The Providence news. (Providence [R.I.]) 1891-1906, 1900-10-16
BY Eleanor Booth simmons.


The veteran writer was interested In
spite OF herself in this slip of a girl from
the west. The girl had drlfted into her
study one day with letter OF introduc-
ton and some bits OF manuscript whose
cleverness, together with a certain pa
thetic hope which seemed 10 flicker I'm
and out OF the young face. reused in the
older woman a desire to lend helping
hand. She spent the first 10 minutes OF
the interview IN explaining. patiently and
carefully, the pitfalls and the heart
breaking disappointments that await the
beginner who trusts TO the pen for live
lihood I'm New York She advised the girl
. TO return TO her home and her friends i'm
the west. Then the girl, in her turn, ex-
plaincd that her friends were dead, that
her home was a thing OF the past. and
that, moreover, she had no money TO car
~ her back. even had there been any
thing left for her there In short she
had come 10 New York 10 seek her for
tune, and her equipment, upon inventory,
appeared 10 consist OF youth, deter
minaton, some talent and an almost
empty purse II was the old story, but
the veteran writer was not yet 40 hard
ened as 10 be Indifferent. SO, putting
aside an important engagement and WORK
OF her own that cried 10 be done, she
played the Good Samaritan. And TO such
effect that in less than a fortnight the
western girl found herself her heart al
most bursting with gratitude, favorably
introduced To certain editors, with
couple OF sketches actually placed I'm Sun
day papers, and with a somewhat vague
but altogether delightful promise of books
10 review for a literary weekly. And
with the hnffpIfpp hone az tho Rirl
believed that her fortune was made, and
went about with such a light of happi-
ness I'm her eyes, such naive enjoyment
OF this new but long-wlshed- for life, that
people on the pavements and in the cars
would glance at her In mild wonder-her
face was such a contrast TO the world
weary faces that throng our city streets.
How long will IT last?" said the vet
eran writer musingly To a friend. THE
poor child has gained tiny foothold, but
she doesn't realize yet how slippery 1t is;
how many other climbers there are to
jostle her and bounce her. These things
Will be revealed unto her, however VIII
she stick. | wonder, or Will she fall OFF,
Shell fan, probably said the friend
"But-in;o what, | wonder?" And the
other woman sighed
The girl stuck. after a fashion. That
was early in the year. In September
when the veteran writer returned TO the
city from her summer outing by the sea,
she bethought herself of an anxiety
which, I'm the delights of yachting and
swimming, she had forgotten for time.
She sailed forth and climbed to the place
where the western girl had nested-a
tiny, rented room I'm a dingy sky-hitH
Harlem fat The girl was there still. and
wTS m fIrr rUu7II, pTrgagpd III cUUkrTIg hur
dinner over a small, portable oil-stove.
Poverty was writ large in the room, but
the girl had made shift to soften Its
harsh angles with her little store Of
books and pictures and girlish trinkets.
She welcomed her friend with an eager
JOY that spoke volumes for the general
loneliness of her life. Presently she
made tea, and they drank IL together.
sitting on the box couch which obviously
was the girls bed at night.
And have YOU been out OF the city at
all this summer" asked the older wo-
man.
Not 10 stay. But I've been TO Manhat-
tan Beach several times for the after
noon. and ] walk IN the park every
day" said the girl.
And do you go alone? Have you any
acquantances yet my de6r-any friends?"
Il have YOU" the girl said. with a
grateful look. "But-yes | have been
alone, mostly. ! must expect that, / sup
nose. till IYe become known through my
work. 1t does take long time
TO make one $, way she added, with the
first break in her brave front. Though
I oughtn't 10 complain. for I've only
been here six months. But / never real
lied before how many people there are
who are doing the thing ] am trying TO
do. And they do Utmost OF them-so
much more cleverly than l. They-they
seem 10 be on the inside Of things. don't
YOU know They are in the spirit of Met
ropolitan life and can write about IL in
various phases so familiarly. / am try
ing TO learn, but I'm stupid and fright
ened and slow. I guess that's the reason
why | find IL so hard TO impress the edi-
tors" The girl fiddled with the tea she
had forgotten TO drink. Her companion,
studying her. noted that though her de-
termination still shone undaunted in her
brown eyes they had lost much OF their
happy light They had n puzzled look.
Have YOU tried the magazines, at all?''
she suggested.
THE magazines-oh. yes I've tried
those. But you have 10 wait so long for
any thing 10 be printed in them. And
when one hasn't much money ahead, one
has TO do the thing that seems most like
ly 10 bring quick return"
The older woman tapped her teacup
thoughtfully with the spoon. well, my
dear-cheer up! Peg away! I'll help, all
I can. Though you know" she said smil-
ing. I'm not very big nsh In the lit
erary sea. My influence doesn't count
for much. . Tell me-" she asked
when she rose to take her leave, has IL
been dreadfully hard TO keep the pot
boiling? II little friendly loan. now"
I've managed to keep the pot at the
simmering point. anyhow" the girl
laughed And 7 won't borrow, thank
you-not IL the FIRE goes out and the pot
gets stone cold
The veteran writer took an early op-
portunity OF mentioning the girl To a
certain great editor she knew, and OF beg
ging hirl To examine some OF her work.
This the great editor readily consented
20 10, and he said some very pleasant
things about the girls talent: but, as he
had on hand more material than his mag
azine could use in several months, he
didn't feel justifed in accepting anything
lust then. After awhile. perhaps
other plans the veteran writer had for
the girls advancement and she honestly
meant TO see her again. But In New
York. with the best OF Wills. such inten-
tions frequently go amiss. Life Is too
imperious I'm its demands upon each hu-
man unit: we simply cannot, between
times, keep track OF the other units who
cross our path now and then. The vet
aran writer was struck with remorse