The Topeka state journal. [volume] (Topeka, Kansas) 1892-1980, 1904-05-28

more than your usual style. So much
III freely admit. But where is the
the tales the thing? Haven't drum
med it into you ever since we started
together; and with the best results for
both of US? l can sell your stuff like
hot cakes in the ordinary course; and
1 can ind a market for the last-n you
insist.
But! Firstly. the public hate anal
ySiS. They haven't the leisure for 1t,
or the patience-or the understanding.
Secondly, they can only appreciate
thought so long as it keeps on the copy
book platitude level. Hang it. man.
remember how books sell!
Lastly, as regards style the public
honestly don't care one way or t'other.
Forgive my brutality, and let me know
what I'm to do. Yours, perplexed -
The eminent novelist pacihed the
agent by Withdrawing the obnoxious
piece and sending him two short
stories, in his (the o. PSI later man
ner. Then the eminent novelist wait
ed for the return of the violet girl with
outward calm.
InwardIy he was disturbed little.
He felt some sense of triumph that ner
impudent notion of foOling the public
should have failed so dismally at the
very Outseti
Moreover, on reflection. he decided
that the agent had sought to soften his
rejection of the manuscript, and so had
ingeniOuSly implied it to be too good >"
This seemed a reasonable view of the
mans letter. On the whole, the violet
girl hadn't actually secured a point.
Having thus entirely disposed of her,
the eminent novelist glanced a second
time at her story. He smiled as he
noted the construction, the anti climax,
the "yoUngness' of the thing. He
shrugged indulgently toward the
quaint rounding of her sentences, so
intelligently reproducing his own style.
One or two phrases stirred MIN; indeed,
he allowed reluctantly that there was
merit in the piece.
1t was really clever how she caught
Ideals are the unattainable," she
wrote, yet every decent man VIII
strive after them!"
thine smooths away the epochs in
our lives; so that presently only Wrin-
kles are left to mark their scars.
MY next book will be all margin.
But 1 don't suppose the public will ap-
preciate the delicate irony of it.
Satrical, Ell? Another phase of youth.
He returned to his work, his new dar-
ing novel-"H Heart of a Girl
She came, with her faint fragrance
of viOlets and memories. The eminent
novelist took up an attitude of toler-
ance toward her, and strOve to lessen
the blow. She put that aside-''Well-
about the story? Did you sign it?'
And send it OFF,
yes. I was weak enough to dare so
much" He laughed a little as he
turned up the agents letter I sent II
away without woodland the secret
still remains between the two of US
I was piqued into being unfairly fair!
Now, please read my agents reply
returning the story the very next
night" He handed her the letter.
She read it, standing, her own express
sion unreadable She sat down suddenly
in the chair he silently offered, and read
she bent her pretty head, that her hair
was of a very charming color-red gold
and shining. He fancied, as she did not
look up, that perhaps she was-crying.
He made the effort then to break an
awkward silence; but she interrupted him
on his first words, in strange stlf1ed
did you say a hundred. guineas," she
asked, ''or was it pounds?"
Il don't think I quite
You said that if I could really prove
your work to be falling away you would
sOh, yes;a hundred guineas to any char
ity you cared to name, - The remarked stiff
~ I had not forgotten. The oHer IS
She raised her eyes-they cleaned ma
Iiciously at him, as her checks began to
to sEet out voIIr checlxbook," She remark
ed. calmly returning him the agents note.
What do you mean@'
THE story is your own 1t appeared
in Young People in August, 1889. cut 1t
out then and a week ago had it typewrit-
ten. brought it with me the other morn
ing for two reasons
zone of which I know" murmured the
eminent novelist, commanding himself
had helped him to parry an otherwise
deadly thrust. He reached for his check
| book opened it and took up his pen.
Pay 100 guineas," he wrote rapidly,
sMuriel Courtenay,' the violet girl an
| sWered demurely.
He filled up the check. signed it. tore it
out of the book without betraying his agi-
| tation. He rose and crossed to her with
the paper futtering feebIy in his hand.
| And how is the cider orchard now, Mu-
rieI?'' he questioned in a would be dry
voice do you play there still?'
Not for many years, she told him, in
her valiane manner. As her frank eyes
| held his repentant glance she made full
/ sion-.fbut-I do not forget, she
/ added in a gentle, almost motherly tone.
/ London Bystander.