Ottumwa semi-weekly courier. [volume] (Ottumwa, Iowa) 1916-1918, 1917-02-13
Euening Story
KILLING THE LOVE STUFF.
BY OLIVE ROBERTS BARTON.
Copyright, 1917, by the Mcclure News
paper Syndicate.)


All the week Sylvia had buried her
nose in the papers on her desk, all the
week she had read and sorted and blue
penciled and dictated amidst the roar
ing of fifty typewriters and the shril-
ling 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. Il get So
sick of this everlasting. stuff! l think
I'll scream if someone isn't murdered
soon or the hero doesn't Gle before his
time. But l have to throw them out If
they're not dripping with love for
that's what the public demands.
Ridiculous to have the fiction column
on the third page of our paper roseate
with romance when the first page,
where real life stands out, is nothing
but transactions in cold blood
No one heard these sentiments for
the roaring and shrnling 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 pandemonium by forcibly calling
down cub for missing big thing
he was sent to cover the night before.
"Brute!" said Sylvia. It's shame
to treat poor little Sweeny that way.
That's life!" Then, running her eye
down a story, That's not life! It's rot.
Il think" she unused as she put on
her hat and jacket and hooked up her
furs, that can't accept any more
stories from Treader Vane The slush
is getting so thick can't wade
through. Some time III put 1t up to
Brilles. He's about as romantic and
unbendable as plate glass window.
but not" she glanced over at him
quizzically, 80 Transparent. A regular
sphynx, should say
She reached the. street narrow
canyon between the high cliffs of build
ings. The weather was q thing that
had nothing in common with mael.
strom OF newspaperdom on the
fifteenth floor, and she was intensely
surprised that the cold. jrizzling rain
that was falling at noon had stopped
and that the thermomete: had not only
fallen rs degrees but that wind, bit
ing and strong, was tearing down the
street and freezing everything as 1t
went. The buildings were covered
with thin glaze of ice the cabs and
street cars, trucks and sedans glisten-
ed, and the pavement was thing to
be treated with respect. Pedestrians
were cropping their way along, keeping
close to the walls for safety, but it
was hazardous business.
Sylvia watched a 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. She
had brought them along one Saturday
on pleasure bent. but extra work had
turned up and she had gone home
later without them.
When she went through the big
room Brilles was still at his desk-Bril-
les, the flint-like, the heartless, the
feared
Sylvia stopped beside him 1t was a
good time to speak of the stories now
that he was alone. He turned in his
swivel chair and regarded her silently,
his eye over her slim. girlish
figure in its brown jersey suit. soft
furs and little hat under which her face
glowed like rose. The brief encounter
with the wind downstairs had whip
ped a wonderful color into It.
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 it. and return
ing hundreds of ripping good stories
Just because the hero forgot to kiss
his girl or the person refused to marry
the old maid. l thought I'd ask your
opinion. How would it do to run in
an occasional good one on another
theme. Real things. you know. that
actually happen. All this love stuff
is just dream
us it?'
"Yes-you know it as well as | do
But the public is queer. They're crazy
about one Treador Vane. l personally
wouldn't give his truck room in the
ash barrel"
Brilles tapped his desk minute
Look here, Miss Hunter,
you're here to run that column. so do
az you please about it. Whatever you
decide will be all right. I've read that
Vane stun myself and I'm sure / agree
with you. You're right about that love
business, too. Even the girls nowadays
don't know what it means. Business
or something has taken all the ro-
out of them. You're good
example yourself"
Sylvia started and remembered her
own summing up Of the managing
editor. Certainly the verdict was
mutual. But she rather prided herself
on being imprevious to sentiment.
ITS 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.
With a full. easy swing she kept on
her way on up Fifth avenue, past the
park and still on. It was the best time
she had had for years. Others had
skates. so she was not con-
spicuous. Here and there men and
women glided over the Ice. enjoying
the novelty of skating outdoors In
stead OF in overheated Kinks.
Crossing street. Sylvia collided
with man. They went down together
in heap.