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  The Fiction Factory


  By John Milton Edwards

  ¶ Being the Experience of a
  Writer who, for Twenty-two
  Years, has kept a Story-mill
  Grinding Successfully....


  The Editor Company

  RIDGEWOOD, NEW JERSEY




  COPYRIGHT 1912 BY

  THE EDITOR COMPANY.




THE FICTION FACTORY




Contents of Chapters.


                                                    PAGE.

  I. AUT FICTION, AUT NULLUS                           11

  II. AS THE TWIG IS BENT                              16

  III. METHODS THAT MAKE OR MAR                        25

  IV. GETTING HOOKED UP WITH A BIG HOUSE               31

  V. NICKEL THRILLS AND DOLLAR SHOCKERS                38

  VI. MAKING GOOD BY HARD WORK                         42

  VII. INSPIRATION ALIAS INDUSTRY                      52

  VIII. THE WOLF ON THE SKY LINE                       56

  IX. RAW MATERIAL                                     63

  X. THE WOLF AT THE DOOR                              68

  XI. WHEN FICTION IS STRANGER THAN TRUTH              76

  XII. FORTUNE BEGINS TO SMILE                         80

  XIII. OUR FRIEND THE T. W.                           88

  XIV. FRESH FIELDS AND PASTURES NEW                   94

  XV. FROM THE FACTORY'S FILES                        104

  XVI. GROWING PROSPERITY                             110

  XVII. ETHICS OF THE NICKEL NOVEL                    117

  XVIII. KEEPING EVERLASTINGLY AT IT                  122

  XIX. LOVE YOUR WORK FOR THE WORK'S SAKE             129

  XX. THE LENGTHENING LIST OF PATRONS                 133

  XXI. A WRITER'S READING                             142

  XXII. NEW SOURCES OF PROFIT                         146

  XXIII. THE INJUSTICE OF IT                          158

  XXIV. WHAT SHALL WE DO WITH IT                      163

  XXV. EXTRACTS GRAVE, GAY, WISE AND OTHERWISE        171

  XXVI. PATRONS AND PROFITS FOR TWENTY-TWO YEARS      175




  THE WRITER
  TO THE READER


It was in 1893 that John Milton Edwards (who sets his hand to this book
of experiences and prefers using the third person to overworking the
egotistical pronoun) turned wholly to his pen as a means of livelihood.
In this connection, of course, the word "pen" is figurative. What he
really turned to was his good friend, the Typewriter.

For two years previous to this (to him) momentous event he had
hearkened earnestly to the counsel that "literature is a good stick
but a poor crutch," and had cleaved to a position as paymaster for a
firm of contractors solely because of the pay envelope that insured
food and raiment. Spare hours alone were spent in his Fiction Factory.
In the summer of 1893, however, when his evening and Sunday work
brought returns that dwarfed his salary as paymaster, he had a heart
to heart talk with Mrs. John Milton Edwards, and, as a result, the
paymaster-crutch was dropped by the wayside. This came to pass not
without many fears and anxieties, and later there arrived gray days
when the literary pace became unsteady and John Milton turned wistful
eyes backward in the direction of his discarded crutch. But he never
returned to pick it up.

From then till now John Milton Edwards has worked early and late in his
Factory, and his output has supported himself and wife and enabled him
to bear a number of other financial responsibilities. There have been
fat years and lean--years when plenty invited foolish extravagance
and years when poverty compelled painful sacrifices--yet John Milton
Edwards can truly say that the work has been its own exceeding great
reward.

With never a "best seller" nor a successful play to run up his income,
John Milton has, in a score and two years of work, wrested more than
$100,000 from the tills of the publishers. Short stories, novelettes,
serials, books, a few moving picture scenarios and a little verse have
all contributed to the sum total. Industry was rowelled by necessity,
and when a short story must fill the flour barrel, a poem buy a pair
of shoes or a serial take up a note at the bank, the muse is provided
with an atmosphere at which genius balks. True, Genius has emerged
triumphant from many a Grub street attic, but that was in another
day when conditions were different from what they are now. In these
twentieth century times the writer must give the public what the
publisher thinks the public wants. Although the element of quality is
a _sine qua non_, it seems not to be incompatible with the element of
quantity.

It is hoped that this book will be found of interest to writers, not
alone to those who have arrived but also to those who are on the way.
Writers with name and fame secure may perhaps be entertained, while
writers who are struggling for recognition may discover something
helpful here and there throughout John Milton Edwards' twenty-two years
of literary endeavor. And is it too fair a hope that the reader of
fiction will here find something to his taste? He has an acquaintance
with the finished article, and it may chance that he has the curiosity
to discover how the raw material was taken, beaten into shape and
finally laid before his eyes in his favorite periodical.

John Milton Edwards, in the pages that follow, will spin the slender
thread of a story recounting his successes and failures. Extracts of
correspondence between him and his publishers will be introduced, and
other personal matters will be conjured with, by way of illustrating
the theme and giving the text a helpful value. This slender thread of
narrative will be broken at intervals to permit of sandwiching in a
few chapters not germane to the story but _en rapport_ with the work
which made the story possible. In other words, while life goes forward
within the Factory-walls it will not be amiss to give some attention to
the Factory itself, to its equipment and methods, and to anything of
possible interest that has to do with its output.

And finally, of course John Milton Edwards is not the author's real
name. Shielded by a _nom de plume_, the author's experiences here
chronicled may be of the most intimate nature. In point of fact, they
will be helpful and entertaining in a direct ratio with their sincerity
and frankness.




"A LITTLE GIFT"


    A little gift I have of words,
      A little talent, Lord, is all,
    And yet be mine the faith that girds
      An humble heart for duty's call.

    Where Genius soars to distant skies,
      And plumes herself in proud acclaim,
    O Thou, let plodding talent prize
      The modest goal, the lesser fame.

    Let this suffice, make this my code,
      As I go forward day by day,
    To cheer one heart upon life's road,
      To ease one burden by the way.

    I would not scale the mountain-peak,
      But I would have the strength of ten
    To labor for the poor and weak,
      And win my way to hearts of men.

    A little gift Thou gavest me,
      A little talent, Lord, is all,
    Yet humble as my art may be
      I hold it waiting for Thy call.

  September 20, 1911.      John Milton Edwards.




THE FICTION FACTORY




I.

  AUT FICTION,
  AUT NULLUS.


"Well, my dear," said John Milton Edwards, miserably uncertain and
turning to appeal to his wife, "which shall it be--to write or not to
write?"

"To write," was the answer, promptly and boldly, "to do nothing else
but write."

