The Caldwell tribune. [volume] (Caldwell, Idaho Territory [Idaho]) 1883-1928, 1894-02-24

Mary could take me BACK without tear
or sigh of disappointment.
'If were selling Calico" she said philo-
sophicaliy, Il should not weep or moan be-
cause one objected to the color, another to
the quality and third to the price. my
self should know that was selling good
calico at fair price, and am equally con-
fident that l am Offering good story for
sale at regular rates-which means the
buyers own price-so no tears, if you please.
Miss Mary, because your wares don't hap
pen to sell"
I went now to household Journal OF
large circulation, and here think spent
the weaciast and dreariest time of my whole
existence. Locked into desk with dozens
of others awaiting c tardy examination,
spent whole year Of suspense and anxiety.
There is some satisfaction in flying about
-one sees the world at all events-but to
await ones fate in dreary. voiceless silence
is most exasperating
'There! Another letter from that tire
some woman, inquiring about her precious
MS" said the editor of the great ''house-
hold magazine fretfully as he tumbled
me out upon his desk. Some trashy love
story. I'll be bound. Why can't women
write something besides love stories won
der"
He glanced me over carelessly. Eyes,
yes. Just as / expected. Angelina and
AdOlphus get married, and their earthly
career is ended. Well Miss Mary Bobo-
link you're welcome to your story. don't
want it."
could scarcely wait to get back, / was
so anxious to know how they Jared in my
home, and perceived at once that l had
come in an oppOrtune time, when my au
thor took me out with a trembling hand.
Her eyes were heavy with much weep
ing, and she laid me down with sigh.
'Only returned MS" she said sadly,
land how poor fathers funeral expenses
are going to be paid cannot see."
went upon weary round after this
back and forth-hither and thither, and as
my authors name was beginning to be-
come known editors read me with more of
attention, and rs Il special mark of favor
returned me with criticism.
One said l was too long, movement not
rapid enough, and incident too much
spread out Another that l needed more
careful elabOratiOn-mOvement too rapid
and not enough of analysis and close at
tention to details.
Still another, that my subject matter was
too unreal-not natural enough, and too
evidently written to pander to demand
for the strange and impossible.
A fourth, that there was too much of
sameness in my subject matchmaking
striking-should be condensed to at most
one-third of its present length.
At the fifth and last criticism, that if
my author expected to succeed she must
draw her topics from nature, take real
incidents with which to touch the great
heart Of the reading public" Miss Mary
quite broke down.
Having ears they hear not, and having
eyes they see not" she sobbed.
"How can touch the great heart of the
public if editors persist in standing be-
tween it and me, and the very articles
| which are drawn from real life are those
which come back most frequently, and
branded as unreal, forced and imaginary"
She tossed me into drawer "Lie there,
good FRIEND" she said sadly. 'You have
done all you could for me, and have but
one postage stamp in the world and that is
too precious to waste upon a forlorn hope"
Il lay there for five years, often seeing the
face of my author-now sad, now gay and
bright with triumph and success but my
rest was not disturbed until one day when
an urgent letter. came from a well known
editor, the very person to whom had gone
in the first of my career. and who had since
been promoted from the position of reader
to that of editor in chief.
I'VE will be glad to publish something
from your pen." he wrote. land anything
you send us will receive a cordial welcome"
Her eyes twinkled as she opened the
drawer where lay. Come out, my friend.
the day of your triumph is at hand" she
said smilingly.
She read me over carefully and critically.
"You were always favorite with me, and
like you better still after all these years.
I find some of the freshness and enthusi
asm of my youth here" she said to gen.
tleman who sat near.
but hasn't that story been rejected at
that office? think you told me its history
once" he replied
Eyes, and there is the fun in it. dare
say it was never examined beyond the first
page, and that by the first reader into whose
hands it fell. Oh, l am safe enough in
sending it, assure you, my dear"
fairly trembled with mischievOus glee
as l found ,yself again in the familiar
presence of the editor. His locks were
whitening, and he had donned glasses since
left, but otherwise he was the same. His
memory of me was not so vivid, however,
and he read me through with chuckle of
satisfaction and without the faintest symp-
tom of recognition. jotting down this edi-
torial notice for the issue in which was to
appear:
1--WE present our readers this month with
story from the pen Of the gifted and ia
nous author. Miss Mary Bobolink, now
Mrs. Marlowe. It is tale of rare beauty,
its delicate touches Of nature reaching out
with an unerring grasp toward the heart
strings Of it's readers. It has always been
our aim to Gull the very best from the fields
of literature, and in this instance we think
our readers will agree that we have sue
ceeded."