The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1879-07-16
The Bashful Poet and the Knowing
Young NeHspaper Man.

Anybody could tell what he had. Ev-
ery man in the sanctum knew him in a
minute. The timid knock at the door
gave him clear away at the very start.
No man or woman ever knocks at a
sanctum door unless he comes on that
fatal errand. Then he came inside and
took off his hat and bowed all round the
room, when every man on the stall
roared out, in terrible chorus, Come
inm Then he asked for the editor, and
when the underlings, with fine ming
ling of truth and grammar, pointed to
the Youngest and the newest man In the
office and yelled, "That's him" he
walked up to the young gentleman de-
signated, and before he could unroll his
manuscript we knew the subject of it,
and a deep groan echoed around the
room.
"Poetry, young man ?" asked the
editor.
eyes, SIR" said the poet; "a couple
of triolets and sonnet on the marriage
of my sister with an old college friend. !"
"Old college friend male or female,
young man ?" asked the editor, severely.
male, SIR" said the young man.
He said "sir" every time, and every
time he said it all the young gentlemen
of the staff, save the young gentleman
who personated the governor, snickered.
He looked severe.
"Anything more, young man ?" he
asked.
Eyes, sir" replied the infant Tenny-
son "a kind ofan idyl, an ode inscribed
To NV Lost Love-"
Love been lost very long, young
man ?" asked the journalist, very crlti-
cally. :. e.,
"Well,it's immaterial. that is" stam-
mered the young man; it's indefinite
it's"
Ever advertised for it?" asked the
reporter, who was writing a pun TOR
Slabs tombstones, but he was instantly
frowncd down.
Anything more ?" asked the princi-
pal interlocutor, anything more, young
man ?"
"Yes, sir" was the hopeful response,
ga threnody in memory of my departed
brother"
"Brother dead, young man, or only
gone to Sagetown ?"
dead, sir"
"Your own brother ?"
"No, sir. never had a real brother;
it's only imaginary" n.
Cant take this, then, young man, !"
was the chilling reply. Poetry, to find
acceptance with the HaWkeye. must be
true. Have to reject this threnody; not
because it is not very beautiful, but be-
cause it is not true. Now. how much
do YOU want for these others ?" And he
fingered them over like man buying
mink skins.
The poet really didn't know. He had
never published before; he had hardly
dared hope to have his verses published
at all. A few copies Of the paper con-
tanning them, he was sure
"Oh, no." the editor broke in, Oh,
no, no, sir, can't do that; we don't do
business that way; if poem or sketch
is worth publishing, it is worth paying
for Would Y, fifteen dollars pay you for
these ?'
The poet blushed to the floor with
gratitude, and the young journalist
grandly wrote out an order and handed
it to the poet.
"Take that to the court house." he
said, land the auditors clerk will give
you the money"
The poet bowed and withdrew, and
with great merriment the journalists
burned his poems and resumed their
work.
That wasn't the funny part Of it, how
ever. The next day the simple-minded
poet presented his order to the clerk
designated. And it was so that the
clerk owed the paper eighteen dollars for
subscription and advertising, and he
promptly cashed the order and turned it
in when his bill was presented, and the
manager just charged it to the salary ac-
count of the smart young journalist who
signed the order, and the happiest man
md the maddest man in America
are living in Burlington. One of
them is happy, green, unso2phis-
ticated young machine-poet, and the
other is wide-awake, up-to-snuff,
know-the-world, get-up-and-dust young
journalist, who is already q rival of
Horace Greeley in some Of the verbal
departments Of journalism.-Burlingto
| HaWEeye.