John Milton wanted her to say that, and yet he did not. Her conviction,
orally expressed, had all the ring of true metal; yet her husband,
reflecting his own inner perplexities, heard a false note suggesting
the base alloy of uncertainty.

"Hadn't we better think it over?" he quibbled.

"You've been thinking it over for two years, John, and this month is
the first time your returns from your writing have ever been more than
your salary at the office. If you can be so successful when you are
obliged to work nights and Sundays--and most of the time with your wits
befogged by office routine--what could you not do if you spent ALL your
time in your Fiction Factory?"

"It may be," ventured John Milton, "that I could do better work,
snatching a few precious moments from those everlasting pay-rolls, than
by giving all my time and attention to my private Factory."

"Is that logical?" inquired Mrs. John Milton.

"I don't know, my dear, whether it's logical or not. We're dealing with
a psychological mystery that has never been broken to harness. Suppose
I have the whole day before me and sit down at my typewriter to write a
story. Well and good. But getting squared away with a fresh sheet over
the platen isn't the whole of it. The Happy Idea must be evolved. What
if the Happy Idea does not come when I am ready for it? Happy Ideas,
you know, have a disagreeable habit of hiding out. There's no hard and
fast rule, that I am aware, for capturing a Happy Idea at just the
moment it may be most in demand. There's lightning in a change of work,
the sort of lightning that clears the air with a tonic of inspiration.
When I'm paymastering the hardest I seem to be almost swamped with
ideas for the story mill. Query: Will the mill grind out as good a
grist if it grinds continuously? If I were sure--"

"It stands to reason," Mrs. Edwards maintained stoutly, "that if you
can make $125 a month running the mill nights and Sundays, you ought
to be able to make a good deal more than that with all the week days
added."

"Provided," John Milton qualified, "my fountain of inspiration will
flow as freely when there is nothing to hinder it as it does now when I
have it turned off for twelve hours out of the twenty-four."

"Why shouldn't it?"

"I don't know, my dear," John Milton admitted, "unless it transpires
that my inspiration isn't strong enough to be drawn on steadily."

"Fudge," exclaimed Mrs. Edwards.

"And then," her husband proceeded, "let us consider another phase
of the question. The demand may fall off. The chances are that it
WILL fall off the moment the gods become aware of the fact that I am
depending on the demand for our bread and butter. Whenever a thing
becomes absolutely essential to you, Fate immediately obliterates every
trail that leads to it, and you go wandering desperately back and
forth, getting more and more discouraged until--"

"Until you drop in your tracks," broke in Mrs. Edwards, "and give up--a
quitter."

"Quitter" is a mean word. There's something about it that jostles you,
and treads on your toes.

"I don't think I'd prove a quitter," said John Milton, "even if I did
get lost in a labyrinth of hard luck. It's the idea of losing you along
with me that hurts."

"I'll risk _that_."

"This is a panic year," John Milton went on, "and money is hard to
get. It is hardly an auspicious time for tearing loose from a regular
pay-day."

John Milton and his wife lived in Chicago, and the firm for which John
Milton worked had managed to keep afloat by having an account in two
banks. When a note fell due at one bank, the firm borrowed from the
other to pay it. Thus, by borrowing from Peter to pay Paul, and from
Paul to pay Peter, the contractors juggled with their credit and kept
it good. Times were hard enough in all truth, yet they were not so hard
in Chicago as in other parts of the country. The World's Columbian
Exposition brought a flood of visitors to the city, and a flood of cash.

"Bother the panic!" jeered Mrs. Edwards. "It won't interfere with your
work. Pleasant fiction is more soothing than hard facts. People will
read all the more just to forget their troubles."

"I'm pretty solid with the firm," said John Milton, veering to another
tack. "I'm getting twelve hundred a year, now, with an extra hundred
for taking care of the Colonel's books."

"Is there any future to it?"

"There is. I can buy stock in the company, identify myself with it
more and more, and in twenty or thirty years, perhaps, move into a
brownstone front on Easy street."

"No, you couldn't!" declared Mrs. Edwards.

"Why not?"

"Why, because your heart wouldn't be in your work. Ever since you were
old enough to know your own mind you have wanted to be a writer. When
you were twelve years old you were publishing a little paper for boys--"

"It was a four-page paper about the size of lady's handkerchief,"
laughed John Milton, "and it lasted for two issues."

"Well," insisted his wife, "you've been writing stories more or less
all your life, and if you are ever a success at anything it will be in
the fiction line. You are now twenty-six years old, and if you make
your mark as an author it's high time you were about it. Don't you
think so? If I'm willing to chance it, John, you surely ought to be."

"All right," was the answer, "it's a 'go.'"

And thus it was that John Milton Edwards reached his momentous
decision. Perhaps you, who read these words, have been wrestling
soulfully with the same question--vacillating between authorship as
a vocation or as an avocation. Edwards made his decision eighteen
years ago. At that time conditions were different; and it is doubtful
whether, had he faced conditions as they are now, he would have decided
to run his Fiction Factory on full time.

  "=An eye for an eye.="

  A writer whose stories have been used in the Munsey publications,
  _Pearson's_ and other magazines, writes:

  "How is this as an illustration of timeliness, or the personal
  element in writing?--I went in to see Mr. Matthew White, Jr., one
  day with a story and he said he couldn't read it because he had a
  sore eye. I had an eye for that eye as fiction, so I sat down and
  wrote a story in two hours' time about an editor who couldn't read
  any stories on account of his bum lamp, whereby he nearly missed the
  best story for the year. Mr. White was interested in the story mainly
  because he had a sore eye himself and was in full sympathy with the
  hero. I took the story down and read it aloud to him, selling it, of
  course. The story was called, 'When the Editor's Eye Struck.'"

  (Talk about making the most of your opportunities!)

       *       *       *       *       *

  _The Bookman_, somewhere, tells of a lady in the Middle West who
  caught the fiction fever and wrote in asking what price was paid for
  stories. To the reply that "$10 a thousand was paid for good stories"
  she made written response: "Why, it takes me a week to write one
  story, and $10 for a thousand weeks' work looks so discouraging that
  I guess I'd better try something else."

       *       *       *       *       *

  _Poeta nascitur; non fit._ This has been somewhat freely translated
  by one who should know, as "The poet is born; not paid."




II.

  AS THE TWIG
  IS BENT


Edwards' earliest attempt at fiction was a dramatic effort. The play
was in three acts, was entitled "Roderigo, the Pirate Chief," and was
written at the age of 12. The young playwright was Roderigo, the play
was given in the loft of the Edwards barn, and twenty-five pins was the
price of admission (thirty if the pins were crooked). The neighborhood
suffered a famine in pins for a week after the production of the play.
The juvenile element clamored to have the performance repeated, but the
patrons' parents blocked the move by bribing the company with a silver
dollar. It was cheaper to pay over the dollar than to buy back several
thousand pins at monopoly prices.

