Alcohol trafficking -- Fiction; Mountain life -- Tennessee -- Fiction
He was an architect by profession, and the aspect of the world seemed
to him parceled out in available sites. It cost his imagination,
trained by study and enriched by travel, no conscious effort to
perceive standing in fair proportions, turreted and terraced, finished
to the last finial, the perfected structure of his projected summer
hotel, on that level space above craggy heights, facing the moon and
the valley, with the background of still greater heights, ever rising,
heavily wooded, to the peak towering above. He saw it, as a true
architect, in completion; as the wren sees his builded nest, not as the
single straw or wisp of hair. Yet the day of small things must needs be
overpassed,--of straws and wisps,--of struts and purlins, plates and
tie-beams. His day of small things was full of wrangling and bitter
bafflings, heart-burnings and discouragements. His partners in the
undertaking had not been induced to cast their lot with his save by the
exercise of infinite suavities of crafty eloquence, overpowering doubt
and fear, and indisputable demonstrations of disproportionate profits
in the very air. One was a seer in a commercial sort, an adept in
prognosticating unexpected expenses for which no covenant of provision
had been entered into, and he beheld full-armed disaster menacing every
plan save that of his own preference. The other had no imagination
whatever, architectural or otherwise. He recognized no needs which
required adornment, and measured the taste of the public by his own
disposition to spend money to gratify it. That Kenniston's plans
should have come through the ordeal of their councils, with the ever
lopping-off incidents common to the moneyed non-professional, retaining
any element of symmetry or grace or beauty argued much for their
pristine value. He regarded them for a time with a sort of pity and
affronted tenderness for their maimed estate, but little by little the
original intentions faded from his mental view, and he could see with
renewed satisfaction the flag flying from the tower without remembering
that he had held this octagonal gaud upon the building by main force,
as it were, against the iconoclastic grasp of the practical men.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account