Part 18 (1/2)
”Two years!” we exclaimed. ”And why?”
”To get the atmosphere.”
”The steam?” we questioned.
”Oh, no,” said Mrs. Afterthought, ”I did that separately. I took a course in steam at a technical school.”
”Is it possible?” we said, our heart beginning to sing again. ”Was all that necessary?”
”I don't see how one could do it otherwise. The story opens, as no doubt you remember--tea?--in the boiler room of the laundry.”
”Yes,” we said, moving our leg--”no, thank you.”
”So you see the only possible _point d'appui_ was to begin with a description of the inside of the boiler.”
We nodded.
”A masterly thing,” we said.
”My wife,” interrupted the Great Novelist, who was sitting with the head of a huge Danish hound in his lap, sharing his b.u.t.tered toast with the dog while he adjusted a set of trout flies, ”is a great worker.”
”Do you always work on that method?” we asked.
”Always,” she answered. ”For _Frederica of the Factory_ I spent six months in a knitting mill. For _Marguerite of the Mud Flats_ I made special studies for months and months.”
”Of what sort?” we asked.
”In mud. Learning to model it. You see for a story of that sort the first thing needed is a thorough knowledge of mud--all kinds of it.”
”And what are you doing next?” we inquired.
”My next book,” said the Lady Novelist, ”is to be a study--tea?--of the pickle industry--perfectly new ground.”
”A fascinating field,” we murmured.
”And quite new. Several of our writers have done the slaughter-house, and in England a good deal has been done in jam. But so far no one has done pickles. I should like, if I could,” added Ethelinda Afterthought, with the graceful modesty that is characteristic of her, ”to make it the first of a series of pickle novels, showing, don't you know, the whole pickle district, and perhaps following a family of pickle workers for four or five generations.”
”Four or five!” we said enthusiastically. ”Make it ten! And have you any plan for work beyond that?”
”Oh, yes indeed,” laughed the Lady Novelist. ”I am always planning ahead. What I want to do after that is a study of the inside of a penitentiary.”
”Of the _inside_?” we said, with a shudder.
”Yes. To do it, of course, I shall go to jail for two or three years!”
”But how can you get in?” we asked, thrilled at the quiet determination of the frail woman before us.
”I shall demand it as a right,” she answered quietly. ”I shall go to the authorities, at the head of a band of enthusiastic women, and demand that I shall be sent to jail. Surely after the work I have done, that much is coming to me.”