In 1881 "Simon Girty; or, The Border Boys of the West" was offered.
The first performance (which was also the last) was given in Ottawa,
Kansas, and the modest fee of admission was 5 cents. The play was very
favorably received and might have had an extended run had not the
mothers of the "border boys" discovered that they were killing Indians
with blank cartridges. Gathering in force, the mothers stormed the barn
and added a realistic climax to the fourth act by spanking Simon Girty
and disarming his trusty "pards."

Shortly after this, the musty records show that Edwards turned from the
drama to narrative fiction, and endeavored successfully to get into
print. The following, copied from an engraved certificate, offers
evidence of his budding aspirations:

  Frank Leslie's
  BOYS' AND GIRLS' WEEKLY.

  Award of Merit.

  This is to certify that John Milton Edwards,
  Ottawa, Kansas, has been awarded Honorable
  Mention for excellence in literary composition.
  New York, Oct. 30, 1882.      FRANK LESLIE.

This "honorable mention" from the publisher of a paper, which young
Edwards looked forward to from week to week and read and re-read with
fascination and delight, must have inoculated him for all time with
the fiction virus. Forthwith he began publishing a story paper on a
hektograph. Saturday was the day of publication, and the office of
publication was the loft of the Edwards' barn. Even at that early day
the author understood the advantage of holding "leave-offs"[A] in
serial work. He was altogether too successful with his leave-offs, for
his readers, gasping for the rest of the story and unable to wait for
the next issue of the paper, mobbed the office and forced him, with a
threat of dire things, to tell them the rest of the yarn in advance of
publication. After that, of course, publication was unnecessary.

It was a problem with young Edwards, about this time, to secure enough
blank paper for his scribbling needs. Two old ledgers, only partly
filled with accounts fell into his hands, and he used them for his
callow essays at authorship. He has those ledgers now, and derives
considerable amusement in looking through them. They prove that he was
far from being a prodigy, and reflect credit on him for whipping his
slender talents into shape for at least a commercial success in later
life. Consider this:

  Scene III.

  J. B.--We made a pretty good haul that time, Jim.

  B. J.--Yes, I'd like to make a haul like that every night. We must
  have got about $50,000.

  J. B.--Now we will go and get our boots blacked, then go and get us a
  suit of clothes, and then skip to the West Indies.

Here a $50,000 robbery had been committed and the thieves were calmly
discussing getting their boots blacked and replenishing their wardrobe
(one suit of clothes between them seems to have been enough) before
taking to flight. Shades of Sherlock, how easily a boy of 12 makes
business for the police department!

Or consider this gem from Act II. The aforesaid "J. B." and "B. J."
have evidently been "pinched" while getting their boots blacked or
while buying their suit of clothes:

  J. B.--We're in the jug at last, Jim, and I'm afraid we'll be
  sentenced to be shot.

  B. J.--Don't be discouraged, Bill.

  Enter Sleek, the detective.

  Sleek.--We've got you at last, eh?

  J. B.--You'll never get the money, just the same.

  Sleek.--We'll shoot you if you don't tell where it is like a dog.

Then here's something else which seems to prove that young Edwards
occasionally fell into rhyme:

    Oh, why cut down those forests,
        Our forests old and grand?
    And oh, why cheat the Indians
        Out of all their land?
    Enclosed by civilization,
        Surrounded they by towns,
    Calmly when this life is done
        They seek their hunting-grounds!

John Milton Edwards has always had a place in his heart for the red
man, and another for his country's vanishing timber. He is to be
congratulated on his youthful sentiments if not on the way they were
expressed.

In 1882 the Edwards family removed to Chicago. There were but three
in the family--the father, the mother, and John Milton. The boy was
taken from the Ottawa high school and, as soon as they were all
comfortably settled in the "Windy City," John Milton made what he has
since believed to be the mistake of his career. His father offered him
his choice of either a university or a business education. He chose to
spend two years in Bryant & Stratton's Business College. His literary
career would have been vastly helped had he taken the other road and
matriculated at either Harvard or Yale. He had the opportunity and
turned his back on it.

He was writing, more or less, all the time he was a student at Bryant
& Stratton's. The school grounded him in double-entry bookkeeping, in
commercial law, and in shorthand and typewriting.

When he left the business college he found employment with a firm
of subscription book publishers, as stenographer. There came a
disagreement between the two partners of the firm, and the young
stenographer was offered for $1,500 the retiring partner's interest.
The elder Edwards, who would have had to furnish the $1,500, could not
see anything alluring in the sale of books through agents, and the
deal fell through. Two years later, while John Milton was working for
a railroad company as ticket agent at $60 a month, his old friend of
the subscription book business dropped in on him and showed him a sworn
statement prepared for Dun and Bradstreet. _He had cleared $60,000 in
two years!_ Had John Milton bought the retiring partner's interest he
would have been worth half a million before he had turned thirty.

The fiction bee, however, was continually buzzing in John Milton's
brain. He had no desire to succeed at anything except authorship.

Leaving the railroad company, he went to work for a boot and shoe
house as bill clerk, at $12 a week. The death of his father, at this
time, came as a heavy blow to young Edwards; not only that, but it
brought him heavy responsibilities and led him seriously to question
the advisibility of ever making authorship--as he had secretly hoped--a
vocation. His term as bill clerk was a sort of probation, allowing the
young man time, in leisure hours, further to try out his talent for
fiction. He was anxious to determine if he could make it a commercial
success, and so justify himself in looking forward to it as a life work.

The elder Edwards had been a rugged, self-made man with no patience
for anything that was not strictly "business." He measured success by
an honorable standard of dollars and cents. For years previous to his
death he had been accustomed to see his son industriously scribbling,
with not so much as a copper cent realized from all that expenditure of
energy. Naturally out of sympathy with what he conceived to be a waste
of time and effort, Edwards, Sr., did not hesitate to express himself
forcibly. On one occasion he looked into his son's room, saw him
feverishly busy at his desk and exclaimed, irascibly, "Damn the verses!"

Young Edwards' mother, on the other hand, was well educated and widely
read; indeed, in a limited way, she had been a writer herself, and
had contributed in earlier life to _Harper's Magazine_. She could see
that perhaps a pre-natal influence was shaping her son's career, and
understood how he might be working out his apprenticeship. Thus she
became the gentle apologist, excusing the boy's unrewarded labors, on
the one hand, and the father's _cui bono_ ideas, on the other.

