Types of Prose Narratives: A Text-Book for the Story WriterFansler, Harriott Ely
General
Types of Prose Narratives: A Text-Book for the Story Writer
Fansler, Harriott Ely
English prose literature; Storytelling
His manner cleared, like my own. He replied to my remarks with
readiness and in well-chosen words. Had he much to do there? Yes, that
was to say, he had enough responsibility to bear; but exactness and
watchfulness were what was required of him, and of actual work--manual
labor--he had next to none. To change that signal, to trim those
lights and to turn this iron handle now and then was all he had to do
under that head. Regarding those many long and lonely hours of which
I seemed to make so much he could only say that the routine of his
life had shaped itself into that form and he had grown used to it. He
had taught himself a language down here--if only to know it by sight
and to have formed his own crude ideas of its pronunciation could be
called learning it. He had also worked at fractions and decimals, and
tried a little algebra; but he was, and had been as a boy, a poor hand
at figures. Was it necessary for him when on duty always to remain in
that channel of damp air, and could he never rise into the sunshine
from between those high stone walls? Why, depended upon times and
circumstances. Under some conditions there would be less upon the line
than under others, and the same held good as to certain hours of the
day and night. In bright weather he did choose occasions for getting
a little above these lower shadows; but, being at all times liable to
be called by his electric bell and at such times listening for it with
redoubled anxiety, the relief was less than I would suppose.
He took me into his box, where there was a fire, a desk for an official
book in which he had to make certain entries, a telegraphic instrument
with its dial, face and needle, and the little bell of which he had
spoken. On my trusting that he would excuse the remark that he had
been well educated and (I hoped I might say without offence) perhaps
educated above that station, he observed that instances of slight
incongruity in such wise would rarely be found wanting among large
bodies of men; that he had heard it was so in work-houses, in the
police force, even in that last desperate resource, the army; and
that he knew it was so, more or less, in any great railway staff. He
had been, when young (if I could believe it, sitting in that hut--he
scarcely could), a student of natural philosophy, and had attended
lectures; but he had run wild, misused his opportunities, gone down,
and never risen again. He had no complaint to offer about that. He had
made his bed and he lay upon it. It was far too late to make another.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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