Middletown transcript., 1901-11-09
The Two Captains
BY EMMA 3. HoRNIBRooK.
MISSION was being held for
~, nburoh NJ


|" was the last night Of the ser
/Jb vices, and in response
to the preachers feryid
appeal, many were pressing forward te
seek some special blessing e. Pe~er nSel
inherent evil. 1t was curious to glance
at the people who thronged the aisles'
Some well-dressed, and with an air O
fashion. were shoulder to shoulder WIFI
women whose faded shawls were drawn
tightly to cover, as much as possible
the more faded dresses beneath. races
cleaned like stars, pale, spiritual set
others worked with new and painiul
emotion. Among the crowd I noticed
the burly form of retired sea-captain'
with whom had slight acquaintance
I believed Capt. Amos Thorpe to DC
steady and quiet, with no habits Of
which the strictest professor would dis'
approve, save an occasional nautical oafh'
his glass of grog and tobacco, but GER
tainiv he could could net be regarded as g
religious man.
Turning to observe those who fingered
in the pews, my glance met a very "is''
full expression in the round brown eyes
of a woman. The figure was neat ana
trim, but the eyes, the bend OF slim
neck, an attitude of indecision, were all
bird-like. She swayed slightly, as II un-
certain whether to advance or ny away.
She was about thirty-fve, and had a sort
of pale prettiness, which the falntest
bloom would have made attractive. Her
dress, though scrupulously neat, was
shabby, her thin cloth jacket had seen
three or four seasons at least. Still she
had certain air of independence and
refinement.
'I beg your pardon. Do you wish to
speak to the preacher? ?" asked. 1.-THE
people who stay are passing into another
room"
She started little, as if her thoughts
had been far away, and looked as if she
would fit off. Then she said, in sin
gularly sweet voice and without any local
intonation:
''No, thank you. I do not think
would care to be questioned just now.
IL am not ready"
I did not feel it well to press the matter,
but said:
'I visit little; as much as my family
duties permit. It would please me to
call upon you. I am Mrs. MAXWELL"
She gave me tiny card:
MISS sToTT. BUTToNHoLE MAKER.
"a, RICHsoN ROW.
Two days later 1 mounted flight OF
stairs, partly covered by well-worn OIL
cloth, and knocked on door bearing
Miss Stott's sign. The little woman
promptly opened it.
''Mrs. Maxwell, am gladl How good
Of you to come SO soon. Walk in"
The room was long and narrow, with
sofa-bed at one end. An ingenious screen,
adorned with Christmas cards, hid, as /
afterwards found, a miniature house.
keeping outfit. There were one or two
strange ornaments, stuffed parrot and
marmoset, a wreath of faded feather
flowers, and table Uttered with papers,
the only token of disorder in the solitary
apartment.
Take this chair, Mrs. MAXWELL" CHR
ruped its bird-like occupant. 'Let me
put pillow to your back"
To my enquiry about her business, she
answered with a doleful shake of the
head:
"My business is slack. Hooks and
eyes-hooks and eyes-from the shoulder
to the waist, as close as you can sew
them. Any way, l can't work button
holes as I used. Is it deception to leave
the sign upP My eyes are getting dim.
The work was never congenial, only
had to do something when my stories
didn't SELL"
'stories?" calculated.
eyes; write tales of adventure for
boys"
May / ask for what periodicals, Miss
Stott? I do not seem to remember"
"The name" She twisted her head
aside with little laugh, and taking down
well-known magazine for September,
lS9-, laid it on my lap. sThereP' she
said, pointing to the serial.
1t was, "0ur Voyage in the Aurora," "
by Captain Nat.
"But-" I began.
~ am Captain Nat" declared Miss
Stott, with an emphatic nod of her little
brown head.
If she had said, 'I am the Explorer of
the North Pole" or "the man in the
moon" my astonishment would not have
been greater. Seeing this, she began to
explain.
''Some years after my mothers death
l spent at sea with my father, who was
master of large sailing vessel. My
stories are pictures of our adventures on
the broad seas, or what / saw in distant
lands"
"Why, I am delighted to meet such
writer p exclaimed.
'Thank you. But, Mrs. Maxwell, L
have not found ready acceptance of my
work of late."
Perhaps publishing firms are feeling
the business depression" l suggested.
1T may be, of course; but am afraid
the fault lies nearer home"
The corners Of her mouth had taken
pathetic droop.
Zone young editor gave my last story a
fearful pen-lashing," she went on. "He
he called it "a weak copy Of Clark
Russell"
For moment the sense of Injustice
choked her.
''No one knew better than / that the
situations were strained, the relations
poor. But, Mrs. Maxwell, it was not so
much that / had story to tell as that /
made up a story to sell. Hunger was the
compelling force when vrota St -