Owen was still behindhand and still despondent.
The lot drawing to-night was Five. This proved to be the number
of the first of Morgan's stories, which he had completed before
we began the readings. His second story, finished this day, being
still uncorrected by me, could not yet be added to the common
stock.
On being informed that it had come to his turn to occupy the
attention of the company, Morga n startled us by immediately
objecting to the trouble of reading his own composition, and by
coolly handing it over to me, on the ground that my numerous
corrections had made it, to all intents and purposes, my story.
Owen and I both remonstrated; and Jessie, mischievously
persisting in her favorite jest at Morgan's expense, entreated
that he would read, if it was only for her sake. Finding that we
were all determined, and all against him, he declared that,
rather than hear our voices any longer, he would submit to the
minor inconvenience of listening to his own. Accordingly, he took
his manuscript back again, and, with an air of surly resignation,
spread it open before him.
"I don't think you will like this story, miss," he began,
addressing Jessie, "but I shall read it, nevertheless, with the
greatest pleasure. It begins in a stable--it gropes its way
through a dream--it keeps company with a hostler--and it stops
without an end.
Pages:
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151