The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1903-01-04
London Letter.

Despite the immense popularity of almost
everything which w. W. Jacobs writes.
there is probably no English author about
whose personality readers know less. Ever
since MANY Cargoes" made it's appearance
and the word went round that there was a
new funny man, Jacobs's place among the
most widely read authors in this country
has been unquestioned, but as to what man.
ner of man he is there has been little or
no information 1t was, of course, revealed
that the author of '"The Shippers Wooing''
was what is known in England as a ''civil
servant'-in the government savings bank
department-who had suddenly discovered
that he could write the sort of stories the
public wants. Later on came the announce
ment that. having convinced himself that
he was losing money every day in the gov
eminent service, Mr.. Jacobs had quilted it
In order TO devote himself to writing" but
still no details as to the humorists appear
ance, age, or tastes were vouchsafed
Probably few OF w. w. Jacobs's readers
know what his two unclad initials stand
for. So it may be remarked that the au-
thor's full style is William Wymark ia
cobs." He is a bachelor and his years are
thirty-nine, but his slight figure, light hair
and clean-shaven face make him look much
younger. He is rather reserved quiet, and
seldom permits himself more than a chuckle
when he is amused. He lives in the coun-
try now. near Epping Forest in which he
Jacobs got his knowledge of the life of
the quays and the shipping through being
born the son of wharf manager at Wap-
ping. on the Thames, below London. His
life as clark in the postoffice began in
1888, and his first literary efforts were con-
tributions to the amateur paper published
by the staff. His unique skits therein
tickled his fellow-employes so much that
their author was encouraged to send a man
uScript to To-day. 1t was promptly &C
cepted by Jerome K. Jerome, then the edi-
tor, with the result that Jacobs soon be-
came a regular contributor to the weekly,
and that he and the author Of Three Men
friends.
Jacobs is content to write his stories in
the old-fashioned way. He neither dictates
little popularity, however, that of finding
it next to impossible to write until the diff
ferent fixtures on his desk are arranged
inches above his blotting pad, with two
pens supporting it on either side, and
copy paper in neat pile on the left. The
author also describes himself as incurably
lazy, and says he never can make himself
begin work until the last possible moment
for doing so has arrived.
Talk with Ellen ThOrneycrOft Fowler
Most persons can turn phrases In the
present day-on paper or in conversation.
always think the real art Of dinner party
conversation is to let the other person talk
shop It's the best way of learning. 1t
makes them think you so intelligent, too.
Still, I don't like to be talked to all the
time. 1t should be case Of mutual give
and take You give your sympathy and
take a great deal of instruction il your
partner knows his work, and can explain
IT. I'd far sooner people talked to me about
what they were interested in than what /
was. Then you get at the real person-and
interesting
novelist. ~
"The truth is, I love people! They're a
positive passion with me. The one fault I
have to find with them in the present day
is that they're too prone to be subjective
instead of objective. Take Marie Bash
kirtseff and her kind, for instance. A wom-
an ought only to be interested in herself
as .specimen-not as an individual. You
vivisect a frog in order to see what other
frogs are like-nOt to find out the idiosyn-
crasies of that special one So with peo-
pie The frog closest at hand is yourself
that's your excuse for being interested in
your sensations.
More than anything In the world almost
like TO be commonplace and everyday. I
bow down before the normal Even treats
If they're really exceptional-don't please
me. 1 feel about them as a little child
friend of ours felt about some specially
smart function which we took her to. 1T
simply thrilled her at the time; she was
hugely excited. But when she came back
to bed she gave great sigh and said: How
wish this day had been like other days,
after ALL
II knew just what she meant The I'M
OrdfnarineSS was too much for her.
Ito go back to dinner-party conversation
again. rather an odd thing happened to me
once A strange mana stranger man. per-
haps meani-who paid me little or no at
tention, happened to take me in. We spoke
of things military a propos of the war, and
presently he turned to me and said. is
your husband a soldier, by chance?
answered. No. I'm not married. The en-
tree had barely departed into the realms of
the unknown when, with an ingraitiating
smile-our conversation having now merged
into the range of things poltical-he said,
L suppose your husband is a politician p
NO repeated, somewhat louder, I've no
husband. I'm not married. Towards the
end of the dinner hour there occurred that
momentary pause when a hostess is en-
gagged in collecting the eyes of her guests
III took advantage of 1t. With glow of
real interest he turned. Does your hus-
band happen to be here tonight? 1t was
too much for me. The signal of departure
was given. I rose. Il really don't know
said. He may be. One never can tell
what may come of these little parties'"