Audubon Republican. [volume] (Audubon, Iowa) 1894-1925, 1897-04-01

poetry ordinarily, but this is worth it
I Give your sister this from me and tel
her to come and see me on Saturday at
three"
"Oh, thank you, SIR" and the baby's
eyes dropped modestly as he tightly
clutched the piece of geld put into his
palm. And then he heaved a deep
drawn sigh of relief, joy-what? and
turned and left the room. Only when
the child was entirely out of sight die
Winston realize that he had neglected
to obtain the name and address of the
new genius he had discovered. He
turned the poem to the light, but with
no success. Upon the back of the double
sheet, however, was sketchy head
drawn family in pencil. The lines We're
bad and the drawing crude in every
way, but the sketch was evidently in
tended for the cherub who had just
visited him. In one corner was the
artists name, "Marie Wendall." Jot-
ting it down in his note book and pass
| ing his hand over his forehead and>eyes,
| as though to erase all outside impress
| sions, the great editor was no longer a
man; he was once more a machine.
With relief the waiting pressmen and
typos heard his whistle below and they
knew that whatever eft had took him."
as the devil" expressed it, the autocrat
was ready for work once more. But
they looked at each other aghast when
the message came over the tube:
''Take out that article on the coal re-
gions sent down half an hour ago and
set this poetry instead"
Surely, "the old man had gone off his
head" f..t ..
THAT forms locked up and just 60
ing to press" the foreman ventured to
demonstrate.
"Blast the form! Do as 1 say" came
from above.
But it'll take" Came again from
the depths.
ado it If it takes all night! Who
owns this PAPER, anyway" roared Wins
ton, and shut the tube with snap to
denoterthat as far as he was concerned,
the interview was over.
Something had disturbed him more
than usual. Perhaps it was the memory
of the little mound on the hillside-per-
haps it was something indefnite-an
impression too vague to be classified.
Whatever it was, in half an hour,
Winston declared himself through,
methodically tucked his blue pencil into
its accustomed slot, locked his desk, be-
took himself to his club for dinner.
When he read over the poetry in the
great daily the next morning, there
was a something which arrested his at
tention. A scene, memory came to his
mind, but it was too elusive for him
to spend any time in trying to catch it.
So he dismissed it from his thoughts.
A distinct shock received an hour or
two later recalled it all, and too forcibly.
This shock came in the shape of note
from a fellow-editor:
What are you giving us, anyway"
wrote he. "You must have been short
of copy indeed, to try to palm off on
your readers that old poem of Tenny
sons as new matter! Marie Wendall,'
too. Of all the colossal nerve! / think
it might be called the Great Amer
cam"
Tennyson's! No wonder there had
been a familiar ring to the lines! Why
had he SKINNED over them so hastily?
Why had he thrown caution to the
winds? Why, oh, why had he made
such an ass of himself that all who ran
might read? He turned sick and white
Mt the thought of all it meant-this fear
I'll I Al, I,
that the casual reader would not dis
aover it.
Any such hope as this was dashed
ruthlessly to the ground during the
next few hours. Letters there were
from all Notwithstanding they were,
angry, remonstrant, everything but
sympathetic. The world likes to be
humbugged, but it does not want the
fraud to be palpable one like this.
And the readers of the great daily did
not hesitate to say SO in most uncom-
promising terms.
Wild with anger and modification,
and with imprecations deep if not loud,
the great editor set himself to find the
woman who had served him such a
trick.
ct is only another evidence of the
utter deceit of the whole seN," he said
10 himself bitterly. ''The trail of the
serpent is over them ALL"
Without any address or other clew to
her whereabouts, to find the unknown
was no easy task. The simplest solu-
ton of the difficulty would seem to be
to wait until Saturday at three o'clock,
but he knew very well that she would
not pvt in an appearance, She was too
sharp ior that. She mad the money,
and that was all she wanted.
With grim smile that BODIED no good
to that young woman, he started out to
find the authar of his woes. And by
subtle but legitimate means, means
that no other man would have thought
of, John Winston tracked her at last.
''This is Miss Wendsll?" inquired he,
with most elaborate courtesy of the
little lady in black who answered his
/ sumpopS .... RE