As they were only, however, to be read, one by one, on six successive evenings, and as we could therefore count on plenty of leisure in the daytime, I was in no fear of our failing to finish the little series.
Of the six completed stories I had written two, and had found a third in the form of a collection of letters among my papers.

Morgan had only written one, and this solitary contribution of his had given me more trouble than both my own put together, in consequence of the perpetual intrusion of my brother's eccentricities in every part of his narrative.
The process of removing these quaint turns and frisks of Morgan's humor--which, however amusing they might have been in an essay, were utterly out of place in a story appealing to suspended interest for its effect--certainly tried my patience and my critical faculty (such as it is) more severely than any other part of our literary enterprise which had fallen my share.
Owen's investigations among his papers had supplied us with the two remaining narratives.

One was contained in a letter, and the other in the form of a diary, and both had been received by him directly from the writers.

Besides these contributions, he had undertaken to help us by some work of his own, and had been engaged for the last four days in molding certain events which had happened within his personal knowledge into the form of a story.

His extreme fastidiousness as a writer interfered, however, so seriously with his progress that he was still sadly behindhand, and was likely, though less heavily burdened than Morgan or myself, to be the last to complete his allotted task.
Such was our position, and such the resources at our command, when the first of the Ten Days dawned upon us.