Part 6 (1/2)
”Humph!” said Madge reflectively. ”The heart of man is desperately wicked! Not _that_ story, perhaps, but he would be much more willing to look at another. Take my advice and put on your toque. A girl never loses anything by making herself attractive when dealing with a man. I have never met any editors, but I have reason to suppose that they are not different from the rest of mankind.”
”Nineteen, and country-bred! Where did your worldly wisdom come from, my dear?” cried Theo, holding up her hands in astonishment. But she wore her toque all the same, and took off her veil three times over because one little curl refused to lie exactly in the right place. She desired, above all things, to arouse Mr Hammond's interest and sympathy.
The first visit to a publisher's office! It was a nervous occasion, and Theo walked once, twice, thrice past the dreaded door before summoning courage to enter. A board on the wall informed her that she must mount to the third story, so she raised her skirts, ascended a narrow and not too clean staircase, and stood outside a door labelled ”Office,”
wondering what to do next. Neither knocker nor bell was to be seen; what, then, was she to do? If she tapped on the pane and waited for the door to be opened, she would appear humble and amateurish; if she entered unannounced, it would seem bold and presumptuous. She determined to err rather on the side of overrating her own importance, hoping thereby to prove the truth of the old adage; so, turning the handle with a firm hand, she walked into the office, and found herself confronted by--a small and shabby boy, perched on a high stool!
All this fuss about a child! Theo's indignation lent an added haughtiness to her manner as she demanded to see the editor of the _Casket_, and Jack-in-office stared at her curiously, up and down, down and up, before he replied. His expression seemed to imply that he had seen her like before, and that he more than suspected a MS tied with blue ribbon was hidden skilfully beneath her coat.
”Have you an appointment?” he asked severely; and though Theo affected a smile of superiority, she felt an inward conviction that without that same appointment she would have been compelled to make her way to Mr Hammond's presence over the dead body of his va.s.sal. As it was, he carried away her card, and came back almost immediately to escort her to the editor's room, where he pointed to a chair, and remarked encouragingly that Mr Hammond would be disengaged in a few minutes'
time.
Theo threw a glance at her reflection in a dusty mirror, and seated herself with much the same tremulous sinking of heart as that with which she was accustomed to settle herself in the dentist's chair. On the desk before her lay a litter of papers and proofs; her eye fell absently on the slip nearest to herself, and lightened into eager interest. Here was a treat indeed, for what she saw was the next month's instalment of a powerful serial as to the termination of which the sisters had frequently and hotly debated. A sentence here, a sentence there, gave the needed clues, and she smiled with mischievous delight at the advantage she had gained. That evening she would lead the conversation to the Count and his lady, and would give graphic prophecies of the next stage in their adventures. Even the conversations she would foretell, so that when the new number arrived her character of wizard would be fully established. The interesting prospect dispelled her nervousness, and she was smiling to herself in bright, natural fas.h.i.+on when the door opened and Mr Hammond appeared.
The editor was short and dark, middle-aged, and carelessly dressed; an undignified little figure, on whom the literary aspirant looked with instant lightening of heart. ”I'm not afraid of _him_,” she told herself; but the thought was no sooner formed than revoked; for Mr Hammond spoke, and at the first sound of his voice he became aloof, formidable--a personage! He greeted the girl kindly enough, but Theo felt strangely humbled as she faced him, and realised with painful clearness that she was a girl, a tyro, and that this man was accustomed to a.s.sociate with the master-minds of his day. Her complacency about the ”worrying” story fell from her like a cloak, and she awaited his verdict with sickening suspense.
”It is kind of you to see me; I know you are very busy. I sent you a MS, as you asked for one. I suppose you--received it?”
”Yes.” Mr Hammond's face gave no clue as to his opinion of the masterpiece in question. ”I am pleased to see you, and to give you any help in my power. As I said in my note, I had a great admiration for your father. And so you have determined to settle in town and enter the great arena?”
”Yes. We are very poor, and must work for ourselves. I have been writing for my own amus.e.m.e.nt ever since I was a child, and if it were possible to make a livelihood in that way I should like it better than anything else. I would rather live on half the money and do the work I love.”
She looked appealingly at the impa.s.sive face, but no approval of her prospective renunciation was forthcoming. Mr Hammond merely bent his head in grave a.s.sent and remarked:
”Literature is a good crutch, but a very inefficient staff. If you have no private means, and are seeking for a profession which is to be your entire support, you would be wiser to go in for millinery. Brain-work is uncertain, trying, and badly paid. Even at the best an author's spell of popularity is short-lived in these degenerate days. A new writer comes along with a fresh trick, and the old friend is promptly forgotten and despised. For the sake of L.S.D. he is compelled to write twice as much as he ought to do, and so dooms himself even more completely. In millinery, I should suppose, experience adds to capacity, and the demand for bonnets is a happy certainty.”
This time it was the editor who smiled and Theo who was unresponsive.
She was deeply offended, and hope had sunk to the lowest ebb. Surely if Mr Hammond had found any merit in her story he would not have humiliated her by such a suggestion. She lowered her eyes, and trifled nervously with her furs.
”Then you think--after reading my story--you think I have no chance?”
”No; I don't say that. That depends entirely upon--”
”Yes?”
Mr Hammond looked at her with a kindly pity. ”_Upon how much heart-breaking you can stand_!” he said solemnly. ”The apprentices.h.i.+p which you will have to serve is weeks, months--it may be even years--of steady, persistent, unsuccessful work; weary disappointment after weary disappointment; nothing to show for your labour but a drawer full of dog-eared papers which n.o.body will accept. Realise what it means, and ask yourself if you have strength to bear it; if you have sufficient courage and self-confidence to work on undaunted, and find fresh inspiration in the midst of defeat.”
He looked at her gravely, and Theo lifted her head and returned the look with flas.h.i.+ng eyes.
”If I had the prospect of success in the end--yes! a hundred times, yes!
I am not a child. I don't expect to make a name in a day. You can judge better than I. Is there a chance for me if I work hard? Have I a gift which is worth cultivating? You promised to tell me the truth, and I ask it of you now.”
Then for the first time Mr Hammond gave a hint of encouragement. He smiled whimsically, as at an amusing recollection, and studied the girl's face with a new interest.
”Oh yes; you have the faculty. It is there; there is no doubt it is there. I read your story, and with all its faults it escapes the two unpardonable crimes--it is neither dull nor commonplace. I don't pretend to say that you will be a great writer, but when you have learned your trade you will probably be able to place your stories with little difficulty. Study style; study the best masters; don't think any time wasted that is given to cultivating pure, forcible English. Study the people around you, and write of what you _know_, not of what you imagine. It is difficult to describe an emotion which one has never felt, or a life in which one has no part. Study the magazines also, and note what style is adopted by each, the length of story taken, and so on. These things are but the technicalities of the profession, but the mastery of them will save you needless disappointments. When a MS is returned for the sixth time, put it away for a month, then read it over in a critical spirit, and try to discover wherein the fault lies. A little altering and rewriting may make it a marketable article.”
”Y-es,” said Theo faintly. That ”sixth time” fell sadly on her ear, for it was one thing to a.s.sert that she did not expect to win in a day, and quite another to hear repeated failure predicted in that cool, unemotional fas.h.i.+on. She wondered if Mr Hammond would refer to her story in any more definite fas.h.i.+on, and seeing that he began to play with the papers on his desk, as if to intimate that the ”five minutes”
were drawing to a close, she summoned courage to put a direct question.
”And the MS that I sent you, Mr Hammond--was it pretty good? Do you think it suitable for--er--for--”