Dodgeville chronicle. [volume] (Dodgeville, Wis.) 1862-current, 1868-07-24
Conquered.

Not the easiest question in the world to
ask. Yet Phil Graham asked it, bravely
and stood waiting his answer, his hand
some face flushed slightly, his dark eyes
eloquent with emotion.
Mr.. Bulbous evidently was not excited
in fact, he rather enjoyed Pills confusion.
To tell the truth, he had heard the same
amount of pleading, dozens of times be-
fore, from enamored young men, who had
done him the honor to ask for the hand of
his daughter heiress, pretty Emily Bull
bous.
Yet, somehow, he could not go through
the usual polite formula of rejection this
morning
Certainly there was something in Pills
favor, that no other sutton had yet attained
to; for Emily herself loved him, and, be-
tween Pills manly pleading and Emlly's
open perferment, the same old banker was
slightly puzzled.
Only once he thought Of a death-bed,
where he had made solemn promise to
Philips father, the friend to whom he
owed most of his own prosperity, to watch
over his only SON with a tenderness and
love that should repay him for the guiding
| hand that death had taken from him.
But that was years ago, and great COM
| mercial crisis had swept away PhiPs for
tune Was it not his duty to provide for
| his daughter husband rich enough to
match the Bulbous brown-stone front, and
bank stock, and liveried equipage?
| And yet he could not help feeling that
Phil's true worth and manliness would do
more for his daughters happiness than all
the wealth and Jewels, and what he knew
was the false glitter and show of fashion
able life, that he could bestow upon her.
| But then Phil was only an author, q
rising one certainly; but, if the nineteenth
century iberality of publishers has done
away with the romance of poetic allies
| and dyspeptic misery Of fifth-rate board
| ing houses, it has not made authors mil
| lionaires.
Possibly, it will do so in the future.
| 1t is to be hoped so!
81 am afraid your income is not large
enough to support wife, the banker said,
at last, seeing the necessity for saying
something.
"My income is over thousand year,
sir"
Mr.. Bulbous smiled grinly. "About
half as much as Emily spends in a year
for pin money" he said, brusquely.
"But 1 am rising in my profession, sir,
and Emily has promised to wait"
Nonsense" interrupted Dubious
"your income will never be any larger
Everybody writes stories nowadays
Why, bless you, Phil, could do it myself
easily"
[ find it very much the custom for PEG.
pie, who know nothing about authorship,
to imagine that it is a fower-strewn path
with unlimited greenbacks and undying
laurels at convenient distances.
But one that travels it knows better
Certainly, there are laurels and roses
and genius plucks them.
All but the thorns the thorns!
Phil smiled little at the bankers asser-
ton. He was thinking Of his own expert
ence as an amateur.
"You are certain Of this?" he asked,
quietly.
Certain of it? of course, am" This
a little Indignantly.
PhiPs eyes sparkled mischievously, as
he thought of the figure the portly old
banker would cut in an editorial sanctum.
81 hope you don't doubt my ability?"
"Of course not, only should"
"Pll write story this very day." said
Bulbous, desperately, now thoroughly
aroused by Philips incredibly. IF it
/ Ii
"Give me your daughter"
| con one condition"
| Name it."
! off I win, you must withdraw your
claim to her forever" said the banker,
thinking he had disposed of another
sutton.
Pills face paled a little, and pretty
Emily clasped her white hands imploring-
| Irr 1,,t bo ,crroro1 firmly aoooy,t tho
offer"
al think | will write little sketch
| after the manner of Dickens" the banker
said to himself, as the lovers sauntered out
| slowly into the long walks of the conser-
vatory +" something that viii be above
the blood and thunder style of ordinary
| romance"
But half an hours attempt, with fire.
| quent extracts from Oliver Twist convinc-
ed him that the task was hopeless In five
minutes he could have written something
| that would have startled half the brokers,
from Trinity Church to Wall street ferry,
out Of their senses. But to write Dickens,
| that was impossible Then he ordered
some porter, and, four hours later, emerged
| from the library, with half a dozen sheets
of manuscript that was to make him ia
| nous.
So he imagined.
'I think | will take it to Harpers," he
said, as he ordered the carriage.
A long ride and short walk took him
over the busy streets, through the great
counting room, and up the winding stairs
to the editorial sanctum. Mr.. Bulbous,"
he said, ompously, as he entered and pre-
sented his manuscript, with an air of con-
descension.
The editor did not seem very much
awed by his august presence. So he re-
peated the name.
"Ahi yes; from Minnesota, amt your"
The banker looked Mortified. 81 never
expected to find such ignorance, especially
in an editor" he thought, Indignantly.
81 really don't think we can use your
article" the editor said, returning it. The
great banker went out mentally resolving
to start an opposition magazine, and crush
out Harpers' past all redemption.
"After all, one can't expect to get into
the magazines at first" he said, after he
had consoled himself with lobster salad
and sherry cobler. "Ill try some of the
weekly papers"
ooh manuscript. You can call in
the course Of week or two, and we viii
give you an answer"
"Couldn't you examine It neWS" asked