was impatient for the amusement to commence.
When he saw it really was his literary antagonist who had registered at the “Mountview,”
he conceived a possibly humorous situation by keeping his identity hidden, and
signed himself as “W. W. Haskell.”
“If I
can only make her acquaintance, and induce her to express her opinion of that
other fellow “Haskell”, he reflected, “I
shall consider my vacation well spent. I am sure she dislikes him, and little
wonder that she does,” and he smoked and smiled by the open window till the tea
bell sounded.
He had
not much hopes of meeting her
during the hour for tea. The long tables were nearly filled when he reached the
dining hall, and after a careless glance around the room, he took his seat, and
wondered vaguely if she were on either side of him, or in front or back of him.
In the evening Mr.
Cummings was to give a grand, out-door fete in honor of his guests. This was a
way he had of making everybody better acquainted, and it always resulted
successfully. As soon as the twilight deepened over the thickly wooded
landscape, the evening’s enjoyment began. The front veranda was cleared for
dancing, and the lawn in front was illuminated by powerful lamps and Chineese Sp. lanterns. As Haskell
came down the front stairs he was met by Mr. Cummings, who was accompanied by
two (stylishly attired and beautiful) A bit cheap. young ladies.
“My daughter, Mr.
Haskell, also Miss Roberts, the writer, whom you doubtless know by reputation,”
he said. “I am going to ask you to guard them for a short time.” It is not usual
to introduce women to men.
Haskell
bowed, and mumbled a few words to his host, but he was too surprised to talk
intelligibly. In an instant, however, he realized his position, and knew that
he must gain command of himself or dismally
fail. He observed Miss Roberts to give a slight start when she heard the
name Haskell, then to let her eyes rest
upon him keenly, expectantly.
“Miss
Roberts?” he drawled, good naturedly, at the same time kitting his eyebrows, “I
am sure I have seen the name attached to articles of some sort, but you will
pardon me if I appear prosaic Not
the right word upon the subject, for I must acknowledge that I
am not a great reader. I know comparatively little of the literary world as
yet.”
“You surely
haven’t read much if you don’t know all about Miss Roberts,” said the landlord’s
daughter, resentfully.
“O, it
isn’t that, Miss Cummings,” said her companion, pleasantly; “you know that a
newspaper covers a small territory, and even then, there are thousands in my
own city who never heard my name spoken. I should have been more
surprised had Mr. Haskell recognized my name. This is a large world, my dear.”
“Yes,
I know,” persisted Miss Cummings, “still it seems as though your name would be
known all over New England, at least. Think how well known it is to us up here.”
I daresay it is by the
reading public, Miss Cummings, and that is about all the author cares to reach,
I presume,” said the gallant Haskell. “We poor
non-readers miss many a good thing, no doubt,” he added. Do you mean to
make him affirm that he does not read newspapers?
“I
fear you have magnified me,” said the author, pleasantly, addressing Miss
Cummings; “I really have written very little, and,” turning to Mr. Haskell, “what
I have written I owe partly to a fierce namesake of yours; possibly a brother.”
Haskell
felt uneasy. He thought he felt a purpose under her keen thrust.
“Indeed!”
said he, feigning much interest; “I come from neither a fierce nor a literary family,
and brothers have I none. Pray tell me
about this being who has so seriously affected you.”
“O, he
is no relative of yours, I am sure, for he’s a monster,” broke in Miss Cummings.
At
this point Mr. Cummings came forward to release Haskell from his pleasant duty of being guardian over the two young ladies. Recast Outwardly, he
regretted their departure, of course,
outwardly, but inwardly he was glad. He wished to be alone. The surprise of
the evening had been too much for him. He wanted to think.
Can ould it be,” he mused, “that
this tall, fair-haired girl, with the soft eyes and pleasing voice was is Miss Roberts, my his old enemy of the press?” It seemed
almost incredible, and he strode about the grounds until he found a secluded settee
then upon which he threw
himself upon it. Dreamy strains of
music from the orchestra floated out to him, and he lighted a cigar. Gay voices
from the lake close by reached his ears, but he was unmindful only of all save the fair
face, the soft eyes, and the sweet voice of his journalistic opponent. It was
one thing to deceive the supposed Miss Roberts; she of the “sharp nose and
glasses,” but to continue it deceit
against this charming young person whom he had just seen, was quite another.
But Haskell had made up his mind, and Haskell was not easily turned. How long
he sat there he did not know, but when the music ceased he became aware that
someone occupied the bench next to his own. It was the two young ladies who had
evidently strolled off to enjoy the music, and now that it had stopped, they
had risen to go. A large clump of shrubbery divided him from them, The Ladies? but he
could hear plainly all that was said, and that he was the subject of their
conversation. As much as he desired to listen, he could not bring himself to do
so, and gave a light cough to warn them of his presence. They lowered their
voices a little and continued. Still he could hear them. Miss Cummings
was rattling on in her usual sweet but commonplace manner.
