Episode 12 of the

Quills and Cliffhangers podcast

is now available on 

Castbox

iTunes

and Stitcher.

The Quills and Cliffhangers

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What’s new at Steve’s Book Décor?  Well, we are delighted to announce that we have acquired a lovely old copy of The Winning of Barbara Worth, by Harold Bell Wright, published in 1911.  This bestselling novel became a classic silent movie in 1926, starring Gary Cooper, Ronald Colman, and Vilma Banky.

The story is set in California in the Old West, and the plot is a dramatic love triangle: a local cowboy and an East Coast engineer compete for the hand of a wealthy rancher’s adopted daughter.

Here is a scene from The Winning of Barbara Worth, compressed for time, describing the engineer’s arrival in the rustic Western town and his first impressions of the heroine of this timeless tale:

 The Winning of Barbara Worth

After his noon-day meal, Willard Holmes, following the example of others, sought the shade of the arcade in front of the hotel. Helping himself to a chair and moving a little away from the general company, he sat enjoying his cigar, musing on the novelty of his surroundings.

As he watched the passing citizens in the street he recalled the scene from the windows of his club at home—a famous club on a famous avenue.


That young woman, for instance, with her khaki divided skirt, wide sombrero, fringed gauntlets and the big western saddle coming there on a horse whose feet seemed scarcely to touch the ground as he plunged and pranced impatiently along, springing side-wise, with arched neck and pointed ears. 

What a sensation she would create at home! By Jove! but she could ride, though. He watched with admiring eyes the strong, graceful figure that sat the high-strung, uncertain horse as easily and unconsciously as any one of his women friends at home would rest in a comfortable chair.


As the horsewoman drew nearer he fell to wondering what she was like. 

The girl turned her horse toward the hotel entrance. As she drew still nearer, he saw that her mouth was too large, her face too strong, her skin too tanned by the sun and wind.


At the sidewalk the girl swung from the saddle lightly, and throwing the bridle reins over the horse's head with a movement that brought out the beautiful lines of her figure, she turned her back upon the pawing, restless animal with as little concern as though she had delivered him to a correctly uniformed groom. No, she was not pretty; she was—magnificent. 


All along the arcade people were smiling in greeting, the men lifting their hats. Two cowboys in boots and chaps paused in passing. "That new hawss of yours is sure some hawss, Miss Barbara," said one admiringly, sombrero in hand.


The girl smiled and Holmes saw the flash of her perfect teeth. "Oh, he'll do, Bob, when I've worked him down a little."


She passed into the hotel, followed by the eyes of every man in sight including the engineer, who had noted with surprise the purity and richness of her voice.


She said: "I beg your pardon. Is this Mr. Holmes?"


He turned quickly, rising to his feet.


She smiled at his astonished look. "The clerk pointed you out to me. I am Barbara Worth. You met father at the bank this morning. Texas Joe and Pat told me about your being here and I could scarcely wait to see you. I'm afraid you must have thought them a little rough last night but really it's only their fun. They're as good as gold."


As she stood now close to him—the red blood glowing under the soft brown of her cheeks—Willard Holmes felt her rich personality as distinctly as one senses the presence of the ocean, the atmosphere of the woods or the air of meadows and fields. 

But this was the unconventional limit! that this girl, the daughter of a banker, should openly seek out a total stranger to introduce herself to him on the public street before a crowd of hotel loungers! And the way she spoke of those rough men in the saloon, one would think they were her intimate friends.


He managed to say: "Really, I am delighted, Miss Worth. May I escort you to the hotel parlor?"


She looked at him curiously. "Oh, no indeed! It is much nicer out here in the arcade, don't you think? But you may bring another chair." 

Dumbly he obeyed, feeling that every eye was on him.


"When Texas and Pat told me that you were one of the engineers going out with The King's Basin party I could scarcely wait to see you. It makes it all seem so real, you know—your coming all the way out here from New York. I have dreamed so much about the reclamation of The King's Basin Desert; and you see I consider all civil engineers my personal friends."


"Indeed," he said. It is always safely correct to say "indeed" as he said it, particularly when you have nothing else to say.


She regarded him with an open, straight-forward look which was somewhat disconcerting. She was so unconscious of the strength of her splendid womanhood and he felt her presence so vividly.


"I suppose you must find everything out here very strange," she said. "Father says this is your first visit to the West and of course it can't be like your part of the country."


"It is all very interesting," he murmured. This also was sane and safe.  "It is very kind of you, I am sure," he said with a little more warmth.  "To tell the truth I was feeling a bit strange, you know."


"I'm sure you must be nearly dead with lonesomeness. Wouldn't you like to go for a ride? I would so like to show you my Desert."


"Her Desert!" he mentally observed. He answered heartily: "I should be delighted, I'm sure. You are more than kind. When could we go?"


"Right now," she said. 


"But I don't ride, you know."


"You don't ride?" The girl looked at him in blank amazement. "I don't think I ever saw a man before who didn't ride."


