The Pacific commercial advertiser. [volume] (Honolulu, Hawaiian Islands) 1885-1921, 1886-08-16
"WHEN THEsEA GIVES up ITS DEAD. +"
Launching story on the Sea of Litera-

Launching n story on the Sea of Litera-
ture.
Perhaps sha-l know thee and greet thee again
When the sea gives up its dead"
Many years ago. when the am bilious blood
Of youth ecu sci madiy through my veins,
wrote mag zine article. It was a weird tale
OF love and mt igue, evolve from brain
which hal learned its cunning in the staving
off Of various females engaged in the boarding
house business. The manuscript completed,
/ borrowed a three-cent stamp and for
warded it TO a weIl-known down town pub
fishing house. Two days later the precious
document was returned with printed circu-
lar which gave me TO understand that the
editor had been almost moved to tears when
he realized that the article in question was
not suitable for his columns
/ will now draw the somber pail of despair
over the next seven months, during which
epoch believe | sent my Ms TO every pub
fishing house in The country At the end Of
that period still possessed the story I was
young, however, and when 1 thought of
Zola's early struggles it gave me courage
and spurred me to further effort.
So one day went 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 $1O' quoth he, "such
sum to be paid you upon its publication
"When will that be9' 1 asked tinidly.
He lifted up his mild gray eye and gazed
long and earnestly into the gathering twi-
light shadows
Call around in about three months, he
said, briefly, "and l will tell you"
With this injunction departed, intending
to appear again at the time specified
Then L once again sought the aforesaid
publishing house. The Iong-haired gentle
man, who was now also cordial again greeted
me.
"Ah," said he, "you have come at last
Let me see, the number of your manuscript
is p. 1913"
Twenty-Five thousand, seven hundred and
ninety-tnree" l repeated, in horror; "when
do you think l will get the boodle!"
"Well," said the long haired gentleman,
blandly, "you might give another call in
about five years, ami then shall-shall-
see about the matter"
Sadly 1 departed, and when six years
later appeared at the publishing house l
inquired, as usual, for the long-hair gen.
tleman- strange young man came for
ward
"Why, my dear sir" he said, "Mr. Jinkins
Is dead. He was 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-argument-pisto
fire depart ent-hlood-massacre."
When l had sufficiently recovered from
the shock of this intelligence I ventured to
inquire about my own article.
at is now No. 8, 357, 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 went into the soft soap |
business, made some money, married !
charming girl, and now l am a grand |
father. And only the day before yesterday
L went down to that self-same publishing
house to find out how I stood That young
man-Jinkins' successor-has hair as white
as my own. He tells me that my manuscript |
is now No 5, Az.
So this evening, seated in my own coy
basement, 1 think over the fate of the little
story l launched on the sea of literature
when life was very young to me.
All, precious manuscri pt-ambitiou little
manuscript-manuscript No. 5, 442! when
shall see you in print' When shall I reap
the reward of my many years of patience
alias $102 pause for a reply.
Then. like the strains of angelic music the
voice of my favorite goIden-haired daughter
is waited down the dumb waiter to me
from the parlor above She is singing some
old-time melody "a delightful change from
"The Mikado'0 and as the harmonious chords
grow fainter and fainter catch lingering
couplet which beats on 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"
Waiter S. Murphy in The Judge