Cordelia Underwood, or the Marvelous Beginnings of the Moosepath League by Van Reid

Author:Van Reid
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781608935192
Publisher: Down East Books

“I think I will put Mr. Buchanan’s story to paper,” said Eagleton later that night. “What do you think, Thump?”

“First-rate,” said that worthy. Standing by a window, overlooking Damariscotta’s Main Street, he turned slightly and raised his chin so that his prodigious beard preceded him slightly. “I was very fond of it,” he continued, looking thoughtful, “and I am sure that future members of our club will be glad to have it passed on to them.”

“Exactly!” said Eagleton. He had purchased pen and paper earlier in the day, while his ideas were yet vague. “What do you think, Ephram?” he said. “I am going to record Mr. Buchanan’s remarkable tale.”

“I understand that you are,” said Ephram, “and it is a worthy notion. Perhaps,” he added, looking wise, “we should record Mister Walton’s heroic ride through Portland. Certainly we should include the newspaper description in our archives.”

“Yes!” agreed Eagleton.

“And there is the courageous action of our own Thump—undaunted in the midst of two angered politicians, struck down by a parachutist.”

This reference to the lovely Mrs. Roberto (in her attractive suit of tights) gave rise to a large sigh in Thump’s breast, after which he informed his friends that any mention of that collision must in no way impugn Mrs. Roberto’s (here another sigh) motives or parachuting skills.

“Hear, hear!” exclaimed Eagleton. He sat at the desk in Ephram’s room and peered at the first piece of blank paper, ink bottle and blotter set carefully to one side, pen dipped and poised. There was a moment of silence. Forming the points of a triangle with him, Ephram and Thump stood at opposite sides of the room, shoulders straight, hands clasped behind them. They desired to record this event indelibly upon their minds; perhaps they would even write about it—this first writing-down of their experiences.

They continued to wait. Hand raised, Eagleton peered at the paper, as if words might fall upon it from his hovering pen. He was attempting to conjure a sentence deserving enough to inaugurate such a literary event; and when a sentence did not present itself, he considered a simple phrase; and when no worthy phrase came to mind, he attempted a single word. He shifted slightly in his seat, unable to decide between The and A.

He pondered the top of the page, breaking the silence and startling his friends by saying: “You know, I wish I knew what the name of our club was to be so that I might use it for a heading.” He turned in his seat to look at Ephram, then Thump.

“Hmmm,” said Thump.

“A name,” said Ephram gravely. This was a sticking point.

“Perhaps I could simply write the Club,” suggested Eagleton.

Ephram and Thump came over to the desk and peered hard over his shoulders at the blank piece of paper; the Club did not seem to answer.

“Hmmm,” said Thump.

“A name,” said Ephram again. He shook his head.

“Perhaps, for now,” said Eagleton, “I should leave it blank.”

“Yes, yes,” said Ephram and Thump, with such conviction that Eagleton found himself joining them.

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