_The Chicago Times_, in its Sunday edition, used a story by young
Edwards. It was not paid for but it was published, and the elder
Edwards surreptitiously secured many copies of the paper and sent them
to distant friends. Thus, although he would not admit it, he showed his
pride in his son's small achievement.

From the boot and shoe house young Edwards went back to the railroad
company again; from there, when the railroad company closed its Chicago
office, he went to a firm of wholesalers in coke and sewer-pipe; and,
later, he engaged as paymaster with the firm of contractors. Between
the coke and sewer-pipe and the pay-rolls he wedged in a few days of
reporting for _The Chicago Morning News_; and on a certain Friday, the
last of February, he got married, and was back at his office desk on
the following Monday morning.

The first story for which Edwards received payment was published in
_The Detroit Free Press_, Sept. 19, 1889. The payment was $8.

In April, the same year, the _Free Press_ inaugurated a serial story
contest. Edwards entered two stories, one under a _nom de plume_.
Neither won a prize, but both were bought and published. For the first,
published in 1891, he was paid $75 on Feb. 2, 1890; and for the second,
published a year later, he was paid $100.

With the opening installment of the first serial the _Free Press_
published a photograph of the author over a stickful of biography.
On another page appeared a paragraph in boldface type announcing the
discovery of a new star in the literary heavens.

The spirit of John Milton Edwards swelled within him. He feasted his
eyes on his printed picture (the rapid newspaper presses had made a
smudge of it), he read and re-read his lean biography (lean because not
much had happened to him at that time) and he gloried over the boldface
type with its message regarding the new star (he was to learn later
that many similar stars are born to blush unseen) and he felt himself a
growing power in the world of letters.

Verily, a pat on the back is a thing to conjure with. It is more
ennobling, sometimes, than a kingly tap with a swordpoint accompanied
by the words, "I dub thee knight." To the fine glow of youthful
enthusiasm it opens broad vistas and offers a glimpse of glittering
heights. Even though that hand-pat inspires dreams never to be
realized, who shall say that a little encouragement, bringing out the
best in us, does not result in much good?

And in this place John Milton Edwards would make a request of the
reader of fiction. If you are pleased with a story, kindly look twice
at the author's name so you may recall it pleasantly if it chances
to come again under your eye. If you are a great soul, given to the
scattering of benefactions, you might even go a little farther: At the
expense of a postage stamp and a little time, address a few words of
appreciation to the author in care of his publisher. You wist not, my
beloved, what weight of gold your words may carry!

From the summer of '89 to the summer of '93 Edwards wrote many stories
and sketches for _The Detroit Free Press_, _Puck_, _Truth_, _The
Ladies' World_, _Yankee Blade_, _Frank Leslie's Popular Monthly_,
_Chatter_, _Saturday Night_, and other periodicals. In 1890 he was
receiving $10 a month for contributions to a little Chicago weekly
called _Figaro_; and, during the same year, he found a market which
was to influence profoundly a decade of work and his monetary returns;
James Elverson paid him $75 for a serial to be used in _Saturday Night_.

Undoubtedly it was this serial that pointed Edwards toward the
sensational story papers. A second serial, sold to _Saturday Night_,
Oct. 21, 1891, brought $150; while a third, paid for July 20, 1893,
netted a like amount. These transactions carried the true ring of
commercial success. Apart from myth and fable, there is no more
compelling siren song in history than the chink of silver. Edwards,
burdened with responsibilities, gave ear to it.

The serial story, published in the _Free Press_ in 1891, had made
friends for Edwards. Among these friends was Alfred B. Tozer, editor of
_The Chicago Ledger_. Through Mr. Tozer, Edwards received commissions
for stories covering a period of years. The payment was $1.50 a
thousand words--modest, indeed, but regular and dependable.[B]

From 1889 to 1893 Edwards was laboring hard--all day long at his
clerical duties and then until midnight in his Fiction Factory. The pay
derived from his fiction output was small, (_the Ladies' World_ gave
him $5 for a 5,000-word story published March 18, 1890, and _The Yankee
Blade_ sent him $13 on Jan. 10, 1891, for a story of 8,500 words),
but Edwards was prolific, and often two or three sketches a day came
through his typewriter.

Early in 1893, however, he saw that he was at the parting of the
ways. He could no longer serve two masters, for the office work was
suffering. He realized that he was not giving the contracting firm
that faithful service and undivided energy which they had the right to
expect, and it was up to him to do one line of work and one only.

  "=Slips and Tips="

  One of Mr. White's authors who had never been in Europe set out to
  write a story of a traveller who determined to get along without
  tipping. The author described his traveller's horrible plight while
  being shown around the Paris Bastille--which historic edifice had
  been razed to the ground some two centuries before the story was
  written! The author received a tip from Mr. White on his tipping
  story, a tip never to do it again.


FOOTNOTES:

[A] "Leave-off"--the place where a serial is broken, and the words "To
be continued in our next" appear. Mr. Matthew White, Jr., Editor of the
=Argosy=, is supposed to have coined the expression. At any rate, Mr.
White has a great deal to do with "leave-offs" and ought to know what
to call them.

[B] In these later times, with other hands than those of Mr. Tozer at
the helm, =The Chicago Ledger= seems to have become the Sargasso Sea of
the popular fictionist--a final refuge for story derelicts. The craft
that grows leaky and water-logged through much straining and wearisome
beating about from port to port, has often and often come to anchor in
the columns of the =Ledger=.




III.

  METHODS THAT
  MAKE OR MAR.


Edwards has no patience with those writers who think they are of a
finer or different clay from the rest of mankind. Genius, however, may
be forgiven many things, and the artistic temperament may be pardoned
an occasional lapse from the conventional. This is advertising, albeit
of a very indifferent sort, and advertising is a stepping-stone
to success. The fact remains that True Genius does not brand with
eccentricity the intelligence through which it expresses itself. The
time has passed when long hair and a Windsor tie proclaim a man a
favorite of the muses.

Edwards knows a young writer who believes himself a genius and who
has, indeed, met with some wonderful successes, but he spoils an
otherwise fine character by slovenliness of dress and by straining
for a so-called Bohemian effect. Bohemia, of course, is merely a
state of mind; its superficial area is fanciful and contracted; it
is wildly unconventional, not to say immoral; and no right-thinking,
right-feeling artist will drink at its sloppy tables or associate with
its ribald-tongued habitues. The young writer here mentioned has been
doped and shanghaied. As soon as he comes to himself he will escape to
more creditable surroundings.

There is another writer of Edwards' acquaintance who, by profane and
blasphemous utterance, seeks to convince the public that he has the
divine fire. His language, it is true, shows "character," but not of
the sort that he imagines.

