Crawford avalanche. (Grayling, Mich.) 1879-19??, 1895-10-10
Tale Of a Typewriter.


breakfast newspaper. All his surround
ings denoted comfort. He was bachelor
of thirty-five years. His dark aud rather
large face beamed with the kindliness
which comes of being thoroughly com
Portable. He was neither thin nor stout
his frame had just contrived to hit thai
happy medium which is styled "com
Portable"
He felt himself a success--in literature.
At thirty-five his position was assured, sc
he must, at any rate, have been "A moder.
ate success. He wrote when and what
he pleased. Just now he had completed
a volume of short stories.
In fact, Raymond was one of those
felicitous men who have in their life every
thing that they want-save one thing,
and they don't know what that is.
So Raymond Rose read his morning
paper glanced around his own comfortable
apartment, sighed and frowned. Then,
bethinking himself of his volume of short
stories, turned again to the newspaper and
studied the advertisement sheet.
TYPEwRrrING done for authors and Others
ut the rate of Sd. per 1000 words; paper
found. Apply Miss G. Ramsay, 8 Neither
court Terrace, n. w.
Cheap" muttered Raymond, "'dis-
tinctly cheap! Think I'll try it,"
Then he began to wonder, in his usual
way, as to what Miss q. Ramsay looked
like, and whether Nethercourt Terrace
was shabbily genteel or dirtily slum-lik
sits almost like sweating" he muir
INJURED. Il suppose she is hard up.
Wants work badly, perhaps. The price
does seem fearfully low all the same. All.
well, It's the same for me as for any one
else"
From which it may be deduced that II
Raymond's talents were little above the
average, his philanthropy was quite nor.
NAL. Not that he was mean. No one
ever thought of calling him that. Only
his enemies dared to hint that he was
"close." He was merely the ordinary
English business man.
lie sat him down before desk and
penned note, which he addressed To
Miss G.. Ramsay, of Nethercourt Terrace.
The missive contained request to be in
formed whether Miss Ramsay could under
take to type-write Mr.. Roses "Volume of
Short Stories" for immediate publication.
Then with eased mind he proceeded to
forget all about Miss Ramsay, Neither
court Terrace, and the exigencies of the
hard-pressed typist Some letters had to
be answered, proofs corrected and one
newspaper article written.
Having accomplished these various
tasks, he partook of light luncheon,
walked little by way of exercise, smoked,
and finally, as evening drew on, settled
himself comfortably in his comfortable
chair and looked over his manuscript
stories.
One or two required more alteration and
addition than he had given them. One,
he thought would have to be rewritten.
The rest were good enough for his pur-
come, so he told himself. They were not
great works. Critics would style them
''fair, wholesome mediocrity." Friends
would smile and prophecy their deserved.
ly popular reception.
Then Raymond Rose went to bed and
slept the sleep of the highly respectable.
As has been before observed he was O
comfortable man, rocking little of the
future and not at all of the past. Unreal.
lied hopes, ambitions, aspirations were
nothing to him. They are fulfilled" hs
would have told himself, had he recalled
them, which he didn't, land becaus,
they are not fulfilled in the precise way in
which / then hoped that they would be
cannot sincerely grieye. Circumstance:
mould the man. He IS mere puppet
swayed by their force. If am less thar
should be blame flattery and fortune
not me. am but an instrument in theil
hands," Which is the way in which
many sophistical persons avoid similar
conscience ricking difficulties.
The next morning he got up, break
tasted and read the morning paper, a.
was his won't Then he turned once more
to his short stories.
Did he feel seedy this morning? HaC
the weather depressed him? or what wa:
the matter? Certainly his work seemed faI
less satisfactory than he had ever previ
ously found it. To his senses, refreshed
by a nights rest, these stories appeared
weak and dull. Why had he never noticed
these things before? Or, rather, why
eleventh hour? This sudden conscious
ness was most announcement.
s'Miss Ramsay, sir" suddenly said hi
housekeeper from the doorway.
Raymond Rose turned in his chair
none too pleased at the interruption.
"Thank you," he said, and stared
stared at his visitor, wondering for th
moment what her business with him coult
be. Mechanically he placed chair TO
her.
81 have come about some typewriting,
said she, hesitatingly.
Raymond started. He remembered
now.
This, however, was not the kind Q
typewriter with whom he usually dealt
Two women who had done work fo
him were angular and hard-featured, al
rupt In manner. and as careworn as the
could be. Miss Ramsay was mere Cir
well dressed, slight of figure and prepo.
sessing of face. Her complexion wa
good, her small mouth prettily formed
her eyes large and lustrous, her hair
pretty brown color. Raymond foun
himself noting all these points about hi
new typewriter.
Suddenly he awoke to the fact that sll
was waiting for him to speak.
"Yes," he said, al require volume {
short stories typewriter. Unfortunately,
he added, recalling his thoughts OF fe'
minutes ago, ''they are not quite ready
More than one viii want doctoring II M
rewriting"