Pullman herald. [volume] (Pullman, W.T. [Wash.]) 1888-1989, 1890-04-19
A PERFECT PLOT.
Reason Why He Was No Better
OFF After Discovering It.

On After discovering IL.
"You are rather late, Stephen" said
Mrs. Mostyn, as her husband came into
the dining-room one day, just as she had
finished breakfast, "and l can not stay
with you, as / have to go out"
$50 out Why, you said last night
you were going to finish that china paint
ing this morning, though I really don't
know why you should work so hard. We
are not in absolute penury."
''No; but it is pleasant making money
in way ne likes. Besides, there will
be some to give away when we find we
have too much ourselves. And how is
your trade going on?"
'"To tell the truth, not brilliantly. In
fact, 1 am rather hung up for want of a
plot"
"a plot?"
eyes, it is ridiculous. have a short
story to write this week, and, though I
have rather neat set of characters and
small incidents ready, if you understand,
a main idea is wanting"
Dear me, that is unfortunate! Why
don't you go out for walk, or for half
an hour in the underground, or to the
city on bus, and fiHd one?"
''MY dear Millicent, what nonsense
you talk. AS if | were the least likely
to find my ideal plot that way! No;
must try and worry it out myself some
how"
"Well, 1 must be off. Goodbye,
Stephen; take my advice-go and look
for your ideal in the real of life. l am
sure you can find it there"
After his wife had gone Stephen Mos
tyn ate his breakfast and then sat mu-
singa little, after which, springing out
Of his chair, he said:
81 never felt less inclined to write in
my life! Really, l have good mind to
follow Millicent's advice and go out"
In few minutes he was standing on
the doorstep, deciding upon his next
move.
what a beastly fog! certainly shan't
lose much under ground, so here goes
for the Metropolitan railway"
"Where for?" said the clerk, sharply,
as Stephen stood vaguely in front of the
ticket Office.
sob, Whitechapel. I should think that
leaves room for discovery" he thought
to himself.
"What class?"
''Third-better do it thoroughly. Now
then, for a Trial trip betwoon Konsing
ton and the Mile End Road, to test Mil
Iicent's theory.
A small boy with large, heavy par
eel got into the carriage with him, and
spent some moments in vainly trying to
secure his burden more firmly, by
means of a knotty bit of string that
crossed it here and there in purposeless
festoons. Mr. Mostyn lending his help,
between them they made rather neat
thing of it.
Adventure the first; ended | fear"
said Stephen to himself. Il really can't
ask him how old he is and where he
lives, and if he thinks it healthy"
''Temple!'
Out tumbled the parcel and the boy,
and in walked an elderly young woman
with fringe and an American cloth
handbag. She sat down opposite to Mr..
Mostvn, put both her hands to her head
as if to make certain that it was still in
its place, opened her bag and realized
that she had not lost her ticket, looked
at the window and sighed.
"Not exactly ideal, but scarcely
real" thought Stephen. do you feel
the draught from that window" he
asked.
''No, don't, thank you" with
weIl-arranged look of spiteful timidity,
and changing her seat to one at the
other end of the carriage.
SIS this a beginning?" thought
Stephen Now, l should like to ask
her if she thinks my life for thirty-fve
years has been working up to the climax
of meeting her, vailed in golden fog, in
a third class Metropolitan railway car
riage? wonder if it's any good going
on with this incident? Madame -"
''Sir, | think this is Blackfriars' Sta
tion," she said, whisking her head
round as she spoke, the end of her nose
depriving the glass of a very fine smut
at the same time.
sit is not my business to tell her that
she is now still more attractive than
when she got in," thought Stephen;
''she would probably give me into Gus
tody if l -Blackfriars? Yes, it is.
Do you get out here?'
Eyes," plunging at the door as she
spoke.
''Ah,'' he said, turning the handle for
her, 81 don't"
There entered, before he shut the
door, small woman, holding in one
arm tiny bundle of baby, and push
ing before her little boy. She sat
down, the baby keeping it's position in
the sling formed by its mothers arm,
the boy holding close to her, pulling at
her shawl and continually asking her
in an unintelligible mutter for some
thing that she had not got or didn't
mean to part with. Her bonnet was
slipping off her dull, untidy hair; her
face was white, with tired, lusterless
eyes, pink, pinched little nose and dis
contented mouth. The poor little apel-
ogy for baby might have hung round
her neck by RIBBON, and the other
child was small and sickly. A shrunken,
depressing little group.
just as Stephen Mostyn was begin
ming to weave round in his mind a
pathetic, tender fancy, the small hoy
becoming more than usually importu-
nate, his mother said, with no flicker OF
change in the expression of her face,
but with voice whose rough grating
easily overpowered the noise Of the
train.
jest you stop worritin, Tommy