A writer, to be successful, must humble himself with the lowly or
walk pridefully with the great. For purposes of study he may be
all things to all men, but let him see to it that he is not warped
in his own self-appraisal. Never, unless he wishes to make himself
ridiculous, should he build a pedestal, climb to its crest and pose.
If he is worthy of a pedestal the public will see that it is properly
constructed.

A writer is neither better nor worse than any other man who happens to
be in trade. He is a manufacturer. After gathering his raw product, he
puts it through the mill of his imagination, retorts from the mass the
personal equation, refines it with a sufficient amount of commonsense
and runs it into bars--of bullion, let us say. If the product is good
it passes at face value and becomes a medium of exchange.

Any merchant or professional man who conducts his business with
industry, taste and skill is the honorable and worthy peer of the man
who writes and writes well. Every clean, conscientious calling has
its artistic side and profits through the application of business
principles.

Nowadays, for a writer to scribble his effusions in pale ink with a
scratchy pen on both sides of a letter-sheet is not to show genius
but ignorance. If he is a good manufacturer he should be proud of his
product; and a good idea is doubly good if carefully clothed.

Edwards counts it a high honor that, in half a dozen editorial offices,
his copy has been called "copperplate." "I always like to see one of
your manuscripts come in," said Mr. White, of _The Argosy_. "Here's
another of Edwards' stories," said Mr. Harriman of _The Red Book_,[C]
"send it to the composing room just as it is." Such a condition of
affairs certainly is worth striving for.

As a rule the young writer does not give this matter of neatness of
manuscript the proper attention. Is he careful to count the letters and
spaces in his story title and figure to place the title in the exact
middle of the page? It is not difficult.

When a line is drawn between title, writer's name and the body of the
story, it is easy to set the carriage pointer on "35" and touch hyphens
until you reach "45." It is easy to number the pages of a manuscript in
red with a bichrome ribbon, and to put the number in the middle of the
sheet. Nor is it very difficult to turn out clean copy--merely a little
more industry with a rubber eraser, or perhaps the re-writing of an
occasional sheet.

After a manuscript is written, the number of words computed, and a
publication selected wherewith to try its fortunes, a record should be
made. Very early in his literary career Edwards devised a scheme for
keeping track of his manuscripts. He had a thousand slips printed and
bound strongly into two books of 500 slips each. Each slip consisted of
a stub for the record and a form letter, with perforations so that they
could easily be torn apart.

        Record of Ms., No. ......
  Title..........................
  Class..........................
  No. Words......................
  Sent to........Date............
  Returned......Condition........
  Sent to........Date............
  Returned......Condition........
  Sent to........Date............
  Returned......Condition........
  Sent to........Date............
  Returned......Condition........
  Accepted.......................
  Am't paid......Date............
  Remarks........................
  ...............................

  411 Blank Street,
      Chicago, Ill.,........189..
  Editor.............
       .................
         ..................

  Dear Sir:

     The inclosed Ms., entitled..
  ...............................
  containing about.........words,
  and signed.....................
  is offered at your usual rates.
  If not available please return.
  Stamped and addressed envelope
  inclosed.

          Very truly yours,
         John Milton Edwards.

Every manuscript was numbered and the numbers, running consecutively,
were placed in the upper right-hand corners of the stubs. This made
it easy to refer to the particular stub which held the record of a
returned story.

Edwards used this form of record keeping for years. Even after he came
to look upon a form letter with a manuscript as a waste of effort,
he continued to use the stubs. About the year 1900 card indexes came
into vogue, and now a box of cards is sufficient for keeping track of
a thousand manuscripts. It is far and away more convenient than the
"stub" system.

Each story has its card, and each card gives the manuscript's life
history; title, when written, number of words, amount of postage
required for its going and coming through the mail, when and where
sent, when returned, when accepted and when paid for, together with
brief notes regarding the story's vicissitudes or final good fortune.
After a story is sold the card serves as a memorandum, and all these
memoranda, totalled at the end of the year, form an accurate report of
the writer's income.

In submitting his stories Edwards always sends the serials flat,
between neatly-cut covers of tarboard girded with a pair of stout
rubber bands. This makes a handy package and brings the long story to
the editor's attention in a most convenient form for reading.

With double-spacing Edwards' typewriter will place 400 words on the
ordinary 8-1/2 by 11 sheet. Serials of 60,000 words, covering 150
sheets, and even novelettes of half that length, travel more safely and
more comfortably by express. Short stories, running up to 15--or in
rare instances, to 20--pages are folded twice, inclosed in a stamped
and self-addressed No. 9, cloth-lined envelope and this in turn slipped
into a No. 10 cloth-lined envelope. Both these envelopes open at the
end, which does not interfere with the typed superscription.

By always using typewriter paper and envelopes of the same weight,
Edwards knows exactly how much postage a story of so many sheets will
require.

In wrapping his serial stories for transportation by express, Edwards
is equally careful to make them into neat bundles. For 10 cents he can
secure enough light, strong wrapping paper for a dozen packages, and 25
cents will procure a ball of upholsterer's twine that will last a year.

Another helpful wrinkle, and one that makes for neatness, is an address
label printed on gummed paper. Edwards' name and address appear at the
top, following the word "From." Below are blank lines for name and
address of the consignee.

In his twenty-two years of work in the fiction field Edwards has
made certain of this, that there is not a detail in the preparation
or recording or forwarding of a manuscript that can be neglected.
Competition is keen. Big names, without big ideas back of them, are not
so prone to carry weight. It's the _stuff_, itself, that counts; yet a
business-like way of doing things carries a mute appeal to an editor
before even a line of the manuscript has been read. It is a powerful
appeal, and all on the writer's side.

Is it necessary to dwell upon the importance of a carbon copy of
every story offered through the mails, or entrusted to the express
companies? Edwards lost the sale of a $300 serial when an installment
of the story went into a railroad wreck at Shoemaker, Kansas, and,
blurred and illegible, was delivered in New York one week after another
writer had written another installment to take its place. In this
case the carbon copy served only as an aid in collecting $50 from the
express company.

At another time, when The _Woman's Home Companion_ was publishing a
short serial by Edwards, one complete chapter was lost through some
accident in the composing room. Upon receipt of a telegram, Edwards
dug the carbon copy of the missing chapter out of his files, sent it
on to New York, and presently received an extra $5 with the editor's
compliments.

  "=My brow shall be garnished with bays.="

  AMERICA
  Editorial Rooms, Chicago.

                                                    Aug. 16, 1889.

