The Opelousas courier., 1897-03-13
Isn't the writing plain? I conldn't

and he managed to speak it so tina
you knew the hyphen was there. II
felt that he was talking well, but til,
unappreciative Miss Pratt pulled hin
up shortly and brought him back to
concrete example.
"But 1 want to know what is III,
matter with my story. 1t must bt
good. My aunts and uncles and al
my relatives have read it, and my
cousin, who took q prize in college fol
an Grafton, said it was immense"
Mr.. Marsh mentally agreed with the
cousin, and wished himself safe with
Sister Anna.
"The truth is, Miss Pratt, that ev
erybody cannot write a short-story.
In fact, ii is the hardest kind of writ
ing. It takes longer to write a short
story than to write a long me-. A
famous writer said that he had not
time to write a short-story." (Bert's
hobby again.)
"Do you think [ could write o long
story? I have one four times as long
as this, I shonld like to read it to
you"
Mr.. Marsh felt his hair rising at the
prospect. He looked at his watch.
st fear I can't stop to-day, for I must
make the four o'clock train. Other
wiseI should be charmed to have you
read the story to me."
"IIl send it to you, and perhaps you
will like it better than the short one.
I've got to write, so I shall keep on till
some one takes my stories. I would
rather have them printed in the Epoch
than in any other magazine. I have
got to succeed, for I must have money,
and this is the only thing I can do"
'sIt needs money; therefore it must
write. ] wonder what it needssmoney
for" thought Bert. She was well
dressed, and all he saw of the house
and grounds spoke OF comfort and good
taste. He could not tell her that she
could never write, and he left her look
ing very disconsolate. He would have
liked to stay and comfort her, but it
would hardly have been conventional.
Three days later a manuscript was
put on the associate editors desk. It
was from Miss Pratt, and was ed
dressed to him. After it was duly en-
tered and acknowledged, Bert placed
it among other manuscripts on the
senior editors desk. Halsey could tell
her the truth, Bert told himself. He
could not break her heart. His breath
came a little faster than usual, as he
remembered her sittingin the sunshide
and looking SO unhappy ovcr her
story. He made marks on. his blotter
IN an absent minded fashion, and
wondered why she needed money so
much. She had referred to it again in
her letter. Bert had half O mind to
up her story, put some
ego" into it, and pub lish it. But
when Halsey came in he put the idea
away.
"Hallo Here is Elizabeth Hastings
Pratt again, as good as ever. Bert,
have you been encouraging her? What
is the story this time? THE Search
for Sylvia Sherwood She goes in for
ALTERATION. Now for a feast of reason
and flow of soul. "TheSsun was shed.
ding his last rays upon a lowlycot, EN-.
powered by trees, behind which flowed
. rivulet.' Got that, Bert?" And Hal
sey turned in his swivel chair. "Man,
It's a prose idyl! Now, what next?
is bound to happen. "A
door opened and q youth sailed forth,
bearing upon his brow the marks of
anguish This is getting to be thrill
ing. Do you mind the youth with O
"Don't, Halsey. She isn't a bit of
! fool, except on this n subject. and
'he is q good deal more than pretty"
IF she be not fair for. me, what
,are Bert, my son, I am afraid
you are in love. I'll wager two hats
that she sent this tale directly to you,
md you put the job Of reading it off
IN me. II you had told her, point
that she never can write, she
wouldn't have sent this in. It's your
Iffair, so / turn the manuscript over
you. Take it back to her and plan
or a serial; she will send one next
Mr.. Marsh gloomily tucked the
tory away in his desk, wondering
low Halsey had guessed so straight
bout the serial.
He wrote three letters next day,
nd tore oil of them up. He finally
''The Search for Sylvia
with a brief note saying
hat he would pass through the town
n the following Saturday, and would
all and explain On Monday he told
of it, and 'E>at individual was
Kicked enough to coaGa', gententiously.
Il told s;der," said ert, as he
Enlightened the pins on orr cushion,
that she couldn't write, Hhat the Sec
nd story was even wo1se than the
rst. and that you said So"
"And she wept on youp shoulder"
tho, she didn't. She was angry,
lad. She said that she would prove
you that she could write. That was
fter / told her that you said she never
write. I couldn't tell her that I
so, too. Her eyes are so big :
nd brown that a man couldn't say {
lch a thing to her lace. She is going {
} study style, and I made cut a list of !
ooks for her to read" !
EXACTLY. And you are going to ! !
Ike them to her next Saturday, when ]
on go to you Sister Annals"
EXACTLY. Il is the best thing I
,uld do to set her reading. While
,e is studying she won't write, and 7
ter she has studied a while shs will 8
that she can't write. It is an ex.