Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1899-05-27
Copyright, 1898, by the Author.
CHAPTER VIII.
ALAN sTACEY. THE NOVELIST.

WlGQ NERVOUSNESS anu apprehension Vudl
Mary Conway found herself waiting at
the house of Alan Stacey. the novelist.
in Fulham.
It was evidently somewhat old
house and was inclosed in high walled
garden. 1t was at the gate of this gar
den door that she waited patiently after
giving humble pull at the handle Of
the bell, such as she would not have
given at the door of duke At last she
rang again, and then her summons at
tracted attention. She heard footsteps
on the other side of the door, and then it
was flung open, and a man in the usual
decorous garb of a servant stood to hear
what she wanted.
"Does Mr.. Alan Stacey live hereH'
she asked.
eyes, ma am.
'Is he at homer
"Mr Stacey is not out, ma'am, the
man replied. "but he does not usually
see any one at this hour Mr.. Stacey is
in his study. ma am. "
''Stip think he will see me. said
Mary. eagerly. "if you will give him
this card.
"Walk this way, ma'am." said the
man. taking the card between his finger
and thumb in the peculiar manner of a
well trained servant.
He led the way down broad tagged
pathway which led to the house. Itwas
covered by kind of veranda. and on
either side charming garden spread
until bounded by the old wall It was
a charming garden, rich in ancient.
mossy turf and gay with many flowers.
All manner of creepers intwined them
selves about the pillars which supported
the sheltering roof overhead, and great
hydrangeas bloomed at the bases OF
them.
The house was long and low. had
long windows opening like doors and
wide veranda running its entire length.
This veranda was paved with brilliant
colored tiles. on which were flung here
and there rich looking rugs. Huge easy
chairs, wicker tables and hammock
made pleasant lounge, and there were
Towering plants everywhere
"Will you take seat here, ma'amF
said the man. indicating large chair.
81 will inquire if Mr.. Stacey will see
you"
Mary sat down, and he disappeared
into the house. She sat drinking in the
pleasant scene. doubly pleasant after
the arid stretches of Bloomsbury brick
and mortar, to which she was accus-
toned. To her it seemed like sylvan
retreat far. far away from the rush and
turmoil Of cities where strife lives She
could hear her first acquaintance, the
servant, speaking and mans tones
answering:
"All right I'll come out. said the
mans voice
The next moment tall man in light
gray clothing came out by the window
Mary was in Alan Stacey's presence.
"Mrs. Conway" he said, looking at
the card in his hand and then at her.
Mary sprang to her feet. Eyes. am
Mrs. Conway" she said TREMENDOUSLY.
"Messrs Bloomingby thought that !
should suit you.
GAS a typist3''
"And stenographer. she added
quickly.
"Pray sit down." said Alan Stacey
kindly and himself pulled chair near
enough to talk with ease "What is
your speed as shorthand writerf''
ga hundred and twenty" "
"Goodl You look intelligent, which
is more to the point. Have you been
with any author before3"
"No." answered Mary; 81 have been
with a solicitor, and that, of course,
was work needing great care and pre-
cision.
"Ah. yesl And why did you leave
himH"
81 did not leave him." she replied
"Unfortunately for me, he died"
81 see Do you think you would like
my kind of work.
Eyes" said she promptly.
81 am not very easy to work with
I'm as crochetty as most other literary
men,, Mr.. Stacey said. 81 have just
got rid of a man. an excellent fellow.
for no reason than that he sat on the
edge of his chair and waited. would
have forgiven him many things, but
his waiting became oppressive. Itkilled
every idea had. Before that I had
young lady. She knew Shakespeare by
heart and could quote Xenophon, but
she would mend my copy as she went
on
"Oh, how dared she3" Mary burst
out Mr.. Stacey looked at her with
vague sense of amusement. 81 assure
you, Miss-well, never mind her name;
1t is immaterial, but Miss Blank we
will call her-thought very small pota-
toes of me- I can't write by hand.
I've got writer's cramp, and I have al
ways terrible lot of work in hand. If
I had gone on with Miss Blank, I
should have been as dead as doornail
by this time She could not do my
work without ironing it out as she
went along, so that every vestige Of
style and individuality was eliminated
completely.
Mary gave little gasp. "But I
thought she took down what you die
$o+od " che said almost breathleSsly.