New-York tribune., 1916-06-18
"WHo Your Cried the Dime Price Cents Novel, Vho Am ~ Repeated
the Hardy Young Il Am the Bodand Thnd o0 Vheyeat
the Other Turned Deadly Pale by Combayon the Game Vas Uh

citation weighed upon my mind like the men,
ory of an evil deed.
"Some day." | used to say to myself, Il
shall clear up this mystery. | shall go to the
great city of New York and track this pub
Usher to his lair. At the point of my trusty
Winchester, if necessary, I shall! make him dis
gorge the secret-shall make him tell me how
his name is pronounced
Years rolled by, but the mystery remained
unsoved. The name of Frank Tousey lay
at the back of my mind in its fascinating un-
certainty. Other names found place beside
it-Hedda Gabler, Eva Tanguay, Bertha Ka-
lich-but none could jump the claim of Tousey.
Then, at last, got a clew. Rapidly | un-
ravelled the mystery.
went to the publishing house of Frank
Tousey in Twenty-third street and fired my
question pointblank Harry f. Wolff, presi-
dent of Frank Tousey, Publisher answered
me- Tousey is pronounced so that the first
syllable rhymes with 'now."
Discovered at last.
"We arc practically the only publishers left
in the fve-cent novel fed,' said Mr.. Wolff.
"Street & Smith still publish one, but we pub
lish all the rest
Mr.. Wolff invited me into his private of
flee and sent for his editor-in-chief.
"He can tell you all you want to know about
nickel novel heroes" said Mr.. Wolff when the
editor joined us.
What has become of old Frank Reade"
| asked
81. myself, wrote the Frank Reade stories"
replied the editor.
What. You're not the creator of Frank
Reade, Frank Reade, Jr., Barney and Pomp"
"The same!"
sank back aghast. Here was the very man
who had written dozens of stories that had
read as boy under most thrilling circum-
stances / had read them in school; | had
read them in bed in the dead Of night by can
die flame that trembled at every strange stir
ring of the air in my draughty room.
"Your namel" I cried. Tell me your namel
! shall bestow on you fame worth more than
the wealth Of the we'll known Incas."
He sadly shook his head.
Enough" said he, that | have been able
to bring up family and buy home, and that
now drive my own car on the proceeds of
those stories. Do not desecrate my privacy by
blazoning my name in the Hall Of Fame and
The Tribune. | care naught for glory and
its mad acclaims. Let me 90 down in litera
ture unsung by any apelation save the nom
de guerre under which I wrote those stories
NONAMEw
80 be it, Noname!" said l sheathing my
pencil.
But what chance has Noname now, even
with his most marvellous invention?
The story of Steam Man drawing a bullet
proof carriage across the plains amid raging
redskins is milk-and-water compared to SEE
ING a limousine crowded with villains dash
over 500 foot embankment into pounding
storm-rent seas.
And, besides, in my day when boys read
nickel novels they had to do it in secret. II
they were caught, they caught it. Many
thrilling story of adventure begun in secret
pleasure ended in public knouting, with Pa
playing the Grand Duke and his wayward
boy enacting the Russian peasantry.
But nowadays does the boy have to get his
blood and thunder in secret!
Not on your life
Pa likes blood and thunder, too So does
Ma SO do the other members of the family
They all like blood and thunder; they all admit
that they like blood and thunder; and they all
20 together to get blood and thunder at the
Mo,-es