The Savannah morning news., 1901-08-28
Our Daily Short Stories
A CHANGED CAREER.
BY JULIA TRUITT BISHOP.
Copyright, 1901. by Authors, svndicate,

the new style with a fatal facility, and
her work found a market so readily
that there was no time for thought.
There were no longer any small. irri-
tating debts to vex the souls of the
young gentlewomen, and all three of
them were able to have wraps as the
cold weatehr came on. How long they
had gone without!-and had pretended
with airy laughter that they found the
weather really oppressive when they
We're half frozen. Tradesmen who had
been rude became respectful-such a
promoter of courtesy is the reputation
of being in easy circumstances.
And Madge had letters from this and
that magazine, asking for her picture
and a sketch of her life. Critics COM
mented on the amusing character of
her work, and even found in it a Won
derful depth of philosophy and a sur
prising knowledge of human nature.
She was invited to become a member
or literary societies and press clubs.
Young editors of new-hedged maya
zines besought her to furnish articles
for the opening numbers-somethin
bright and catchy--something in the
style of Ma James Quiltin," or THE
Ghost Jim Saw"
oh, how my ambitions have all been
wrecked" she cried, piteously, one day.
hAOW all CdpdDl6 Oh better WOrk
than this. / feel ashamed of all this
notoriety have degenerated into a
mere scribbleB of comic sketches-a
kind of clown, whose business it is
to grin and prance and make funny
speeches, to keep the people on the
benches amused"
Still, We paid the milkman," said
Kate, succinctly, looking up from her
work.
And after awhile you will be able
to go on with your real work." added
Marian, hopefully.
II wonder if I ever CAM" she unused,
wistfully. II wonder if the world will
let me do it? Somehow, am afraid
they will refuse to let me wash off the
paint and be my real self"
i do believe Madge is morbid" Kate
announced, gayly, She isn't thankful
for her mercies,' as Aunt Patsy used
to say. She forgets how she used to
write beautiful stories that went down
to the very heart of things, while the
irate milkman camped on the front
steps and the grocer charged us three
prices on his books for his meanest
little old potatoes. If she wants to
keep happy. let her keep those people
in mind,and go on writing pot-boilers.
1t is better to be merely funny than
not to be at ALL"
And so they all laughed and two of
them did not realize that there was a
kind of heart-hunger about her for
something she had missed.
One evening she was tempted out
to some social function at the house
of a friend and there she met a GER
tain great editor. For one awful mo-
ment she wondered If he had ever
heard of her-if he knew that she was
living. 1t appeared presently that he
had taken cognizance of her existence
some time before, and had followed her
career with interest; that he had even.
on his own confession, been somewhat
anxious to meet her.
Can you call 1t a career?" she ask
ed, withFa touch of bitterness in her
voice. Il have drifted into it almost
unconsciously-but it is not what
once thought my lifework would be-
"Since you have been so frank" said
the great man, unbending, Il will adj
NIT that I have thought you capable
of a higher class of work.
Madge lifted a pale face and looked
at him. He was the editor who had
sent back the beautiful story that
wrote itself.
What would you do" she asked,
with a thrill in her young voice, eff
if there were others depending on you
if anxieties were crushing your very
soul?-"
He had caught the look that flashed
over her face.
WELL" he said, carefully, there are
higher duties, perhaps, than merely
writing what one likes to write. Per-
haps we are too quick to judge what is
our lifework. If we only knew, it may
be that our lifework is keeping the pot
boiling, and paying debts, and taking
care of those dependent on us. 1t
seems a pity that-that we cannot all
work out our dreams. You see, hav-
ing once established a reputation of
this kind, one becomes its slave instead
of it's master. l regret that ] did not
have the opportunity to examine some
of your serious work before you start
ed out on this line. There might have
been great power in it. l judge that
you would have written with strength
and no doubt with wonderful pathos"
for he had seen the glance she turn
ed on him.
She read it over again that night af-
ter she went home-the story that he
had returned-the story that wrote it
self. Her pen was going until long at
ter the morning star had risen, and
the story which she sent him that day,
and which he published soon after, was
pronounced by competent judges to be
far more amusing than anything else
she had written. Kate shrieked with
laughter over 1.-THE editor in that
story was so droll, and the country
girl with her inconsequent dreams of
greatness and her absurd little ambi-
tions-was there ever anything so
amusing? But Marian read the story
in silence and looked UP at Madge with
a little wistful anxiety.
"Madge, are you giving up the old
dreams?" she asked.
Eyes" was the gay reply-or was her
voice altogether gay?-and what new
tone was thrilling through It? II have
discovered at last where my genius lies.
/ have the most undoubted talent for
pot boiling, and from this time on there
will be peace between us and the tribe
of milkmen, and we will have winter
wraps and cool things for summer. and
the larder will be always full. What
are beautiful stories that write them
selves, compared with that?"
And because Martin was looking at
her. not understanding, she sung a
snatch Of some merry little song as she
folded the manuscript and put II into
its envelope. She had accepted her life