  Dear Mr. Edwards:--

  In regard to the enclosed verse, we would take pleasure in publishing
  it, but before doing so we beg to call your attention to the use
  of the word "garnish" in the last line of the first verse, and the
  second line of the second. The general idea of "garnish" is to
  decorate, or embellish. We say that a beefsteak is "garnished" with
  mushrooms, and so it would hardly be right to use the word in the
  sense of crowning a poet with a wreath of bays.

  You will pardon us for calling attention to this, but you know that
  the most serious verse can be spoiled by just such a slip, which of
  course is made without its character occurring to the mind of the
  writer.

                                        Yours respectfully,
                                             Slason Thompson & Co.


FOOTNOTES:

[C] Mr. Harriman is now with =The Ladies' Home Journal=.




IV.

  GETTING "HOOKED UP"
  WITH A BIG HOUSE.


It was during the winter of 1892-3 that Edwards happened to step into
the editorial office of a Chicago story paper for which he had been
writing. His lucky stars were most auspiciously grouped that morning.

We shall call the editor Amos Jones. That was not his name, but it will
serve.

Edwards found Jones in a very exalted frame of mind. Before him, on his
desk, lay an open letter and a bundle of newspaper clippings. After
greeting Edwards, Jones turned and struck the letter triumphantly with
the flat of his hand.

"This," he exclaimed, "means ten thousand a year to Yours Truly!"

He was getting $50 a week as editor of the story paper, and a sudden
jump from $2,600 to $10,000 a year was sufficiently unsettling to make
his mood excusable. Edwards extended congratulations and was allowed to
read the letter.

It was from a firm of publishers in New York City, rated up in the
hundreds of thousands by the commercial agencies. These publishers, who
are to figure extensively in the pages that follow, will be referred to
as Harte & Perkins. They had sent the clippings to Jones, inclosed in
the letter, and had requested him to use them in writing stories for a
five-cent library.

Jones' enthusiasm communicated itself to Edwards. For four years the
latter had been digging away, in his humble Fiction Factory, and his
literary labors had brought a return averaging $25 a month. This was
excellent for piecing out the office salary, but in the glow of Jones'
exultation Edwards began to dream dreams.

When he left the editor's office Edwards was cogitating deeply. He had
attained a little success in writing and believed that if Jones could
make ten thousand a year grinding out copy for Harte & Perkins he could.

Edwards did not ask Jones to recommend him to Harte & Perkins. Jones
was a good fellow, but writers are notoriously jealous of their
prerogatives. After staking out a claim, the writer-man guards warily
against having it "jumped." Edwards went about introducing himself to
the New York firm in his own way.

At that time he had on hand a fairly well-written, but somewhat
peculiar long story entitled, "The Mystery of Martha." He had tried it
out again and again with various publishers only to have it returned
as "well done but unavailable because of the theme." This story was
submitted to Harte & Perkins. It was returned, in due course, with the
following letter:

                                         New York, March 23, 1893.

  Mr. John Milton Edwards,
       Chicago, Ills.

  Dear Sir:--

  We have your favor of March the 19th together with manuscript of
  "The Mystery of Martha," which as it is unavailable we return to you
  to-day by express as you request.

  We are overcrowded with material for our story paper, for which we
  presume you submitted this manuscript, and, indeed, we think "The
  Mystery of Martha" is more suitable for book publication than in any
  other shape.

  The only field that is open with us is that of our various five and
  ten cent libraries. You are perhaps familiar with these, and if you
  have ever done anything in this line of work, we should be pleased
  to have you submit the printed copy of same for our examination, and
  if we find it suitable we think we could use some of your material in
  this line.

  Mr. Jones, whom you refer to in your letter, is one of our regular
  contributors.

                                             Yours truly,
                                                  Harte & Perkins.

Here was the opening! Edwards lost no time in taking advantage of it
and sent the following letter:

                                           Chicago, March 25, '93.

  Messrs. Harte & Perkins, Publishers,
       New York City.

  Gentlemen:--

  I have your letter of the 23d inst. In reply would state that I have
  done some writing for Beadle & Adams ("_Banner Weekly_") although
  I have none of it at hand, at present, to send you. I also am a
  contributor to "_Saturday Night_," (James Elverson's paper) and have
  sold them a number of serial stories, receiving from them as much as
  $150 for 50,000 words. It is probable that material suitable to the
  latter periodical would be out of the question with you; still, I can
  write the kind of stories you desire, all I ask being the opportunity.

  Inclosed please find Chapter I of "Jack o' Diamonds; or, The Cache
  in the Coteaux." Perhaps Western stories are bugbears with you (they
  are, I know, with most publishers) but there are no Indians in this
  one. I should like to go ahead, write this story, submit it, and let
  you see what I can do. I am able to turn out work in short order, if
  you should desire it, and feel that I can satisfy you. All I wish to
  know is how long you want the stories, what price is paid for them
  and whether there is any particular kind that you need. I have an
  idea that the Thrun case would afford material for a good story. At
  least, I think I can write you a good one with that as a foundation.
  Please let me hear from you.

                                         Yours very truly,
                                              John Milton Edwards.

To this Edwards received the following reply, under date of March 30:

  We have your favor of March 25th together with small installment
  of story entitled "Jack o' Diamonds." Our careful reading of the
  installment leads us to believe that you write easily, and can
  probably do suitable work for our Ten-Cent Library, though the
  particular scene described in this installment is one that can be
  found in almost any of the old time libraries. It is a chestnut. A
  decided back number.

  What we require for our libraries is something written up-to-date,
  with incidents new and original, with which the daily press is
  teeming. I inclose herewith a clipping headed, "Thrun Tells it All,"
  which, used without proper names, might suggest a good plot for a
  story, and you could work in suitable action and incident to make a
  good tale.

  If you will submit us such a story we shall be pleased to examine
  same, and if found suitable we will have a place for it at once. We
  pay for stories in this library $100; they should contain 40,000
  words, and when issued appear under our own _nom de plume_.

  Installment "Jack o' Diamonds" returned herewith.

Thus it was up to Edwards to go ahead and "make good." Such a climax
has a weird effect on some authors. They put forth all their energy
securing an order to "go ahead" and then, at the critical moment,
experience an attack of stage fright, lose confidence and bolt, leaving
the order unfilled.

Years later, in New York, such a case came under Edwards' observation.
A young woman had besieged a certain editor for two years for a
commission. When the coveted commission arrived, the young woman took
to her bed, so self-conscious that she was under a doctor's care for a
month. The story was never turned in.

