The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1884-07-31

down q dark break-neck stairs, through
several moldy, dusty, labyrinthine
passages and out through a book
sellers shop. l felt more thoroughly
small, mean, miserable, and disgusted
than l had ever felt in my whole life as
l emerged from the shady by-street
containing the Office into the light and
hustle of Piccadilly, and, as got into
bus, | vowed never again to come 10
a personal encounter with an editor.
Hitherto l had been content to drop
my little contribution modestly into
the letter boxes of certain weekly pub
locations that delight in small stories,
or l would send them by post and
await the result with what patience
could. Sometimes my stories and
verses were accepted, sometimes net,
and fancied that, if an editor only
knew how very much in earnest, how
devotedly attached to my calling-for
for better for worse--there was no
choice between doing that and being q
governess would nsve far bet
ter opinion of me and give me an i'm
portant permanent position on his pa
per immediately. Then had heard so
much about the editor of the arlington;
all the girls at the reading-room of the
British Museum were continually talk
ing of him; and in an evil hour, armed
with my most elaborate poetical pro-
duction, made my way to the office
and requested, and, strange to say,
was granted for London editors are
difficult Of access), an interview. The
result was pain, shame, confusion, dis
comfture, and, worst Of all, failure.
Heaven and earth, how l hated that
man as sat in the most remote corner
of the bus on my homeward journey
how / vowed to be revenged and let
him know some day whom he had
sneered and jeered at! 1 would put
him in q novel, in comedy, in a
burlesque. would caricature him
with pen and pencil, I would become
famous merely to spite him, and refuse
oh, the joy of that thought would
refuse to write serial for his hateful
magazine. / believe l became almost
eloquent in my internal denunciations
of him; and, as an immediate prac-
tical, disdainful defiance of him, / got
out at Oxford street and went into
Nudes for another volume of Swim
burne.
In one way or another the editor of
the Arli'agton was good deal in my
thoughts during the next week, and the
more l considered his conduct the
more / detested him; my cheeks
burned and my ears tinglcd as re-
called his low, mocking tones and
quiet, annihilating glances. AS for
submitting story, essay, or articles to
his tender mercies-never!
A fortnight passed, and my manu-
script did not come back. My name
was not Jones; but l really did live
with Mrs. Kent, in Brown street, and |
told her all about it; so should have
received it had it been sent Of course
paper basket that | had noticed under
his tablo, and that was the end of it
One day, quite month after my en-
counter with the autocrat OF the ArItng-
ION, Mrs. Kent announced a visitor, a
gentleman, to see me; and in mo-
ment there entered the editor, more
cool, calm, self-possesSed, and smiling
than ever.
The verses have not come back in
quite the usual way" he said, sinking
unasked into the only easy chair-1
was at my writing table. and meant to
stay there. "However, here they are,
all safe, with a few marginal notes.
You do really leave beautifully broad
clean margins-they're quite tempting!
By the way, why haven't you sent me
that storyP"
81 haven't written it yet" replied
l longed 10 add, land never mean
to- but somehow could not.
"Well. you must; prose pays best
What other editors have you been in
terviewing !ately?"
None! l never W mt to see anoth-
er in all my life''
He leaned back in his chair and
laughed heartily; then, with mock
gravity
I'm glad to hear that, fo- you're
really quite-dangerous. BY the way,
why did you say your name was
Jones? You might have known l
should find you out Editors do find
out everything in time. You are Miss
Madeline Meredith, of Garth, and your
brother jeff and were chums at Eton
and Oxford"
oh | said, somewhat surprised,
81 didn't know!'
"Of course not. How could you?"
"And Pm not Miss Meredith, of
Garth, any longer" l said with an eff
fort at proud composure. Papa lost
all his money, and our house Was sold;
then papa died, and jeff is with his
ship at the Cape, and aunt Adelaide
didn't want me any longer; so came
to London to Mrs. Kent-she's my old
nurse-and l earn my bread by my
PEN"
/ could not help telling him all that
he seemed to make me, in spite of
myself; but uttered the last words
proudly, and he did not smile at all,
but looked very grave.
II wonder Miss Meredith, if YOU
ever heard jeff speak of Harold Cash
elton?"
''Oh, yes, oftenr'-and then paused
in some confusion. MIR. Harold CASH
elton had been my brothers "guide,
philosopher, and friend" and in one
way and another l had heard more
than enough of him all my life, though,
through my having no mother, l had
never been at Garth when Jeff 5
friends visited him. In fact, I had
woIshiped him secretly and afar off
from Jetfs descriptions made
him the hero of more than one romance;
and now there he was sitting in my
easy chair and chatting to me as if he
had known me all my life-as, indeed.
l suppose he had in way. for JEFF
surely must have mentioned me to
him.
After asking all sorts of questions
about my brother. he stood up to 90,
and desired me not to forget the story;
but then more than ever l resolved not
to write, as no doubt he would accept
it from mere pity.
Three months passed away, and 1
was on terms of almost civility with
my hated editor; but l had written
nothing for the Arlingto,s-on that
point l was obstinste-nor had l told
MIR {facho1fan