Sacramento daily record-union., 1889-09-28

euu. he scratched out less now, ana Oil
not tear up at all practice was maxim
this kind of writing easy to him. An
the brain now ran better in harness wit
the pen.
There remained only half dozen chap
tiers to write, and here Sebastian Luudy
without hesitation and by sort of in
stinct, abandoned the ending of the stor,
as told to him by his friend. That stor,
ended in union-this in parting.
As the work had progressed he ha,
gradually identified himself with his hero
By strange chance some of the events il
the story were not unlike the events il
his life. For kingdom he could no
have made the romance of this other self
this brain-brother, end otherwise than a
his own had done-for even Sebastian
Lundy had had his romance, ending il
wedding bells that were not rung fo
him.
These last chapters were faithful anc
unfinching record of certain chapters IL
his own life, and the writing of them
affected him almost as the living of then
had done. He grew pale and thin, anC
the lines in Lis face deepened.
AT last, on a shivery, rainy April day
the final words were written. He drew a
long breath, but he did not lay down the
pen. He took sheet of note paper and
wrote note to the frrt firm of publishers
whose names occurred to him. Then he
tied the story up in brown paper, ad
dressed it to the same firm, and carried il
and the letter to Paternoster Square.
Then came three weeks of waiting; and
what such waiting is those know who have
experienced it, and none who have not
experienced it, can conceive. And Sc
bastian Lundy's waiting was harder to
bear than most mems. He had not re-
lation in the world, and his only friends
had been the worshipers at the little
Bethel he had abandoned, and his sport
ing fellow-lodger, Fisher, away in Paris.
Probably Fisher had never been so longed
for in all his light-hearted existence as
Lundy longed for him then. The store OF
e2l was woefully lessened now; there was
only enough for three more weeks, even
with the strictest economy-meat once a
day, and no omnibuses.
Why should he take omnibuses? He
had nowhere to go. He went for long,
aimless walks, and came home tired out
more often than not, too tired TO sleep.
One evening he came back from a twenty
mile tramp, and as he came into his room
the dim freight showed him something
white on the mantelpiece. 1t must be the
letter. He had no correspondents now.
He stirred the fire until a bright flame
leaped up. He tore open the letter.
There was no accompanying parcel. He
realized that with a sudden swelling of
the heart that brought tears into his eyes;
he was not very strong now. Then by the
freight he read the letter. 1t acknowl-
edged the receipt of the novel, "John
Cartons Trial" and requested the author
to call on the following day at II.
1t was accepted then. He had had some
early experience of rejected manuscripts,
and he knew the forms. Joy ran through
his veins like tide-but tide of peace,
not of tumult. The unrest was now over
the immense tension, thesickening alterna-
ton of hopes and fears-his book was ac-
cepted. The world would read it; the
suspense had been hard to bear, but it was
over now.
He did not laugh or sing, or express his
JOY in any of the ways mentioned by the
poets, but he took out half sovereign
there were not many left now-and he
went to the foreign restaurant round the
corner, and had good dinner, the first he
had had since the beginning of the novel.
That night he slept soundly.
The next morning at IL he was shown
into the private room Of the head of the
firm. MIR. Trevor was an old man, with a
short white beard and an extremely un-
forehead. He looked up
from letter he was writing as Sebas-
tian entered, and said:
"Sit down moment, please" Sebas-
tian sat down, light of happiness which
he hardly tried to conceal shining
through his thin face. Before he could
speak the publisher went on.
81 wrote to you, Mr.. Lundy, as |
thought should like 20 see you person.
ally There is matter here" opening a
drawer and pulling out sheet of foolscap
paper, (which calls for some little explana-
tion from you"
At his words, and more at his tone, Sc
bastian's blood rushed to his heart, leaving
his face white. What was he to be asked
to alter it? To mutilate the darling
child of his fancy and his memory? He
set his lips together closely and kept
silence.
Mr.. Trevor went on.
'The books been read, and my reader
reports to me-ah-hum" ran his
finger down the page" some literary
skill-'undoubted talent'-no, no-oh, yes
here it is-'the book is gross and de-
liberate plagiarism from Miss Braddon's
"Chloe.o The names have been altered,
but incident and sequence are mere tran
scripts from that work. The ending alone
has been altered. There are certain super
fetal differences, but the two books are
practically the same The writer should
be'-ah, welP-he stopped.
Before he had finished Sebastian was
standing, pale and rigid, graspiug the back
of a chair. The old man dropped his
gold-rimmed eyeglasses and looked up at
him sternly.
ats falsel" cried Sebastian in harsh,
mufiled voice; "Pve never seen the book,
l never read any novel but Middle
march"
The sincerity of him was not to be
doubted. 1t had its effect. Mr. Trevor's
face and tone softened little.
swell, come, Mr.. Lundy," he said, chow
did you come by the plot? Did you
evolve it out of your inner consciousness
Do you read reviews, by chance? Did the
events happen to any of your friends Are
they personal experience ?"
From the time Sebastian began tc
write until this moment he had absolutely
forgotten, in his love for his story, that
the plot was not his own.
"Er-er," he stammered, "a friend told
it me- lie told me that he made 1t NJ
and that | might use it." He passed hi:
hand over his forehead, and looked at il
in a dazed way. 1t was wet with cold
sweat. He spoke with difficulty; hi,
mouth was dry and parched. The pub,
Usher pushed his chair back and thrust
his hands into his pockets
"Well, sir" he said, ''if l were in youl
shoes l would have word of sort with
this friend. He's been having joke with
you."