Connecticut western news., 1896-07-02
FOUNDED ON FACT.

n \ H
 "Mr. Rogers, did you say?"
 "Yes. sir; a tall, middle aged gen tleman,' replied my servant.
 I could recollect no acquaintance of tho name.
 'Ask him to step in here, said at length.
 The man who entered my study was a complete stranger to mo. Ho was tall, between 40 and 90 years of age, rather thin and very angular in his move nents. He wore short beard, was slightly bald and had decidedly pleasant features. When he smiled, his eyes seemed to sparkle and he exhibited two excellent rows of teeth.
 ''I am afraid am quite unknown to you," he began.
 I bowed my head and wondered what was coming next.
 But your name as rising young novelist and writer of short stories is. of course, familiar to me.
 Who could lie be? I began to have visions of publishers and editors clamor- ing at my door for contributions from my pen. Was he about to give me a commission for new serial? Perhaps ne represented some leading magazine and was prepared to pay sums undream- d of for my tales of love and adven ure. Or was he only some newspaper interviewer bent on satisfying the curi- ,sity of his readers respecting my opin- ons and manner of life?
 "Pray he seated" said. We sat facing oue another on opposite tides of tho hearth rug. It was cold, lull November day, and the bright fire that burned in the grate was comfort ing. Mir. Rogers took from his pocket l copy of a popular magazine and held it ln his knee.
 "Capital story that of yours P "Whioh?" asked.
 "That last one in here" be said, tap ,ing the covers of the book, "the story called The Mystery of Rowner's Mill '" 1T am glad you like 1t, but really y"--
 "A splendid storyl Rather daring though"
 "Daring?"
 "Yes-to publish story of real life | as mere fiction.
 l QOu ' EIlCerStuuu Wuu5 - "But why did you make Maud a dark | girl? Of course she was fair, as you xnow. Her real name was Mabel, but that doesn't matter" :"
 "You arc quite'-
 "Still, you have hit off Maltby to ar" "The story, I assure, you, was"-
 Written under pressure of time? Tes, have no doubt of it. But your de- ,cription of the old mill is exact. Row .er's Mill is, of course, Radford's Mill, near B--."
 Allow me to explain"- 1 "Quite unnecessary, I assure you. You were perfectly justified in changing the name. But that passage i'll which i you describe the act of vengeance on Ialtby is remarkably powerful and &C., 1urate Ahl here it is: Seeing his vic- tim powerless, Jasper Gore, with the strength of . giant, seized him in bis arms and for one moment held him above his head in front of the open win low. Then he hurled the wretched man into space. Down, down he fell, until, with a splash that was inaudible amid the roar and rattle of the mill, Maltby disappeared in the deep water of the race, and was instantly battered 10 a ;hapeless mass by the huge revolving water wheelp"
 "But surely you know"-
 "Oh, yes; I know every inch of tho place. Of course you are a little bit sough on me-"
 "On you?''
 "Yes; you see, Jasper Gore"-
 Irose to tuy feet. So far had hardly neen able to get word in edgeways. l had not the slightest idea what he was driving at. He was exhausting my pa oienco.
 "Look here, sir," shouted warmly. II haven't yet the pleasure of knowing who you are. What the-will you kind y tell me what you are talking about?"
 "Why, my dear sir, I am talking , about this story of yours called 'The Mystery of Rowner's Mill. I was just saying that yos have made me-other- wise Jasper Gore"-
 "Gore is one of my characters I m. derstand your name is Rogersp' The man leaned back and roared with , laughter. I sank into my chair in 8 state of evaporation.
 Excuse my laughing he said, "but F when you put on that innocent air it k irresistibly funny. What does it matter , which name 1 use, Gore or Rogers-are
 hey not one and the same? What wa, easier? You took my real name, Rogers rejected the last two letters, transposet he others, and then you had it-Gore r
 I was now quite out of temper.
 1T don't know what your object is, , said, "iu coming here and talking thil nonsense. The story is pure fiction, simple creation of my own brain-fron : beginning to end So far as know. tn, characters never lived, the incidents never happerAl, the mill described nev CT had any existence-except in my owI imagination.
 My visitor watched me as I spoke and grin slowly broadened on his face until he again burst into loud laughter
 II should never. have believed itP he said.
 Believed Ehat?" "You novelists, it would appear, arr so steeped ia fiction that you lose all re gard for truth. '
 What do you mean, sir?" cried in t dienantly.
 "Is it necessary to explain? Here, il ,t this magazine, have a story every 0: II sential detail of which is actual trutf
 and you coolly tell me that it was a
 evolved out of your own brain P
 Certainly. So it was. !" .,l "Now, what is the use of talkin
 like that to me-to me? lam Rogers