"I'm very sorry. I know I ought to." 


"Oh, well; we can drive. I'll summon a rig." 


When the employee returned a little later with a span of restless, half-wild broncos hitched to a light buggy, the girl stepped into the vehicle and took the reins as a matter of course. The engineer took his place at her left. 


Shying and plunging the team demanded all of Barbara's attention but she managed to steal a look at her companion now and then, as if expecting him to show signs of nervousness. 

Willard Holmes, on his part, was wrapped in silent admiration of her strength and skill.

Episode 11 of the

Quills and Cliffhangers podcast

is now available on 

Castbox

iTunes

and Stitcher.

The Art of Conversation

This week, we’re revisiting the manners and customs of the 19th century, 

with another chapter from the 1860 bestseller:

The Ladies' Book of Etiquette

and Manual of Politeness

by Florence Hartley

First upon the list of accomplishments comes the art of conversing well. It is always ready. Circumstances in society will constantly throw you into positions where you can use no other accomplishment. You will not have a musical instrument within reach, singing would be out of place, your fancy work at home, on many occasions, and then you can exert your most fascinating as well as useful accomplishment, the art of conversing well.

The art of conversation consists in communicating and listening attentively. This accomplishment, beyond all others, promotes the happiness of home, enlivens society, and improves the minds of both speaker and listener.

To be able to converse really well, you must read much, treasure in your memory the pearls of what you read. To acquire the power of thus imparting the highest pleasure by conversational powers, attention must be paid to literature. I am supposing the solid foundation of a good education already laid, but by literature, I do not mean only that class of it which is taught at school.

Reading, at the present day, is too much confined to light literature. I would not speak against this. The modern novels, and the poets of all ages, are good reading, but let them be taken in moderation, and varied by something more solid. Let them be the dessert to the more substantial dinner of history, travels, and works of a like nature.

Independent of the strength and polish given to the mind by a thorough course of reading, there is another reason why a lady should devote some portion of her time to it. She cannot truly enjoy society, with this art neglected.

The art of imparting our ideas easily and elegantly to others, may be improved by ourselves, if there are opportunities of mingling in good society, with little study. The mind must first be cultivated.

You must have a quick comprehension, observe passing events, and listen attentively whenever there is any opportunity of acquiring knowledge. A quick tact is necessary, too, in conversation. In conversing with persons of refinement and intelligence, do not endeavor to attract their admiration by pouring forth every item of your own information upon the subject under consideration, but listen as well as talk, and modestly follow their lead.

Avoid argument; it is not conversation, and frequently leads to ill feeling. If you are unfortunately drawn into an argument, keep your temper under perfect control, and if you find your adversary is getting too warm, endeavor to introduce some other topic.

Never affect a foolish reserve in a mixed company, keeping aloof from others as if in a state of mental abstraction. If your brain is so full and so busy that you cannot attend to the little civilities, cheerful chit-chat, and light amusements of society, keep out of it.

Never read in company. You may open a book to look over the engravings, if you will, but do not attend to the letter-press until you are alone. It is also rude to look over the shoulder of a person who is either reading or writing.

Never laugh at your own wit. That is the part of those who hear you; do not take their duty from them.

Never jest upon serious subjects. Avoid scandal. If another person attempts to open a conversation upon scandalous matters, check her. Say gravely that it is painful for you to hear of the faults or misfortunes of others, where your counsel and assistance can be of no service.

Remember that having all the talk sustained by one person is not conversation; do not engross all the attention yourself, by refusing to allow another person an opportunity to speak, and also avoid the other extreme of total silence, or answering only in monosyllables.

If your companion relates an incident or tells a story, be very careful not to interrupt her by questions, even if you do not clearly understand her; wait until she has finished her relation, and then ask any questions you may desire. There is nothing more annoying than to be so interrupted. I have heard a story told to an impertinent listener, which ran in this way:—

"I saw a fearful sight——"

"When?"

"I was about to tell you; last Monday, on the train——"

"What train?"

"The train from Boston. We were near the bridge——"

"What bridge?"

"I will tell you all about it, if you will only let me speak. I was coming from ——"

"Last Monday, did you say?"

and so on. The story was interrupted at every sentence, and the relator condemned as a most tedious story-teller, when, had he been permitted to go forward, he would have made the incident interesting and short.

Never anticipate the point or joke of any anecdote told in your presence. If you have heard the story before, it may be new to others, and the narrator should always be allowed to finish it in his own words. Avoid taking any sentence from the mouth of another person, before he has time to utter it.

Avoid exclamations, especially vulgar words. A lady may express as much polite surprise or concern by a few simple, earnest words, or in her manner, as she can by exclaiming "Good gracious!" "Mercy!" or "Dear me!"

Be careful always to speak in a distinct, clear voice; at the same time avoid talking too loudly.  There is a happy medium between mumbling and screaming. Strive to attain it.