This week has been busy, but the cooler weather as been wonderful!!! I've worked on my book, written a short story as well as worked on some other writing things, ironed baby clothes for a sale, made phone calls, sent e-mails, driven, walked every day, done some research for Priscilla, played secretary to Miss Smith, read almost all of a Ralph Connor book (A new one Hank) and other things.
Tomorrow is going to be fun! I get to dress up and go to George Washington Carver National Monument for their "prairie days" and quilt! There will be all kinds of things to do: candle making, wood working, quilting and many other things. Don't you want to come?
Next week is going to be just as busy. I have to cut out and sew doll clothes, teach my first writing class of the season (I can't wait!), take the baby clothes after I get them all tagged and priced to the consignment sale, attend my niece's 5th birthday party (I can't believe Pickle Puss is turning 5!), babysit one evening, write and who knows what else will come up.
That has been my life. A whirl wind right now. But I won't ramble on any more but let you read the end of The Mysterious Solution.
Last week . . .
It wasn’t until late the next night that the professor again opened the door to his laboratory and entered. This time he wore no glasses.
Some time later, with tears streaming down his cheeks, he descended the stairs. “It works!” he cried. “Now to become famous! And then--” He was so excited that, even though it was nearly the middle of the night, he flung wide his front door and shouted, “Hear all you good people! I, Professor Stovkewetsky, your fellow townsman am about to be known all over the world! And you, my fine friends and neighbors shall all share in my glory!”
Before he had finished this joyful burst of news, windows had been flung wide up and down the street. There were murmuring voices heard, but the professor couldn’t tell what was being said. He naturally assumed it was congratulations and good wishes, so with a final shout he returned to his own house.
Very busy were the next few days for Professor Stovkewetsky. He carefully prepared the last of his new novel and dipped dozens and dozens of sheets of paper in his new mysterious solution and hung them up to dry.
At last the day came when Prof Stovkey loaded his old truck with boxes and drove off to the printer leaving the townsfolks shaking their heads.
“Oh, the poor man,” said one woman to her neighbor, “he is gone insane.”
“He has indeed. Imagine waking the whole town up in the middle of the night to say that he would be famous.”
“Yes,” added a third person with a shake of the head, “and now driving off with that load in his truck. I wouldn’t be surprised if he never made it back.”
“It is a pity,” yet another woman put in, “and he used to teach in the university too.”
“I suspect too much learning has driven him crazy.”
In spite of the dire predictions, Professor Stovkewetsky did make it back to the village two days later with a beaming face; he appeared in the market place the following day with a box of books.
“Come and buy my newest book,” he urged. “I guarantee it will make you cry. If it does not, your money will be given back to you. Now wouldn’t you like to try the story? It will be the most touching thing you have ever read.”
Many were the skeptical looks the professor and his books received, but a few persons, more out of pity than a desire to read what the professor had written, bought some books and the professor was satisfied. For several days Prof Stovkey sold his books in the village market, eagerly asking those who had purchased the book earlier if they had read it yet. No one had.
It wasn’t until fully two weeks and three days after he sold his first book that a villager came up to him in the market.
“I don’t know how you did it, Professor Stovkewetsky,” the man said shaking his head in wonder, “I never cry when I read books, but yours certainly made me cry. Why, I could hardly see the words for my tears.”
“Ah, I’m delighted you enjoyed it,” replied the professor in great satisfaction, rubbing his hands together. “I knew it would be a success.” He added as the reader of his book turned away, “Soon I’ll be able to hire a cook!” and he laughed gleefully in delight.
A crowd gathered around the village man who had read the book. “What was it like?”
“Did you really cry as he said you would?”
The man nodded. “I did cry, but why I don’t know. It is perplexing. When I think back on the story, I remember nothing that would make me cry, yet when I read the book, I couldn’t keep the tears away.”
“I must get one and try it.”
It wasn’t long before word of his touching novel spread throughout the village, and even those of the surrounding towns and cities began to come to buy this much talked of book. Soon the fame of it reached beyond Russia and Professor Stovkewetsky was kept busy preparing his special mixture, dipping and drying his papers, and taking truck load after truck load to the printer.
It was a joyful day for him when at last a cook was established in his kitchen. Many were the delightful meals that cook stirred up which were neither raw nor burned, and for many years Professor Stovkewetsky lived in great comfort from the sales of his last novel. Many a newsman came to interview the now famous author about his success, but Professor Stovkewetsky never would reveal his secret to them.
And the folks in the village marveled at the professor’s success and puzzled over the strange books, for when it was read aloud only the reader would cry while the others just looked on with dry eyes. It was certainly very mysterious.
It was only many years later that he told his cook what he had done. “You see,” he began, “I created this odorless mixture with which I saturate my pages. When those pages are before you, the undetected essence in them creates the need fro tears. Then the moving places in my book are printed on the special paper and my readers cry whether they want to or not. It has proved very effective.” He smiled. “And it has given me enough money to have a cook.” He sighed deeply and raised a large forkful of pie to his lips.
And so, Professor Stovkewetsky lived the remainder of his life eating food that was neither raw nor burnt and spending his days mixing his tear-jerking invention, dipping his papers and printing his novel. He never wrote another story. And people still puzzle over their tears, but only Professor Stovkewetsky and his cook know the mysterious solution.
I hope you cried because this was supposed to be a tear-jerker. :D
What did you think of it?
I mean besides rolling your eyes and saying in disgusted tones, "Bekah!"