The Topeka state journal. [volume] (Topeka, Kansas) 1892-1980, 1906-05-28
THE EVENING STORY
Her Masterpiece.

Coming through the hall, Fred Dick
son stopped to examine the long en-
velope lying on the hall rack. In one
corner was printed BARRIERS Publish
ing company" He smiled in brotherly
derision.
ooh. Margel" he called. II guess this
is your manuscript Back from Bar
ber's,'' he added, maliciously.
Marge went to the door of her room
and called down, irritably:
well, you needn't publish it,
mo; it would be better if they did,
flung back her brother
IT'S funny" he unused. but the
/ things you don't want published are
always getting into print, and the
| things you want to see in print END up
IN the masterpiece trunk" This, IN
reference to an old box in which his
sister was wont to deposit her enuslohs
after they had gone the rounds.
Marge came down stairs. digging ner
heels viciously into the carpet at eacn
step
Where is ft?,' she asked.
With an obvious desire to be as an
noying as possible, her brother replied,
| Where's what?s'
Marge treated him to an eloquent
| silence. Suddenly she spied the en-
| ve1ope and bounced upon it; then she
| flung into the sitting room and Topped
angrily down on the rug before the
fire.
| ing and tossing aside the pages. The
| loud ticking of the clock on the man
telpiece sounded with increasing
monotony through the long, conscien-
| tiOus perusaI. Finally she sighed.
TT wasn't any good,'' she condded
/ to herself. ut was too long and too
prosy, and the idea was old. Still,
| she added in Standardization, Eve
seen just as bad stun as that pub
Her mother entered the room.
Marge looked up at her with grieved
eyes.
ton of the pile of paper at her side
land they'll keep coming back as long
as I stay here. I'm tired of the city
If could get away into the country
where 1 could be absolutely alone. day
in and day out. I could collect my
thoughts"
Her brother chuckled irrevrentIy.
II could collect my thoughts she
repeated. MY brain is just seething
with ideas, but the moment I begin to
write somebody interrupts. and when
I get back to my work the inspiration
| is gone. And" she added somewhat
| bitterly, here I'm elbow to elbow with
the everlasting economies we're forced
to practice; it's always material things
that receive the first consideration
it's the coal, or the gas, or some thins
all the time If could get out into
/ the country for a couple of months for
month even, where nobody knew
me- where there was nothing to re-
mind me of the interest and the water
taxes. where I could feel for once IL
my life that writing was a recreation.
and not a grind I could write a story
that would be worth while-I know :
could "
Mrs. Dickson stood silent during hes
/ daughters TRADE. The look of syInpa-
! thettc understanding in her eyes gave
place to humorous twinkle. "Marge
is very young she reflected, land shs
I certainly was never meant to be a
writer"
Marge had been stenographer to a
successful author, but had lately re-
signed her position, electing to support
herself and keep the family in luxury
by writing. Mr. Bergen wrote little
stories without beginning or end for
which he received fabulous checks It
was easy. She could do it. too. She
had written" but her stories had all
come back And now she demanded to
go away.
Mrs. Dickson sighed. You were such
| a good stenogra pher," she said. but
| stopped abruptly at sight of her daugh-
ter's face. She took refuge under cover
of the previous question:
7 don't see how we can manage it.
dear she said, gently. There are so
many bills to be met and soon the in
surance money falls due; we might let
that stand for month or so,' she said,
4
I'VE can't do that he said. with as
perity. Marge can write here as well
as in the country. She rattles on about
| the artistic temperament and its re-
! quirements' and the proper environ
ment' and all that nonsense. I've heard
her at it time and again. Now, I don't
/ know anything about the artistic tenn
/ permanent and don't want to: but up to
date I've furnished the requirements
and the environment and that Is
where the artistic temperament has
! got to sit up and take notice. AS far
as can see the artistic temperament
| is a constitutional inability to turn
/ brains into money. If Marge had had
any sense she would have stuck to her
| typewriting and stenography; she was
a good stenographer."
The girls eyes filed with tears
And" her brother went on, ct ism t
too late yet. You can write your
masterpieces on the side" he added,
! humorously. Tell you what Marge, .
4 he continued, more gently, why don t
you go to work for a couple of months
and save enough to take this trip2''
Mrs. Dickson frightened at the sug-
gestion.
but I've lost my speed" SAT.
Marge, disconsolately.
There was moments dead silence,
then her brother strobe out of the
room and slammed the door
Don't mind him. dear" said her
mother. Men are all like that
Shortly after lunch, next day, the
bell rang and Mrs. Dickson opened the
door. A small boy confronted her.
sThey's a telephone fer Miss Dick
son at the drug store. She's to call
her brother up" he said, and was
gone.
..Marge. oh Marge:'' called Mrs.
Dickson.
yes, mother?''
you're to call Fred up at once.
The boy just came with the message -
/ Marge came down stairs and took
her hat from the rack.
81 wonder what he wants." she said
and left the house.
Fifteen minutes later she returned.
GREATNESS. Fred met Mr.. Roberta al