“It
must be grand to be so clever a writer as you are. At any rate, that Haskell,
Sidney Haskell, must think you clever. Your last article will surely silence
him. Have you ever met him, Miss Roberts?”
“No; nor do I have any desire to; I simply
couldn’t bear him, I know,” said the other.
“You
don’t suppose this Mr. Haskell at the house, is the journalist, do you?”
“I am
sure he is not,” Miss Roberts replied. “This Mr. Haskell is a gentleman; the
other one, – ah, well, I suppose I should pity rather than condemn. The
initials are different too, for I peeped at the register.”
Haskell,
at last, was beginning to enjoy the situation. With a soft chuckle, he left his
seat and hurried to the hotel. When the two young ladies appeared he met them,
at the bottom of the steps, and claimed Miss Roberts for the next quadrille.
English 22.
Joseph A, Cone.
First Year Special.
Theme #12 Rewritten.
Second Connecticut Theme
April 30,1895.
{A Month at “Mountview”}
CHAPTER II.
The
first thing the young journalist did after he gained his room was to dispatch a
letter to Grant. He informed him of the discovery he had made, and instructed
him to forward all mail under his newly assumed name, concluding with a request
to keep his whereabouts, as far as possible, a secret from his friends in town.
He had started in to play a deep game, and was impatient for the amusement to
commence. When he saw it was his literary antagonist who had registered at the
“Mountview,” he conceived a possibly humorous situation by keeping his identity
hidden, and signed himself as “W. W. Haskell.”
“If I
can only make her acquaintance, and induce her to express her opinion of that
other fellow “Haskell,” he reflected, “I
shall consider my vacation well spent. I am sure she dislikes him, and little
wonder that she does,” and he smoked and smiled by the open window till the tea
bell sounded.
He had
not much hope of meeting
her during the hour for tea. The long tables were nearly filled when he reached
the dining hall, and after a careless glance round the room, he took his seat,
and wondered vaguely if she were on either side of him, or in front or back of
him.
In the evening Mr.
Cummings was to give a grand, out-door fete in honor of his guests. This was a
way he had of making everybody better acquainted, and it always resulted
successfully. As soon as the twilight deepened over the thickly wooded
landscape, the evening’s enjoyment began. The front veranda was cleared for
dancing, and the lawn in front was illuminated by powerful lamps and Chinese lanterns. As Haskell
came down the front steps to the grounds he was met by Mr. Cummings who had in
charge two charming and rather wide-awake young ladies.
“Ah, Mr. Haskell, at
last; we have looked everywhere for you,”
exclaimed the landlord, cheerily; “Miss Roberts, allow me to present to you Mr.
Haskell; Mr. Haskell, Miss Roberts, the
author. Also my daughter, Miss Cummings, Mr. Haskell. I am going to ask you to
guard them for a short time. Miss Roberts you doubtless already know by
reputation.”
Haskell bowed, and
mumbled a few words to his host, but he was too surprised to talk intelligibly.
In an instant, however, he realized his position, and knew that he must gain
command of himself. He observed Miss Roberts give a slight start when she heard
the name of Haskell, then let her eyes rest upon him keenly, expectantly. And
what eyes they were! They were large, dark and mirthful, but their sharpness
seemed to read him through and through. He saw at a glance it would be an easy
matter to deceive Miss Cummings; she was a blonde, tall and listless, but her
companion was something else. She was dark, and every motion and curve of her
perfect form hinted of character and individuality.
“Miss
Roberts?” drawled out Haskell, good naturedly, at the same time kitting his brows,
“I am sure I have seen that name attached to articles of some sort, but you
will pardon me if I appear a bit stupid upon
the subject, for I must acknowledge that I am not a great reader. I know
comparatively little of the literary world as yet.”
“You
surely haven’t read much if you don’t know all about Miss Roberts,” said the
landlord’s daughter, resentfully.
“O, it
isn’t that, Miss Cummings,” said her companion, pleasantly; “you know that a
newspaper covers a small territory, and even then, there are thousands in my
own city who never heard my name spoken. I should have been more
surprised had Mr. Haskell recognized my name. This is a large world, my dear.”
“Yes,
I know,” persisted Miss Cummings, “still it seems as though your name would be
known all over New England, at least. Think how well known it is to us way off up
here.”
I daresay it is by the
reading public, Miss Cummings, and that is about all the author cares to reach,
I presume,” said the gallant Haskell. “We who do not read very much miss many a good thing, no doubt,” he added
“I
fear you have greatly magnified me,” said the author, pleasantly, addressing
Miss Cummings; “I really have written very little, and,” turning to Mr.
Haskell, “what I have written I owe partly to a fierce namesake of yours;
possibly a brother.”
Haskell
felt uneasy. He thought he felt a purpose under her keen thrust.
“Indeed!”
said he, feigning much interest; “I come from neither a fierce nor a literary family,
and brothers have I none. Pray tell me
about this being who has so seriously affected you.”
