The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1917-05-10
KILLING THE LOVE Stuff
BY OLIVE ROBERTS BARTON.
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All the week sylvia naQ buried ner
nose in the papers on her desk, all the
week she had read and sorted and
blue-penciled and dictated amidst the
roaring of 90 typewriters and the
shrilling of the telephones. A fiction
editor under such circumstances is
likely to get stalled on romance.
Love, love, love, it's always love-"
she declared with disgust. 81 get so
sick Of this everlasting stuff 1 think
I'll scream if someone isn't murdered
soon or the hero doesn't die before his
time. But have to throw them out If
they're not dripping with love for
that's what the public demands.
No one heard these sentiments for
the roaring and shrilling went on I'M
ceasingly, drowning almost every other
sound. Even Brilles, the hard-hearted
managing editor on the other side of
the big room was adding to the pande-
monium by forcibly calling down a cub
for missing big thing he was sent to
cover the night before.
81 think" she unused, as she put on
her hat and Jacket and hooked up her
furs, "that 1 can't accept any more
stories from Treador Vane. The slush
is getting so thick l can't wade
through. Sometime I'll put it up to
Brilles. He's about as romantic and
unbendable as plate-glasS window,
but not" she glanced over at him quiz
zically, $50 transparent. A regular
sphinx, should say"
She reached the street, q narrow
canyon between the high cliffs of build
ings. She was greatly surprised
that the cold, drlzzling rain chat was
falling at noon had stopped and that
the thermometer had not only fallen
% degrees, but that wind, biting and
strong, was tearing down the street
and freezing everything as it went.
Pedestrians were cropping their way
along, keeping close to the wall for
safety, but it was hazardous business.
Sylvia watched moment from the
haven of the vestibule. She had three
squares to go for her car. Then she
had happy thought. Up in the locker
room she had pair of skates.
When she went through the big
room Brilles was still at his desk
Brilles, the fiintlike, the heartless, the
much-to-be-feared.
Sylvia stopped beside him. He
turned in his swivel chair and regard
ed her silently, running his eyes over
her slim, girlish figure in It's brown
jersey suit, soft furs and little hat
under which her face glowed like
rose.
"What Is it?" he asked quite gently.
81 want to ask you If you don't think
we're running too much sentiment In
the story column. I've been keeping
everything with love in 1t, and return
ing hundreds of ripping good stories
just because the hero forgot to kiss his
| girl or the parson refused to marry the
old maid. 1 thought I'd ask your opin-
ion. How would it do to run in an
occasional good one on another themef
All this love stuff is just dream"
SIS it?"
"Yes-you know it as well as I do.
But the public is queer. They're
crazy about one Treador Vane. 1 per-
sonally wouldn't give his truck room
In the ash BARREL"
Brilles tapped his desk a minute
| thoughtfully. Look here, Miss Hun
| ter, you're here to run that column,
so do as you please about 1t. I've read
that Vane stuff myself and I'm sure
xr,ith Vntrirn riubf nhnr1f
| the love business, too. Even the girls
nowadays don't know what 1t means.
| Business or something has taken all
the romance out Of them. You're a
| good example yourself"
Sylvia started and remembered her
own summing up Of the managing edi-
tor. Certainly the verdict was mutual.
| "It's bad night and I'm getting my
skates" she said as she left. "Pm go
ing to skate to the car on the pave
ment."
But as she glided over the slippery
street she decided not to take the car.
Crossing q street, Sylvia collided
with man. They went down togeth-
er in heap.
'Nliss Hunter!" cried he springing
up.
'Mr. Brilles," exclaimed Sylvia.
"Are you hurt?" Is.
"Not bit"
But when Sylvia got to her feet
with his help she turned pale. II be-
lieve I've twisted my foot" she said.
"Oh, that's too bad! Can you bear
your weight on it at all?"
eyes, If 1 don't move It,"
"Then I'll tow you home. How far
is it?"
| "About four squares"
When they reached her door she In
sisted that he come In. "You haven't
had dinner, have your she asked.
"No," he admitted.
"Then you must share ours" she in
| sisted.
| SO Brilles, the fllnted-hearted,
stayed and spent the evening. The
next morning the pretty editor laid Il
| page from note book on his desk in
| the office. 81 found this on the floor !"
she smiled teasingly.
Mr.. Brilles took 1t and turned a
guilty red. 1t was page of notes
with Treador Vane's name at the top.
"rm guilty of those awful stories I
he confessed.
"Its hard to connect you with sent-
ment," she smiled, "but I've decided to