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Kent Knowles: Quahaug by Joseph Crosby Lincoln

Produced by Don Lainson


By Joseph C. Lincoln




I. Which is not a chapter at all

II. Which repeats, for the most part, what Jim Campbell said to me and what I said to him

III. Which, although it is largely family history, should not be skipped by the reader

IV. In which Hephzy and I and the Plutonia sail together

V. In which we view, and even mingle slightly with, the upper classes

VI. In which we are received at Bancroft's Hotel and I receive a letter

VII. In which a dream becomes a reality

VIII. In which the pilgrims become tenants

IX. In which we make the acquaintance of Mayberry and a portion of Burgleston Bogs

X. In which I break all previous resolutions and make a new one

XI. In which complications become more complicated

XII. In which the truth is told at last

XIII. In which Hephzy and I agree to live for each other

XIV. In which I play golf and cross the channel

XV. In which I learn that all abbeys are not churches

XVI. In which I take my turn at playing the invalid

XVII. In which I, as well as Mr. Solomon Cripps, am surprised

XVIII. In which the pilgrimage ends where it began

XIX. Which treats of quahaugs in general



Which is Not a Chapter at All

It was Asaph Tidditt who told me how to begin this history. Perhaps I should be very much obliged to Asaph; perhaps I shouldn't. He has gotten me out of a difficulty--or into one; I am far from certain which.

Ordinarily--I am speaking now of the writing of swashbuckling romances, which is, or was, my trade--I swear I never have called it a profession--the beginning of a story is the least of the troubles connected with its manufacture. Given a character or two and a situation, the beginning of one of those romances is, or was, pretty likely to be something like this:

"It was a black night. Heavy clouds had obscured the setting sun and now, as the clock in the great stone tower boomed twelve, the darkness was pitchy."

That is a good safe beginning. Midnight, a stone tower, a booming clock, and darkness make an appeal to the imagination. On a night like that almost anything may happen. A reader of one of my romances--and readers there must be, for the things did, and still do, sell to some extent--might be fairly certain that something WOULD happen before the end of the second page. After that the somethings continued to happen as fast as I could invent them.

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