Dear Mr. Farley:
I
wished to rewrite this whole theme but find it impossible, as I am helpless
with rheumatism. From here it is revised on original sheets.
A Month at “Mountview”
Chapter II.
Rewritten
The first thing the young
journalist did after he gained his room was to despatch a letter to Grant. He
informed him of the discovery he had made, and instructed him to forward all
mail under his newly assumed name, concluding with a request to keep his own whereabouts,
as far as possible, a secret from his friends in town. He had started in to
play a deep game, and was impatient for the amusement to commence. When he saw
it really was his literary antagonist who had registered at the “Mountview”, he
conceived a possibly humorous situation by keeping his identity hidden, and
signed himself as “W. W. Haskell.”
“If I can only make her
acquaintance, and induce her to express her opinion of that other fellow “Haskell”, he reflected, “I shall consider my
vacation well spent. I am sure she dislikes him, and little wonder that she
does,” and he smoked and smiled by the open window till the tea bell sounded.
He had not much hope of meeting her
during the hour for tea. The long tables were nearly filled when he reached the
dining hall, and after a careless glance round the room, he took his seat, and
wondered vaguely if she were on either side of him, or in front or back of him.
In the evening Mr. Cummings was
to give a grand, out-door fete in honor of his guests. This was a way he had of
making everybody better acquainted, and it always resulted successfully. As
soon as the twilight deepened over the thickly wooded landscape, the evening’s
enjoyment began. The front veranda was cleared for dancing, and the lawn in
front was illuminated by powerful lamps and Chinese lanterns. As Haskell came
down the front steps to the grounds he was met by Mr. Cummings, who had in
charge two rather lively appearing young ladies.
“Ah, Mr. Haskell, at last, we
have looked everywhere for you,” exclaimed the landlord, pleasantly; “Miss
Roberts, allow me to present to you Mr. Haskell. Mr. Haskell, Miss Roberts, the
writer. Also to my daughter, Miss Cummings, Mr. Haskell. I am going to ask you
to guard them for a short time. Miss Roberts you doubtless already know by
reputation.”
Haskell bowed, and mumbled a few
words to his host, but he was too surprised to talk intelligibly. In an
instant, however, he realized his position, and knew that he must gain command
of himself. He observed Miss Roberts give a slight start when she heard the
name of Haskell, then let her eyes rest upon him keenly, expectantly.
And what eyes they were! They
were large, dark and mirthful, and seemed to
read him through and through. He saw at a glance that it would be an easy
matter to deceive Miss Cummings; she was a blonde,
tall and listless, but her companion was something else. She was dark, and
every motion and curve of her perfect form hinted of character and
individuality.
“Miss Roberts?” drawled out
Haskell, good naturedly, at the same time kitting his eyebrows, “I am sure I
have seen that name attached to articles of some sort, but you will pardon me
if I appear a bit stupid upon this subject, for I must acknowledge that I am
not a great reader. I know comparatively little of the literary world as yet.”
“You surely haven’t read much if
you don’t know all about Miss Roberts,” said the landlord’s daughter,
resentfully.
“O, it isn’t that, Miss
Cummings,” said her companion, pleasantly; “you know that a newspaper covers a
small territory, and even then, there are thousands in my own city who never
heard my name spoken. I should have been more surprised had Mr. Haskell
recognized my name. This is a large world, my dear.”
“Yes, I know,” persisted Miss
Cummings, “still it seems as though your name would be known all over New
England, at least. Think how well known it is to us way off up here.”
I daresay it is by the reading
public, Miss Cummings, and that is about all the author cares to reach, I
presume,” said the gallant Haskell. “We who do not read much miss many a good
thing, no doubt,” he added.
“I fear you have magnified me,”
said the author, pleasantly, addressing Miss Cummings; “I really have written
very little, and,” turning to Mr. Haskell, “what I have written I owe partly to
a fierce namesake of yours; possibly a brother.”
Haskell felt uneasy. He thought
he detected a purpose under her keen thrust.
“Indeed!” said he, feigning much
interest; “I come from neither a fierce nor a literary family, and brothers
have I none. Pray tell me about
this being who has so seriously affected
you.”
“O, he is no relative of yours, I
am sure, for he’s a monster,” broke in the landlord’s daughter.
At this point Mr. Cummings came
forward to release Haskell. Outwardly, he regretted their departure, but
inwardly he was glad. He wished to be alone. The surprise of the evening had
been too much for him. He wanted to think.
Can it be,” he mused, “that this
tall, dark-haired girl, with the soft eyes and pleasing voice is Miss Roberts,
– my old enemy of the press?” It seemed almost incredible, and he walked out into
the grounds until he found a secluded settee, upon which he threw himself.
Dreamy strains of music from the orchestra floated out to him, and he lighted a
cigar. Gay voices from the veranda reached his ears, but he was mindful only of
the fair face, the soft eyes, and the sweet voice of his journalistic opponent.
***
(This either ends here or any
additional pages are missing)
.
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