The Middlebury register and Addison County journal. [volume] (Middlebury, Vt.) 1883-1885, 1884-06-13
A PRIZE VENTURE
BY j. j. KENNEDY.

When one is newly married, and has
commenced life in small rooms on a sec
ond floor, there are no long halls and
high stairways to traverse between the
cooking and sleeping apartments. There
fore, when l heard Mary fill the kettle
and stir the fire, and the next instant
saw her beside my bed took her sudden
advent as matter of course. But it is
confessed that her opening salutation
came weighted with an atom of surprise
'You know that vacant bedroom,
dearl Well, we can furnish it now"
Can wel" l asked, meekly. "IIavc
you been taking a risk in stocks1n
''lIere it is" she said, with sudden
tremor in her voice and flutter in her
hands. ga thousand dollars for forty
three stories. A hundred dollars
for one, fifty for another, and so on
down. And newspaper men are espe-
cially invited to try. You must take a
day off, and when we get the hundred
dollars we can fit up the spare room.
Let me see--forty dollars for a chamber
set, twenty dollars for a carpet, ten dol
lars Tor pictures-and then we will send
ten more to father and mother to pay
thar fare here and make us that long
promised visit. Only hundred dollars,
Jack, and see what happiness it brings"
And the dear girl threw her arms about
my neck and gave me a rousing kiss.
Well, when she settled down to solid
facts, produced a copy of the Chicago
Current, and showed me the tempting
offer in plain black and white, | grew in
terested. l knew that newspaper men,
and especially young reporters, had little
time for true literary work, but imagined
that with an incentive to spur me on |
could gain an odd half day or so in the
next two weeks, and write out some of
the fragmentary ideas that had floated
through my mind for several years. in
patient waiting for clothing and a habita-
ton. We had no difficulty in agreeing
that the attempt should be made, and
none whatever as to the use to which the
prizc-money should be put. Mary had
disposed of that without aid from me.
The only question that confronted us was
the character of the story, its location,
tone and treatment. We gave the whole
noon hour TO its discussion.
You must be careful" said Mary,
with the air of one who for years had
filled professorship in college for the
education of fiction writers, "to give it
a conversational form. Long paragraphs
don't look well, and readers are tempted
to skip. Put a little love making"
"That's trite, said l.
{" Is it Well, people never grow
tired of it. Make it end happily. what
ever you do. Bret IIarte's school may
suit the Bret Harte's, bat one doesn't
like to be sent away from story with
suicide or hanging as the finale; and
above all things, Jack, chose a subject
about which you know something. Don't
founder around in a mystic or far-awav
region on which you have never set
eyes"
Chow would Alaska do?" asked, sol
EMMY.
"What do you know about Alaska?
Or the Desert of Sahara! Or Patagonia
Keep inside of Ohio. Make it short.
terse and put into it not only what might
easily happen, but something that has
happened"
l left her cleaning off the table and
singing softly to herself. | was due at
the Office of the Daily Neptune at 2 NJ,
to receive my assignment of local work.
had left hope blossoming at home
and that might return soon and give a
few hours to the opening of my prize
story. The plot formed itself on my
walk to the street cars, and the scenes
unfolded and fitted into each other as
the slow steeds covered the three miles
between my home and the Office. | would
be back by four, three hours of good
work would help me along, ] could close
it up on Sunday, Mary could copy it at
her leisure, the hundred dollars would
really be godsend.
"You must get rig Immediately, -
said the city editor, "and drive out to
the Five-Mile Lock. There has been a
pOwder-mill explosion and several men
killed. Throw yourself, Smithy, on
this, as it has the making OF a sensa-
tom
The newspaper instinct was alive
and at work. l forgot all about the
story the prize money, and had time
for only one tender regret for the disap-
pointed little wife at home The day
was cold, and the rain had turned to
snow, the distance was long, the roads
heavy, and the pursuit of information
difficult amid the chaos that reigned all
about the lCck. But my note book was
eventually loaded, and decided to stop
at home for hurried lunch on my way
to the office
Supper had been waiting The wife
was cordial and kind but a trace Of tears
on her cheeks showed the disappointment
she was too good to voice In our coy
sitting-room stood my table, drawn close
to the CRATE, my chair and slippers beside
it, and pens and paper in place.
81 have looked for you since four, -
was all she said. "But know, dear,
that business kept you away
''But we won't give up the story"
said, decidedly. "Wc may not get tho
hundred dollars on account of a hurry
about our work; but we will make sure
of one OF the fifties.'