The Columbian. [volume] (Bloomsburg, Pa.) 1866-1910, 1895-10-04
Tale Of a Typewriter.

RAYMOND Rose sat in his comfortable
aftcr.breakfast chair reading his after
breakfast newspaper. All his surround.
ings denoted comfort. He was Il bachelor
OF thirty-ivc years. His dark and rather
large face beamcd with the kindlness
which comes of being thoroughly com
Portable. He was neither thin nor stout
his frame had just contrived to hit that
happy medium which is styled "com-
Portable"
lie felt himself II success-in literature.
At thrty-fve his position was assured, so
he must, at any rate, have been II moder-
ate success. He wrote when and what
he pleased. just now hc had completed
a volume of short stories
In fact, Raymond was one of those
feicitous men who have in their life every
thing that they want-save one thing,
aud they don't know what that is.
So Raymond Rose read his morning
paper glanced around his own comfortable
apartment, sighed and frowncd. Then,
bethinking himself of his volume of short
stories. turned again to the newspaper and
studied the advertisement sheet.
TYPEwRIrlNG done for authors and Others
at the rate OF Sd, per l,0OJ words paper
found Apply Miss G. Ramsay, Neither
court Terrace, \. W.
Cheap" muttcred Raymond, "dis-
tinctly cheap Think I'll try it,"
Then he began to wonder, in his usual
way, as to what Miss &. Ramsay looked
like and whether Ncthercourt Terrace
was shabbily genteel or dirtily slum-like
"lrs almost like 'swealing,n he muir
INJURED. Il suppose she is hard up.
Wants work badly, perhaps The price
does seem fearfuy low all the same. All.
well, It's the same for me as for any one
else.n
From which it may be deduced that If
Raymond's talents were Il little above tile
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 lie was
CLOSE" He was merely the ordinary
English business man.
lie sat lin down before n desk and
penned a note, which he addressed to
Miss G.. Ramsay, of Ncthercourt Terrace.
The mssive contained II 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 eas ID mind he proceeded to
forget all about Miss Ramsay, Neither
court Terrace, and the eNigencics 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 he rewritten.
The rest were good enough for his pur-
pose, which, after all, was to make an in
come, so he told himself They were not
great works. Critics would style them
fair, wholesome meliocrity." 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 d
comfortable man, recking little of tho
future and not at all of the past. Unreal
lzed hopes, ambitions, aspirations were
nothing to him. "rhey are fulfilled" ht
would have told himself had he recalled
them, which he didn't, "and because
they are not fulfilled in the precise way in
which | then hoped that they would be
cannot sincerely greve. Circumstances
mould the man. lie is a 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-pricking difficulties.
The next morning he got up, break
lasted and read the morning paper a'
was his wont. Then he turned once more
10 his short stories.
Did he feel secdy this morning? Hat
the weather depressed him? or what wa
the matter? Certainly his work seemed faI
less satisfactory than he had ever preyi
ously found it. To his senses, refreshed
by nights rest these stories appeared
weak and dull. Why had he never noticed
these things before? Or, rather, why
should he have noticed them now, at TIN
eleventh hour? This sudden conscious
ness was most inconvenient.
"Nliss 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
De- Mechanically he placed chair TO
her.
u have come about some typewritng,
SAID she, hesitatingly.
raymond started. He remembers
now.
This, however, was not the kind G
VPewiter with whom he usually deall