The Bossier banner. [volume] (Bellevue, Bossier Parish, La.) 1859-1952, 1912-05-23
!, of them: the rest were return

.iVlttt ildIiuS' iili. po'i'AAS, o"t III uS-
tails lis reasons for considering it un-
available Editor Westbrook had his
own clear conception of what cOnsti-
,uted 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 excelencies
of certain French writer's AT dinner
they sat down to Il dish that Il hungry
schooIboy could have encompassed at
gulp. Dave commented.
IFS Maupassant hash," said Mrs.
Dave. '1t may not be art, but I do
wish you would do a five course Mar
ion Crawford serial with an Ella
Wheeler Wilcox sonnet 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 several
months.
"Why. Shack. is this your said
Westbrook, somewhat awkwardly. for
the form of his phrase seemed to touch
upon the others changed appearance.
''Sit down for minute said DAVE
tugging at his sleeve. This is my
office. l can't come to yours looking
as do. Oh, sit down! You won't be
disgraced Those half plucked birds
on the other benches will take you for
swell porch climber They won't
know you are only an editor"
"Smoke. Shack?' said Editor West
brook, sinking cautiously upon the vir-
ulent green bench. He always yielded
gracefully when he did yield.
Dave snapped at the cigaras king
fisher darts at sun perch or girl
pecks at a chocolate cream.
"How goes the writing?' asked the
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 l don't get job as
a wine agent or cab driver. I'm In
the fight to a finish. l know l car
write good fiction, and I'll force yot
fellows to admit it yet. I'll make yor
change the spelling of regrets t.
'c-h-e-c-k' before I'm done with you"
Editor Westbrook gazed through hi!
nose glasses with a sweetly sorrowful
omniscient sympathetic. skeptical ex
pression-the copyrighted expression
of the editor beleaguered by the un
available contributor.
Have you read the last story l sen
you. The Alarum of the Souly" aske'
Dave.
Carefully. l hesitated over tha
story. Shack; really l did. 1t ha
some good points. l was writing yo
a letter to send with it when it goe
back to you. regret
Never mind the regrets" sal
Dave grimly. There's neither salv
= nor sting in 'em any more. What
want to know is why. Come. now
e out with the good points first.'
" "The story" said Westbrook delil
$ erately after suppressed sigh. y
e written around an almost original pie
= characterization the best you hav
II done; construction. almost as gOo'
k except for few weak joints whic
Y might be strengthened by fe
e changes and touches. 1t is goC
story. except
Sc Il can write English. can't II" inte
J. rupted Dave.
st Il have always told you," said IL
IL editor. that you had STYLE
ss1'hpn tho trOuhla is the"-
H. Same old thing" said Editor Yves
a1 brook. you work up to your clim;
H. like an artist and then you turn you
h. self into photographer. l don't kno
IN what form of obstinate madness pc
es sesses you, Shack, but that is what "
rs do with everything that you writ
ne No; will retract the comparison wi
ed the photographer. Now and then ph
H. tography. in spite of its impossil
e. perspective. manages to record Il fie'
b. ing glimpse of truth But you sp
at every denouement by those fiat, dr.;
re obliterating strokes of your brush til
es | have SO often complained of. If Y
ne would rise to the literary pinnacle
he your dramatic scenes and paint the
N in the high colors that art requires
in postman would leave fewer bulky, s.
ne addressed envelopes at your door,
I'd 'Oh. fddles and footlights"' cri
n, Dave derisively. You've got that I
i'm sawmiIl drama kink in your brain y
br When the man with the black IN
in tache kidnaps golden haired Bessie y
m are bound to have the mother KIN
hnn Is in hn Ii<
or. and say. May high heaven witn
10. that | will rest neither night nor
he. till the heartless villain that has 5
e,, len me child feels the weight of
rt. mothers vengeancev
,n. Editor Westbrook conceded a sn
hlp of impervious complacency.
vc Il think. said he. that in real
ost the woman would express herself
in those words or in very similar ones.
tho Not in six hundred nights
anywhere but on the stage" said D.;
;alf hotly. "I'll tell you what she'd say
or- real life. She'd say: What. Be:
led away by a strange man: G
of Lord. It's enc trouble after anotl
~ Get my other hat. must hurry aro1
,rh to the police station. Why wa
,,ue somebody looking after her. Id like
de- know? For Gods sake. get out
est. my way or I'll never get ready.
ont that hat-the brown one with the
Irs vet bows BESSIE must have /
,n,n crazy She's usually shy of strang
!, = Is that too much powder! Lo
IA how I'm upset!'
.an- That's the way she'd talk
'rcy tlnued i)aWe. feopie III rea'
r :, don't fly into heroics and blank Y