Part 1 (2/2)

After all of those precautions it is no wonder that the novelist felt surprise when days pa.s.sed and no reply was sent to him. But never at any time was he discouraged. Had they intended to reject the novel, he reasoned, they could as easily have done so in three days as ten.

He pictured the members of the firm hugging themselves over their good fortune, pa.s.sing the ma.n.u.script from one to the other, all eager for a taste of such a marvelous work. He did not think it egotism to believe they did not get stories like that every day.

His thoughts flew rapidly as Nellie slowly climbed the stairs. Now he would be famous, he would be courted, he would be envied! He would also be very, very rich, though that was not of so much account.

As Nellie handed him the letter he responded to her pleasant smile with one of his own, and even pressed a twenty-five cent piece into her hand.

Then he closed his door behind him, bolting it in his eagerness to be alone. The morning was foggy, and he sank into a chair by the window, the only part of the room where he could see to read distinctly.

There was an attraction about the envelope. It was light buff in color, bearing the address of Cutt & Slashem in large letter on one side of the front face, besides the names of several of the most famous authors whose publishers the firm had the happiness to be.

”s.h.i.+rley Roseleaf!” It would not look so badly in print.

So lost was he in the pleasant pictures which these thoughts conjured up that it was some minutes before he tore open the envelope. Then his astounded eyes rested upon these lines:

”Messrs. Cutt & Slashem regret to be obliged to decline with thanks the MSS. of M. s.h.i.+rley Roseleaf, and request to be informed what disposition he desires made of the same.”

Roseleaf read this dizzily. For some moments he could not understand what that sentence meant. ”Obliged to decline” was plain enough; but his confused mind found some grains of comfort in the request of the firm to know what he wished done with his ma.n.u.script. They must, he reasoned, consider it of value, or they would not respond in that courteous manner. Still, he could not comprehend how they had had the asininity to ”decline” it at all.

Were they unwilling to add another star to their galaxy?

Could they actually have read the tale?

A firm of their reputation, too!

When Roseleaf emerged from his temporary stupor it was into a state of great indignation. Why, the men were fools! He wished heartily he had never gone to them. They would yet see the day when, with tears in their eyes, they would regret their lack of judgment. His first act should be to go to their office and express his opinion of their stupidity, and then he would take his MSS. to some rival house. And never, never in the world--after he had become famous, and when every publisher on both sides of the Atlantic were besieging him--never, he said, should these ignorant fellows get a sc.r.a.p of his writing, not even if they offered its weight in gold!

He was too excited for delay, and donning his hat, he took his way with all speed to Cutt & Slashem's office. At that instant he had more faith in his novel than ever. As he walked rapidly along he compared it with some of the stories issued by the firm that had rejected it, to the great disadvantage of the latter.

”I wish to see Mr. Cutt or Mr. Slashem,” he said, imperiously, as he entered the counting room.

”Both are in,” said the office boy, imperturbably. ”Which will you have?”

”I will see them together.”

Had they been tigers, fresh from an Indian jungle, it would have made no difference to him.

The boy asked for his card, vanished with it, returned and bade him follow. Up a flight of stairs they went, then to the left, then to the right, then across a little hall. A door with the name of the house and the additional word ”Private” loomed before them.

”Come in!” was heard in response to the knock of the office boy.

Roseleaf entered, something slower than a cannon ball, and yet considerably faster than a snail. The two princ.i.p.al members of the firm were sitting together, with lighted cigars in their mouths, examining a lot of paper samples that lay upon a table. They did no more at first than glance up and nod, not having finished the business upon which they were engaged.

”Is it any better than the last?” asked Mr. Slashem, referring to the sample his partner was examining.

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