Finally the Snarker said that they must play one writing game before they went home.The Snarker, it seemed, came from a family which was devoted to writing games, and had even made improvements in "Consequences," which is, when you all know each other extrernely well, the best writing game of all.
But among strangers, as the Snarker explained, it was not so good, because they can't understand the jokes against uncles and aunts.
They did not, therefore, play "Consequences," but instead wrote what the Snarker called "composite stories." That is to say, they each took a large sheet of paper and began at the top a story, writing as much as they could in two minutes.Then the paper was passed on, and the story continued by the next person, until all had had one turn.Then the original beginners each finished his story, and they were read out.
As there were eleven playing, this meant there were eleven stories; but Iwill copy only one of them.(Janet kept the papers, or I should not be able to do that.)This is the one which was begun by Hester, who liked to be serious and mysterious in her work, and was almost vexed when others turned it to nonsense.She called it "The Secret of the Castle," and began it like this:
"It was a dark and gloomy night in the year 1135, when the young Lord Almeric reached his impressive and ancestral home.Nothing could be heard but the sighing of the wind in the turrets and the moaning of Boris, the great wolfhound.Lord Almeric had ridden far, and was tired, and the gloominess of his ancestral home weighed on his spirits, which were naturally buoyant and high.Flinging himself from his gaily comparisoned horse, and tossing the rein with a muttered, 'Here, varlet!' to the waiting groom, he opened the massive doors and entered the hall.What was his amazement to see--""Time!" called the Snarker, who had his watch before him, and Hester had to stop.
Gregory came next.His idea of the game was not very clear, to begin with, and he had some difficulty in reading what was written, so he was able to write very little, and that not too helpfully.He therefore wrote words that were always near his heart:
"--a flying-machine."
and that was all.
Then came Janet.Always wishing to be kind and make things easy, she longed to get the story back into the spirit and period of poor little romantic Hester's opening passages.But Gregory had spoiled everything.Janet, however, did her best:
"The young lord drew back with a start, for he could hardly believe his eyes.
'What,' he exclaimed, 'is this strange mixture of wires and wings? Can my father's astrologer have really done it at last after all these fruitless years? He must indeed have been busy since I rode forth to battle.
Eftsoons, do I dream or wake?' He touched the strange thing cautiously, but it did not bite, and gradually there came upon him an exceeding desire to fly.'By my halidom,' he cried, 'I will e'en inquire further into this mystery--"Next came Fizzy, who was bent on being funny at any cost.He wrote:
"--as the man said, sticking his fork into the German sausage.'What ho, my merry minions, help!' he cried; 'let us draw forth the areoplane into the home meadow, for I would fain experiment with it.A lord is no lord unless he can daunt the swallow and the pigeon.So saying, he rang the alarm-bell, which was only kept for fires and burglaries, and summoned the household.
'A murrain on ye for being so pestilent slow!' he shouted.'Gadsooth, ye knaves! let loose the petrol, or I soar not into the zenith.'"Then came Mary, who naturally had no patience with nonsense.She ignored Fizzy's contribution completely, and got back to romance:
