Harp's Manor

INSTALLMENT XXI

July 28, 1928

It is my deepest pleasure to be writing this week's installment of Harp's Manor in the absence of the venerable Rosetta Thornton. If you do not know, Miss Thornton has taken a vacation to New York City in order to clear her mind and escape the responsibilities that burden her here, and has asked me to look after her newspaper article for her. If you did know, this has been a refresher.

A considerable interlude has passed since I last read an installment of Harp's Manor, leaving many gaps in my mind. I cannot be certain of how she structured the article. Therefore, the reader will be willing to forgive me if I make a few mistakes along the way.

The first, and rather important, object that I cannot recall is how she reviewed the week. I cannot even bring to mind whether it was a review or not at all. To solve this dilemma, I shall be cataloging the daily happenings, like a journal. Even if this is not the usual system Miss Thornton approaches her article with, it will be interesting nonetheless.

Sunday

Miss Thornton departed today. I had meant to wish her farewell, but somehow missed her leaving. I hope she finds what she is looking for in the city.

Miss Walters is a great deal unhappier, and has found solace in playing the piano for Mr. Abbott and singing. The only reason I would know is that the hallways here are liable to echoing, and her voice floated around the mansion today like a lost phantom. The ghoulish tone, distorted by the vast space, was enough to send chills down the spine of any listener. It gave the manor an eerie quality.

Miss Burgess, the loudest member of our peculiar group, was mysteriously absent today. I take it that, without a soul tolerant enough to bother with her lengthy retellings, she has retreated to her room for the time being. It cannot be long before she returns, however, and I expect her to be back to her usual self by the morrow.

Today was not marked by any outstanding oddity or even an event worth mentioning. Mrs. Maxwell and Mr. Stephenson did exchange a few vicious words about church, but Stephenson has never behaved in a manner other than this, so it is not very surprising.

I spoke with Stenhouse tonight at dinner. He is a right fellow, though reserved upon first glance. He has healed quickly since his incident in Chicago, thought it does not appear that the cut on his lip will ever fully leave. He does not seem bothered by this, despite his face being his job.

I will never understand the men in this world that find work outside utilizing their intellectual capabilities on purpose, if they possess cleverness enough to do so. For example, Stenhouse is intelligent enough to own a business, or at least oversee a factory. If he wanted to, I would wager he'd make a fine mathematician or scientist. Instead, he relies on his fleeting youth to deliver him a living. Even if I had been granted a face like his, I wouldn't trust it to be enough to earn my bread and butter.

I may just be bitter. He has come along as far as I have, succeeded just as well, and done less work for it. Talent pales in comparison to God-given gifts in our society. It has always and will always be this way: the slim child outruns the overweight wretch, the beautiful woman ensnares a man more successfully than the scullery maid, the handsome youth is more celebrated than the bookwise bore. Rather than becoming perks, beauty and charisma have evolved into confirmation of Darwin's theory. It is best that they flaunt all they have, for there may not be much left to them.

If the above is true, then it follows that Stenhouse is indeed displaying his intellectual prowess. After all, there is nothing more intelligent than escaping labor by pinpointing your specific skills and making the most of them.

Monday

It has been only one day and already Miss Thornton is missing the unfolding drama at Harp's Manor.