The Pensacola journal. (Pensacola, Fla.) 1898-1985, 1913-09-29
ON THE SPUR OF
THE MOMENT.
BY Re, x. Meut+on.
From the Tall Grass.

OBSERVATION-DISCLOSURES
From the Tall Grass.
Gosh. durn IT. Bill. it's these here
trusts
That's bleedfn' us to death.
The way them 1eliers carry on
Would take away your breath.
You have to take an airship now
When you go out to buy;
There amt a thing that You kin
touch,
It's soaring up so high.
They get together in the fall
And also In the spring.
And boost the price UP out of sight
And don't spare anything.
They are grabhin' everything aroun',
And pay the price we must,
If there's one thing I always hate
It is gol ding trust.
What's that ye say-half past eight?
BY heck, that meetin's on.
What sort Of meetin' did you say?
Just pass that demijohn.
You don't mean to tell me, Bill,
You haven't heard the plan
To git together here this fall
And git all that we can.
Pertaters. they are mighty cheap
And butter amt too high,
The milk will stand more water, too,
And stiH they'll have to buy.
These city folks can't pillow and hoe,
And milk and rake up hay,
They'll always have to come to US,
Well tell 'em what to pay.
THE Diary of a Bonehead
I set out to be a short story writer.
I could see mint of money in it and
G.. Henry and Guy de Maupassant
were not going to have thing on me-
wrote my first story and mailed 1t
to a well-known magazine. which had
the habit of printing the names OF
contributors on its cover. That was
eighteen years ago.
The editor of this magazine sent
back the manuscript. saying that he
the best short story he had ever read.
It was in fact masterpiece, but he
was afraid all of his other contribu-
tors would get jealous and quit him
il he published it.
For nine years the story kept COM
ing back and all of the rejection slips
read about the same with slight vaTia-
lions. In short was the marvel of
the literary world. but they couldn't
use my stuff. One editor said he was
afraid it would go over the heads of
his readers. I didn't know how many
trips to New York that story made,
but I had enough rejection slips to
paper three bedrooms and a living
room when finally eight years ago, the
story was accepted. It was accepted
by the magazine I had sent it to first
many years before. have learned
since that the former editor had died.
This magazine received the story and
read it eighteen different times before
accepting 1t.
Tt was accepted eight years ago, but
it has not yet been published. I have
just received a check for SIS. The
postage I spent on that story during
it's ten years OF travel amounted to
1926 "a.
There may be money in literature
There must be for nobody seems to
get any out of 1t.
In the meantime I have held down
a lucrative position in a stave mill
and have earned enough to pay the
postage on my store. Now that
have received a check, for the first
story. I am going to write another
on the chance that I viii sell it and
get check before I reach the scar
and yellow leaf.
I also hope that some of my chill
dren win live long enough to see my
first story published.
Don't Blame the Animals.
There never was a bunny in exist
ence who was immodest enough to
dance the bunny-hug right out in the
public.
The grizzly bear may be a fierce
beast. but there is nothing to show
that he ever went through the move
ments of the grizzly bear as noted
at some Of our effete and popular
summer resorts.
The turkey is a dignified bird and
when he moves about it is with
stately tread. He does not tie himself
up in a bow knot and dance around
with one foot behind his left ear and
throw his partner half way across the
barnyard. He wouldn't recognize a
turkey trot if he saw one.
Somebody as usual has been nature
taking.
r NJ Merritt With