Staunton spectator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1849-1896, 1895-10-16
AN AUTHORS ERROR.

Raymond Rose sat in his comfortable
after breakfast chair reading his after
breakfast newspaper. All his surround
ings denoted comfort. He was bach
elor of 35 years. His dark and rather
large face beamed with the kindGness
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. -
He felt himself success-in itera-
ture. At 35 his position was assured,
SO he must, at any rate, have been a
moderate success. He wrote when and
what he pleased. Just now he had COM
pleted volume of short stories.
In fact, Raymond was one of those
felicitous men who have in their life ev-
erything 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 comfort
able apartment, sighed and frowned.
Then, bethinking himself of his volume
of short stories, he turned again to the
newspaper and studied the advertise
ment sheet.
Typewriting done for authors and others at
the rate of Sd. per f,000 words; paper found.
Apply Miss g. Ramsay, 8 Nethercourt Ter
race, N. ".
"Cheapi'' muttered Raymond. "Dis-
tinctly cheap! Think I'll try it. -
Then he began to wonder in his usual
way as to what Miss G. Ramsay looked
like, and whether Nethercourt Terrace
was shabbily genteel Or dirti1y slum-
like.
"It's almost like 'sweating,'" he
murmured. ST suppose she is hard up.
Wants work badly perhaps. The price
does seem fearfully low all tie same.
All, well, it's the same for me as for
any one else. -
From which it may be deduced that
if Raymond's talents were little above
the average his philanthropy was quite
normal 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.
He sat him down before a desk and
penned note, which he addressed to
Miss G. Ramsay of Nethercourt Terrace
The missive contained request to be
informed whether Miss Ramsay could
undertake to typewrite Mr.. Roses
"Volume of Short Stories" for imme-
diate publication.
Thor, xrifh aocnI mind hn y,roaoodod
to forget all about Miss Ramsay, Meth
ercourt 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 re-
written. The rest were good enough fol
his purpose, which, after all, was tc
make an income, SO he told himself.
They were not great works. Critics
would style them "fair, wholesome
mediocrity." Friends would smile and
prophesy their deservedly popular re-
ception.
Then Raymond Rose went to bed an6
slept the sleep of the highly respectable.
As has been before observed, he was 6
comfortable man, recking little of the
future and not at all Of the past. I'm
realized hopes, ambitions, aspirations
were nothing to him. "They are full
filed" he would have told himself ha6
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 I cannot sincerely grieve.
| Circumstances mold the man. He is 6
mere puppet, swayed by their force. Il
I am less than I should be, blame fiat
instrument in their hands" Which il
the way in which many sophistlcal per
SONS avoid similar conscience prickine
difficulties.
The next morning he got up, break
tasted and read the morning paper, as
was his wont. Then he turned once
more to his short stories.
Did he feel seedy this morning? Hat
the weather depressed him, or what was
the matter? Certainly his work seemed
far less satisfactory than he had eve1
previously found it. To his senses, re
freshed by nights rest, these storie!
appeared weak and dull. Why had ht
never noticed these things before, or
rather, why should he have notices
them now, at the eleventh hour? Thi
sudden consciousness was most incon
venient.
"Miss Ramsay, SIR" suddenly sal
his 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 tn
moment what her business with hir
could be. Mechanically he placed
chair for her.
IT have come about some typewri
ing said she hesitatingly.
Raymond started He remembers
now.
This, however, was not the kind {
typewriter with whom he usually deal
Two women who had done work Il
! him were angular and hard feature.