The times and democrat. [volume] (Orangeburg, S.C.) 1881-current, 1886-07-15
"wHENTHEsEA GIVES UP ITS DEAD"
Launching q Story on tho Sea OF Litera-
ture,

perhaps shall know thee and greet thee again
When tho sea gives up Its dead"
Many years ago, when the ambitious blood
of youth coursed madly through my veins, I
wrote magazine article. It was weird tale
OF love and intrigue, evolved from brain
which had learned its cunning in the staving
of of various females engaged in the boarding
house business. The manuscript completed,
I borrowed a three-cent stamp and for
warded it to q well-known down town pub
fishing house. Two days later the precious
document was returned with printed circu-
lar which gave me to understand that tho
editor had been almost moved to tears when
he realized that the article in question was
not suitable for his columns
I will now draw the somber pail Of despair
over the next seven months, during which
epoch believe I sent my MS. to every pub.
fishing house in the country. At the end OF
that period still possessed the story. was
young, however and when I thought OF
Gola's early struggles it gave me courage
and spurrod me to further effort.
So one day 1went down town to large pub
fishing house and personally tackled long"
haired man, who came forward In response To
my pathetic appeal for an interview with
the editor. noticed that he was somewhat
cordial at the time, which perhaps accounts
for the fact that after sitting right down
and reading my article he paralyzed me By
announcing that he would accept it.
ats worth about S10," quoth he, "such
sum to be paid you upon its publication"
"When will that bef'' asked, timidly,
he lifted up his mild gray eye and gazed
long and earnestly into the gathering twl-
light shadows.
"Call around in about three months, he
said, briefly, "and will tell you"
With this injunction departed, intending
to appear again at the time specified
Then I once again sought the aforesaid
publishing house. The long-haired gentle.
man, who was now also cordial, again greetei
ME.
"Ab," said he, "you have come at last.
Let me see, the number Of your manuscript
is 92, 793"
TWENTY-FIVE thousand, seven hundred and
ninety-three!" I repeated, in horror; "when
do you think I will get the boodle'"
"Well," said the long haired gentleman,
blandly, "you might give another call IN
about five years, anil then we shaIl-shall-,
see about the matter"
Sadly departed, and when six years
later appeared at the publishing house I
inquired, as usual, for the long-haired gen.
tleman. A strange young man came for
ward.
"Why, my dear sir" he said, "Mr. Jinkins
is dead. He wns murdered here in this Office,
two summers ago, by Cactus Billy, the bard
of Dakota. Billy came down here with some
verses de society and wanted spot cash.
Poor Jinkins said it was against the rules.
You can guess the rest est-argument-pistol-
fire department. -blood-massacre"
When I had sufficiently recovered from
tile shock Of this intelligence ventured to
inquire about my own article
at is now No. 9,S57," said the young man,
soothingly, "and have no doubt but that it
will be published some time during the next
four years.
Time rolled on. 1 went into the soft soap
business made some money, married
charming girl, and now I am a grand
father. And only the day before yesterday
l went down to that self-same publishing
house to find out how stood. That young
man-Jinkins' successor-has hair as white
rs my own. He tells me that my manuscript
is now No. {, ,442.
so this evening, seated III my own cozy
basement, think over the fate Of the little
story 1 launched on the seq Of literature
when life was very young to me.
All, precious manuscript-ambitious little
anuscript-manuscript No. 5, 442! when
shall I see you in print! When shall I reap
the reward of my many years of patience
alias S102 pause for reply.
Then, like the strains of angelic music, the
voice of my favorite golden-haired daughter
is waited down the dumb waiter to me
from the parlor above. Sho is singing some
old-time melody "a delightful change from
@Tho Mikado'), and as tho harmonious chords
grow fainter and fainter catch lingering
couplet which beats OH my heart like wave
from the dark ocean Of futurity:
Perhaps shall know thee and greet thee again
When the sea gives up its dead"
Walter S. Murphy in The Judge