Forest City press. (Forest City, Potter County, D.T. [S.D.]) 1883-19??, 1913-08-15
A LESSON In LETTERS.
(By Henry wilton Thomas.)

critical praise to Rolly Myles, but the
river Of gold flowed ever far from his
threshold. One reviewer mated his
books with the paintings7of Andrea del
Sarto. the faultless,'' as he was known
of old. and his friends knew 1t a q
happy parallel. In truth. the besetting
fault of Rolly's pen was faultlessness.
His books We're what the publishers
called "horses'-that being the term
applied to books that do not attain
popularity; hence. do not sell. Rolly
could charm the intellect of a publish
er's reader. but he missed touching the
common heart Of humanity. That is
unlucky for a writer whose pen Is his
only fortune.
More han once Rolly, for lack Of
other fuel, had been obliged to make a
fire of the critics splendid notices
about his hooks. He had a large trunk
in which he stored such clippings.
When desperately hard up. and when
h room was chill. he went to the
clipping trunk After each new book
the bin of printed glory filled up again.
Sometimes 1t. was over the flame Of
the clippings that he fried his morning
eggs and bacon. He was thus engaged.
1t may as we'll be owned, the morning
that Cora Woodbruce tapped at his
door. This happened in an old man
sion on South Washington square that
had seen better days.
Cora had come to h city from her
native village of Oakville Center to
embark on the sea of literature" At
least that is how the local paper
phrased 1t in the ext issue after her
departure. She had heard that many
a shining star of letters had first be-
gun to glimmer in the shabby firma-
ment of Washington square, so there
she went straightaway to make her
abode. Again. the rent was small, and
Cora, whatever else she needed for sue
cess In art, did not lack poverty. 1t
seems inexplicable now, in the light Of
the good sense which she possessed in
other matters, that she should have
made such a difficult venture. Blu one
or two stories written in the country
and breathing Its spirit had found ia
vor with a city publication, and she
guessed that fate had called her to q
literary career.
On a letter box in the lower hall she
had seen he name of Rolando Franklin
Myies. Her breath fell short, and she
stood with .throbbing heart. Surely it
was destiny's work Here she was I'M
der the same roof with a great author!
She could see again the shelf in the
village library that held the row of
books bearing his name. Not many
people ever took n down. 1t was q
proof Of cultured taste in Oakville Cen
ter to read 'Rolando Franklin Myles."
There was no answer to her timid
summons at his door. Then she tool
heart and raped louder.
Come in!" Rolly called, and she
opened the door, expecting to see g.
venerable graybeard in hts smoking
cap. What h saw was a tall man, on
the sunny side OF 35. with q bush Of
black hair and a frying PAN. The room
was not furnished at all In the style Of
the studios" Of famous authors with
which Sunday art supplements had
made her familiar. So she stammered
an apology to the effect that she was
in search OF Mr.. Myles.
will you. come in?' said Rolly. 81
am Myles.''
"Rolando Franklin Myles?"
Yes, II you like. That's my nom de
guerre."
Oh she said. II know your books.
II think they are lovely
h was nothing in this bit Of
praise that could be used under the
frying PAN: still -Rolly liked 1t better
than any clipping he had eve received.
The homage Of a young girl. whose
color spoke Of country air and whose
him . thrill Of pure joy. She thought
them lovely! Not even q column of
unstinted approval from Augustus
Clang, the famous blind critic, was
worth those golden words. Rolly made
himself very agreeable to that country
girr with literary aspirations. but he
did not let the eggs burn.
Still. when Cora made her adieu, It
was with q ems Of disappointment,
OF 9 fond dream cruelty shaken. This
p~lain-spoken. nuromantic fellow, his
broken slippers, the seedy look OF the
room. the poverty that grinned from
every niche and cranny-this was not