Types of Prose Narratives: A Text-Book for the Story WriterFansler, Harriott Ely
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Types of Prose Narratives: A Text-Book for the Story Writer
Fansler, Harriott Ely
English prose literature; Storytelling
When I saw him in this state I saw that for the poor man's sake, as
well as for the public safety, what I had to do for the time was to
compose his mind. Therefore, setting aside all question of reality or
unreality between us, I represented to him that whoever thoroughly
discharged his duty must do well, and that at least it was his comfort
that he understood his duty, though he did not understand these
confounding appearances. In this effort I succeeded far better than in
the attempt to reason him out of his conviction. He became calm; the
occupations incidental to his post as the night advanced began to make
larger demands on his attention; and I left him at two in the morning.
I had offered to stay through the night, but he would not hear of it.
That I more than once looked back at the red light as I ascended the
pathway, that I did not like the red light, and that I should have
slept but poorly if my bed had been under it, I see no reason to
conceal. Nor did I like the two sequences of the accident and the dead
girl. I see no reason to conceal that, either.
But what ran most in my thoughts was the consideration, how ought I
to act, having become the recipient of this disclosure? I had proved
the man to be intelligent, vigilant, painstaking and exact; but how
long might he remain so, in his state of mind? Though in a subordinate
position, still he held a most important trust, and would I (for
instance) like to stake my own life on the chances of his continuing to
execute it with precision?
Unable to overcome a feeling that there would be something treacherous
in my communicating what he had told me to his superiors in the
company, without first being plain with himself and proposing a
middle course to him, I ultimately resolved to offer to accompany him
(otherwise keeping his secret for the present) to the wisest medical
practitioner we could hear of in those parts, and to take his opinion.
A change in his time of duty would come round next night, he had
apprised me, and he would be off an hour or two after sunrise, and on
again soon after sunset. I had appointed to return accordingly.
Next evening was a lovely evening, and I walked out early to enjoy it.
The sun was not yet quite down when I traversed the field-path near the
top of the deep cutting. I would extend my walk for an hour, I said to
myself, half an hour on and half an hour back, and it would then be
time to go to my signal-man's box.
Before pursuing my stroll I stepped to the brink and mechanically
looked down from the point from which I had first seen him. I cannot
describe the thrill that seized upon me, when, close at the mouth of
the tunnel I saw the appearance of a man with his left sleeve across
his eyes, passionately waving his right arm.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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