Edwards, in his own case, did not intend to put all his eggs in one
basket. He not only set to work writing a ten-cent library story (which
he called "Glim Peters on His Mettle") but he also wrote and forwarded
a five-cent library story entitled, "Fearless Frank." "Fearless
Frank"--galloped home again bearing a request that Edwards make him
over into a detective. On April 15 Edwards received the following:

  We have your favor of April 13, and note that the insurance story,
  relating to Thrun, is nearly completed, and will be forwarded on
  Monday next. I hope you have not made the hero too juvenile, as this
  would be a serious fault. The stories in the Ten-Cent Library are not
  read by boys alone but usually by young men, and in no case should
  the hero be a kid, such as we fear would be your idea of a Chicago
  newsboy.

  We note that you have considered our suggestions, and also that you
  will fix up the "Fearless Frank" manuscript with a view of making it
  a detective story.

  For your information, therefore, we mail you under separate cover
  Nos. 2, 11, 15 and 20 of the Five-Cent Library, which will give you
  an idea of the character of this detective. We hope you will give us
  what we want in both these stories.

On April 25 Edwards received a long letter that delighted him. He was
"making good."

  I have carefully read your story, "Glim Peters on His Mettle," and,
  as I feared, find the same entirely too juvenile for the Ten-Cent
  Library, though quite suitable for the Five-Cent Library, had it not
  been double the length required. I first considered the question of
  asking you to make two stories of it for this library, but finally
  decided that this would be somewhat difficult and unnecessary, as we
  shall find a place for it later in the columns of our _Boy's Story
  Paper_, to be issued under _nom de plume_, and will pay you $75 for
  same.

  The chief point of merit in the story is the excellent and taking
  dialogue between Glim Peters, his chum and the detectives. This boy
  is a strong character, well delineated and natural. The incident
  covered by clairvoyant visits, the scene at the World's Fair and the
  Chinese joint experience were all excellent; but the ghost in the old
  Willett house, and indeed the whole plot, is poor. Judging from this
  story and the previous one submitted, the plot is your weak point. In
  future stories make no special effort to produce an unusual plot, but
  stick closer to the action and incident, taken as much as possible
  from newspapers, which are teeming with material of this character.

  We shall now expect to receive from you at an early date, the
  detective story, and to follow this we will forward you material,
  in a few days, for a Ten-Cent Library story. We forward you to-day,
  under separate cover, several numbers to give you an idea of the
  class of story that is suitable for the Ten-Cent Library. Such scenes
  in your last story as where Glim Peters succeeded in buying a
  mustang and defeated the deacon in so doing, are just the thing for
  the Ten-Cent Library; the same can also be said of the scene in which
  Meg, the girl in the bar, stands off the detectives in a vain attempt
  to save the villains. That is the sort of thing, and we feel that you
  will be able to do it when you know what we want.

  I forward you, also, a copy of Ten-Cent Library No. 185, which I
  would like you to read, and let me know whether you could write us a
  number of stories for this particular series, with the same hero and
  the same class of incidents. If so, about how long would it take you
  to write 40,000 words? It is possible I may be able to start you on
  this series, of which we have already issued a number.

About May 1 Edwards sent the first detective story. On May 10 he
received a letter, of which the following is an extract:

  We are in a hurry for this series (the series for the Ten-Cent
  Library) but after you have finished the first one, and during
  the time that we are reading it, you can go ahead with the second
  detective story, "The Capture of Keno Clark," which, although we are
  in no hurry for it, we may be able to use in about six weeks or two
  months. You did so well with the first detective story that I have no
  doubt you can make the second a satisfactory one. However, if we find
  the series for the Ten-Cent Library O. K., we will want you to write
  these, one after the other as rapidly as possible until we have had
  enough of them.

  As to our method of payment, would say that it is our custom to
  pay for manuscripts on Thursday following the day of issue, but,
  agreeably with your request, we mail you a check tomorrow in payment
  of "Glim Peters on His Mettle," and will always be willing to
  accomodate you in like manner when you find it necessary to call upon
  us.

So Edwards made good with the publishing firm of Harte & Perkins,
and for eighteen years there have been the pleasantest of business
relations between them. Courteous always in their dealings, prompt in
their payments to writers, and eager always to send pages and pages of
helpful letters, Harte & Perkins have grown to be the most substantial
publishers in the country. Is it because of their interest in their
writers? Certainly not in spite of it!

For them Edwards has written upwards of five hundred five-cent
libraries, a dozen or more serials for their story paper, many serials
for their boys' weekly, novelettes for their popular magazines, and a
large number of short stories. For these, in the last eighteen years,
they have paid him more than $35,000.

Nor, during this time, was he writing for Harte & Perkins exclusively.
He had other publishers and other sources of profit.

  As an instance of helpfulness that did not help, Edwards once
  attempted to come to the assistance of Howard Dwight Smiley. Smiley
  wrote his first story, and Edwards sent it on to _The Argosy_ with a
  personal letter to Mr. White. Such letters, at best, can do no more
  than secure for an unknown writer a little more consideration than
  would otherwise be the case; they will not warp an editor's judgment,
  no matter how warmly the new writer is recommended. The story came
  back with a long letter of criticism and with an invitation for
  Smiley to try again. He tried and tried, perhaps a dozen times, and
  always the manuscript was returned to the patient Smiley by the no
  less patient editor. At last Smiley wrote a story about a tramp
  who became entangled with a cyclone. The "whirler," it seems, had
  already picked up the loose odds and ends of a farm yard, along with
  a churnful of butter. In order to escape from the cyclone, Smiley's
  tramp greased himself with the butter from the churn and slid out
  of the embrace of the twisting winds. "Chuck it," said Edwards;
  "I'm surprised at you, Smiley." Smiley did "chuck it"--but into a
  mail-box, addressed to Mr. White, and Mr. White "chucked" a check for
  $12 right back for it! Whereupon Smiley chuckled inordinately--and
  came no more to Edwards for advice.




V.

  NICKEL THRILLS AND
  DOLLAR SHOCKERS.


The word "sensational" as applied to fiction has been burdened with
an opprobrium which does not rightfully belong to it. Ignorance and
prejudice and hypocrisy have conspired to defame a very worthy word.

Certain good but misguided people will turn shudderingly from a nickel
novel and complacently look for thrills in a "best seller." Often
and often the "best seller" is to be had for 95 cents or $1 at the
department stores. Not infrequently it spills more blood than the
nickel thriller, but the blood is spilled on finer paper, and along
with it are idealized pictures of heroine and hero done by the best
artists.

As a matter of course the dollar dreadful is better done. The author
probably took six months or a year to do it, and if it is well
advertised and proves a success he reaps a modest fortune. On the other
hand, the nickel novel is written in three days or a week and brings
the author $50. Why shouldn't the dollar book show a higher grade of
craftmanship? But is it less vicious than the novel that sells for
five cents? To draw the matter still finer, is either form of fiction
vicious?

