The Montgomery advertiser., 1906-05-18
THE EDITOR SPEAKS PLAINLY
pY WALTER MALONE.

Copyright 1S06, by Joseph B. boWies.J Mir. Jack Jefferson. editor of The , displaying his wonted good humor this morning. Subscribers were few and advertisers were shy. Was the great
 Southern magazine to make another link In the long chain of failures? As to contributions. however. there could be no complaint on the score of quantity. Every mail brought q
 Hood. and every mail carried a flood | away.
 Manuscript after manuscript was 1 slowed away like a corpse, and re- turned with the printed note of rejee- ] tion as a wreath of regret. | As he quickly glanced over the last | one the editor remembered having re- | turned several of the same authors at- | tempts before. It was signed Mora | Baird in a girlish. informal hand. It was a hopeless offort--one of the sev- enteen spring poems, through whose lines the lambs went skipping and the bees went buzzing in the same old way.
 He was about to return 1t with the
 usual printed slip when the office boy announced Miss Nora Baird herself The editor dropped the printed slip in astonishment at the coincidence
 Seeing a mere slip of a girl, eontus- ed, blushing. there was no difnculty in l fixing her in his mind as the author of the various crude stories and poems he had hitherto read over. her signature. | T suppose you came to see about your poem" he said. Here 1t is I regret very much that we cannot use l 1t, but the fact is that we already have on hand much moro poetry than we need"
 | The poor girl, ashamed, blushed vio- l lently and stamneIing: Thank you, sir" awkwardly made her way out of | the room.
 But that was not the end of it. Two days later another manuscript came It was a story this time. and bulky one at that. With 1t came this note: Dear MT. Jefferson: When I saw you last Monday I had come prepared to tell you a great many things, but when you told me so quickly that you
 could not take my poem, was just so confused I couldn't say a word. Oh, MT. Jeff erson! you don't know how ha l I worked on that puem But, of course, you know best, and you did exactly right about 1t. My father, you know, died some years ago, and l live alone with my mother. My friends all tell me I write well. and mamma thinks l ought to be able to make d living by nay poetry. Oh! I do love poetry don't you? But sometimes get so dis couraged I feel just like giving up ev- eFythtng It's terrible thing to be discouraged that way, isn't 1t? Rut as you do not seem to like my poetry, now send you a story which I hope oh, do hope SO much!-you can use I know it was very foolish of me. but jus. cried the other night after I brought home the poem you handed back If you can take the story I send you, I hone you won't send 1t back with any of those printed slips, but will return it with a note telling me where you think it might be im- proved Awaiting your early answer. I am, Yours cordially, Nora Baird"
 For once MT. Jefferson was perrlex- ed Here was a young girl whom he pitied, and yet whom he could not con scicntlously encourage.
 Nevertheless he wrote her little note asking her to call the next day.
 Tho next afternoon Nora came to see him. II was plain that she was very much agltated poor child, and trenbled as she coniectured the mean ing of the interview
 You received my note7" he asked
 "Yes." she stammered.
 Well, I have drought very carefully over the letter you sent ne. It Is not my duty. and in fact, is against our rules, to communicate with contribu- tors In regard to rejected manuscripts. but feeling kindly disposed to you. have taken the liberty of speaking