Part 39 (2/2)

March 10th.

I have been sitting to-night in my room, half-dazed, or pacing about the streets talking to myself in a frenzy. I can hardly believe that it is true, I can hardly realize it! I laugh with excitement, and then I cry.

I went to-day to get back my ma.n.u.script. And the editor said: ”Mr.

Stirling, it is a most extraordinary piece of work. It is a most interesting thing, I like it very much.”

I stared at him gasping. Then I waited to hear him say--”But I regret”--But he didn't!

”I can't tell you anything definite about it,” he said. ”I want to submit it to the firm. I wouldn't undertake to accept any such unusual thing for the magazine without consulting them, and especially seeing if they will bring it out afterward--”

”You are thinking of using it in the magazine!” I cried.

”As I tell you, I can't say positively. I can only tell you what I think of it. I will have them read it at once--”

”I will take it to them to-day!” I put in.

”No,” he said, ”you need not, for I am going there this afternoon, and I will take it, and ask them to read it immediately.”

I can't remember what else he said. I was deaf, crazy! I rushed home, talking to myself incoherently. I remember sitting here in a chair and saying aloud, ”Oh, it can't be! It is impossible! That it should be good enough to publish in a magazine like that! It is some mistake--it will all come to nothing. It's absurd!”

So I sat, and I thought what such a thing would mean to me--it would make my reputation in a day--I should be free--_free_! But I thought of it and it did not make me happy; I only sat staring at myself, shuddering. The endless mournfulness that is in my heart surged up in me like a tide, and suddenly I began to cry like a child.

”It has come to me too late,” I exclaimed, ”too late! I can't believe it--it doesn't mean anything to me. I don't care anything about it--I mean the poem! _I don't believe in it myself_!”

G.o.d, do you know I said that, and _meant_ it? I said more--I sat and whispered it to myself: ”Let them take it, yes, let them! I don't care--it will set me free--I shall have some money! But they're fools to do it, they're fools!”

March 11th.

I tremble with excitement all the day, dreaming about that thing. I go about half-mad. ”Oh, just think of it,” I whisper, ”just think of it!”

I linger about it hungrily! He spoke as if he really meant to make them take it.

March 13th.

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