The Caucasian. (Shreveport, La.) 1900-192?, 1910-11-27


Jected manuscript. pointing out in de-
tails his reasons for considering it I'M
available. Editor WeStbrOOk had his
own clear conception of what consti-
tuted good fiction: so had Dave. Mrs.
Dave was mainly concerned about the
constituents of the scanty dishes of
food that she managed to scrape TO-
gether. One day Dave had been
spouting to her about the excellencies
of certain French writer's. At dinner
they sat down to a dish that hungry
schoolboy could have encompassed at
gulp. Dave commented.
Its Maupassant hash,'' said Mrs
Dave. at may not be AIT, but / do
wish you would do a five course Mar
ion Crawford serial with an Ella
Wheeler Wilcox sopnet for dessert
I'm hungry"
AS far as this from success was
Shackleford Dave when he plucked
Editor Westbrook's sleeve in Madison
square. That was the first time the
editor had seen Dave in severa!
! months
"Why, Shack, is this you?' said
Westbrook, somewhat awkwardly. fog
the form of his phrase seemed to touch
upon the others changed appearance
''Sit down for a minute" said Dave,
Juggling at his sleeve This is my
Office. | can't come to yours looking
as do. Oh. sit down. You won't be
6jGUraanH biol irIC
on the other benches will take you fop
a swell porch climber. They won't
know you are only an editor"
Smoke. Shack?" said EditoR West
brook, sinking cautiously upon the viz
ulent green bench. He always yieldA
gracefully when ne did yield.
Dave snapped at the cigar as king
fisher darts at q sun perch OF a gir1
pecks at a chocolate cream.
How goes the writing|' askeG &he
editor.
Look at me-" said Dave. for your
! answer. Now. don't put on that en-
barrassed, friendly. but honest look
| and ask me why | don't get job as
a wine agent or cab driver. I'm in
the fight to finish. | know 7 can
write good fiction. and I'll force you
fellows to admit it yet. I'll make you
change the spelling of regrets to
check before I'm done with you"
Editor Westbrook gazed through his
nose glasses with a sweetly sorrowftE.
omniscient. sympathetic, skeptical ex-
pression-the copyrighted expressions
of the editor beleaguered by the I'M
available contributor.
Have you read the last story D sent
| you. The Alarum of the Soul?" asked
Dave.
Carefully. hesitated over chat
story. Shack: really ] did. II had
some good points. l was writing you
letter to send with it when it goes
back to you. l regret
"Never mind the regrets" said
Dave grimly. There's neither salve
nor sting in 'em any more. What 2
want to know is why. Come, now;
out with the good points first"
1.-THE story" said Westbrook DELHI
erately after suppressed sigh. lis
written around an almost original plot
characterization the best you have
done; construction. almost as good.
except for a few weak joints which
might be strengthened by a few
changes and touches. 1t is. good
! story. except
81 can write English. can't II" inter
rupted Dave.
II have always told you" said the
editor, that you had a style"
"Then the trouble is the
Same old thing" said Editor West
brook. you work up to your climax
like an artist. and then you turn your
self into photographer. I don't know
what form of obstinate madness pos
sesses you, Shack, but that is what you
do with everything that you write.
No; | will retract the comparison with
the photographer Now and then pho
Biography, in spite of its impossible
perspective. manages to record a feet
ing glimpse of truth. But you spoil
every denouement by those fat, drab,
obliterating strokes of your brush that
have so often complained of. If you
| WOulu l1SS " luG IAISIu1I VI
your dramatic scenes and paint them
in the high colors that art requires the
postman would leave fewer bulky, self
addressed envelopes at your door,"
"Oh. fiddles and footlightsr' cried
Dave derisively. You've got that old
sawmill drama kink in your brain yet.
When the man with the black mus
tache kidnaps golden haired Bessie you
are bound to have the mother kneel
and raise her hands in the spot light
and say, May high heaven witness
that ! will rest neither night nor day
till the heartless villain that has sto-
len me child feels the weight Of
mothers vengeance!"
Editor Westbrook conceded a smile
of impervious complacency.
81 think" said he. "that in real life
the woman would express herself in
those words or in very similar ones.'
mot in six hundred nights run
anywhere but on the STAGE" said Dave
hotly. I'll tell you what she'd say in
real life. She'd say: What! Bessie