By an ingenious device
they are thrown together in a bit of wild country near town, and
are made to exchange confidences. So far, no one can complain of
the truth of this story; and furthermore it is well told. Here are
two products of our social machine, both true to type. Suppose
they want to marry? What can we do about it? The story-teller has
posed his question with a force not to be denied.
But I wish we had had a Tchekoff to answer it. As for this author,
he leads his characters to a conveniently deserted house, lights a
fire on the hearth, sets water boiling for tea, and in a few pages
of charming romance would persuade us that with a few economies in
this rural residence, true love may have its course and a
successful marriage crown the morning's adventure. Thus in one
dazzling sweep, the greatest and most sugary plum of all drops
from the very tip of the Christmas tree into the lap of the lady,
who had just learned that happiness in the real world comes in no
such haphazard and undeserved a fashion. Really! have we
degenerated from Lincoln's day? Is it easy now to fool all of us
all of the time, so that a tale-teller dares to expose silly
romance at the beginning of his story, and yet dose us with it at
the end? Not that one objects to romance.
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