If we turn to Webster and seek a definition of "sensational" we find:
"Suited or intended to excite temporarily great interest or emotion;
melodramatic; emotional."

This does not mean that sensational writing is vicious writing. It is
wrong to classify as vicious or degrading the story of swift action
and clean ethics, or to compare it with that prurient product of the
slums which deals with problems of sex.

The tale that moves breathlessly but logically, that is built
incident upon incident to a telling climax with the frankly avowed
purpose to entertain, that has no questionable leanings or immoral
affiliations--such a tale speeds innocently an idle hour, diverts
pleasantly the harrassed mind, freshens our zeal for the duties of
life, and occasionally leaves us with higher ideals.

We are all dreamers. We must be dreamers before we are doers. If some
of the visions that come to us in secret reverie were flaunted in all
their conceit and inconsistency before the world, not one of us but
would be the butt of the world's ridicule. And yet, out of these highly
tinted imaginings springs the impulse that carries us to higher and
nobler things.

A difference in the price of two commodities does not necessarily
mark a moral difference in the commodities themselves. _The Century
Magazine_ sells for 35 cents, while _The Argosy_ sells for 10 cents.
You will be told that _The Century_ is "high class" and with a distinct
literary flavor, perhaps that it is more elevating. Even so; yet which
of these magazines is doing more to make the world really livable? Ask
the newsdealer in your town how many _Centuries_ he sells, and how many
_Argosies_.

Readers are not made for the popular magazines, but the popular
magazines are made for the people. Unless there was a distinct and
insistent demand for this sort of entertainment, so many all-story
magazines, priced at a dime, could not exist.

Nickel thrillers cater largely to a juvenile clientele. Taking them by
and large--there are a few exceptions, of course--they are as worthy of
readers as the dime magazines; and many a serial in a dime magazine has
been republished in cloth and made into a "best seller."[D]

Why is it that, if a lad in his teens robs a jewelry store and is
apprehended, almost invariably the newspaper report has a bundle of
nickel libraries found in his pocket? Why a nickel library and not a
"yellow" newspaper?

The standard of judgment which places a nickel novel in the
heart-side pocket of the young degenerate, harks back to a period
when "yellow-back" literature was really vicious; it is a judgment by
tradition, unsupported by present-day facts. The world moves, and as
it moves it grows constantly better. Reputable publishers of cheap
fiction have elevated the character of their output until now some of
the weekly stories they publish are really admirable; in many instances
they are classics.

A few years ago, at a convention of Sunday School teachers at Asbury
Park, N. J., a minister boldly praised the "Diamond Dick" stories. He
declared that while action rattled through the pages of these tales
like bullets from a Gatling, he had found nothing immoral in them,
nothing suggestive, nothing to deprave. The lawless received their just
reward and virtue emerged triumphant. It was his thought that a few
"Diamond Dick" stories might, with benefit, take the place, in Sunday
School libraries, of the time-honored book in which the boy goes
a-fishing on Sunday and falls into the river.

One of the "Frank Merriwell" stories tells of a sensitive, shrinking
lad at an academy who was hazed into a case of pneumonia from which he
died. The hero breaks the news of the boy's death to his widowed mother
and comforts her in her bereavement. From beginning to end the story is
told with a sympathy, and such a thorough understanding of boy-nature,
that the hold on the juvenile reader is as strong as the theme is
uplifting.

This is not "trash." It is literature sold at a price which carries it
everywhere, and the result is untold good.

The fact remains, however, that not every publisher of nickel novels
has so high a standard. The paternal eye, in overseeing the fiction of
the young, must be discriminating. Blood-and-thunder has had its day;
but, if the rising generation is not to be a race of mollycoddles, care
must be exercised in stopping short of the other extreme.

The life of today sets a pattern for the fiction of to-day. The masses
demand rapid-fire action and good red brawn in their reading matter.
Their awakened moral sense makes possible the muck-raker; and when they
weary of the day's evil and the day's toil, it is their habit to divert
themselves with pleasant and exciting reading. And it must be CLEAN.


FOOTNOTES:

[D] "Dan Quixote," for instance published in =The All-Story Magazine=,
and republished as "The Brass Bowl."




VI.

  MAKING GOOD
  BY HARD WORK.


With the beginning of the year 1894 Edwards was learning the knack of
the nickel novel and its ten-cent brother, and making good with his New
York publishers. During 1893 the work he turned in was of fair quality,
but he was not satisfied with that and labored to improve. Each
succeeding story came nearer and nearer the high mark. Believing that
whatever is worth doing is worth doing well, he was constantly asking
himself, "How can I make my next story better than the one I have
just finished?" The publishers helped him. Every manuscript submitted
was read personally by Mr. Perkins, and brought a letter dissecting
the story and stating which incidents were liked, and why, and which
incidents were not liked, and why. Edwards feels that he can never be
sufficiently grateful to Mr. Perkins for this coaching in the gentle
art of stalking a reader's elusive interest.

Had Edwards remained a paymaster in the employ of the contracting firm,
he would have received $1,200 for his services in 1893. He severed his
connection with his paymaster's salary in June, and at the end of the
year his Fiction Factory showed these results:

  4  Five-Cent Library stories at $50 each      $  200.
  1  Juvenile serial                               100.
  1  Juvenile serial                                75.
  13 Ten-Cent Library stories at $100. each       1300.
  1  Serial for Saturday Night                     150.
                                              ---------
      Total                                     $ 1825.

In other words, Edwards had taken out of his Fiction Factory $625 more
than his salary as paymaster would have amounted to for the year. He
felt vastly relieved, and his wife laughingly fell back on her woman's
prerogative of saying "I told you so." This was a good beginning, and
Edwards felt sure that he would be able to do even better during 1894.
He was coming along splendidly with the Ten-Cent Library work. On Jan.
30 Mr. Perkins paid this tribute to his growing powers:

  "I have just finished reading your story, 'Dalton's Double,' which I
  find to be as good as anything you have given us. I must compliment
  you upon the varied incident which you cram into these stories, of a
  nature that is well suited to them."

It was Edwards' custom to forward a Ten-Cent Library story every two
weeks, and there were months in which he wrote three stories, taking
ten days for each one. As these stories were 40,000 words in length,
three in thirty days were equivalent to 120,000 words.

During 1893 he wrote his stories twice: first a rough draft and then
the printer's copy. In 1894 he began making his first copies clean
enough for the compositor. Had he not done this he could never have
accomplished such a large amount of work.

On April 10, when everything was going swimmingly and he was taking
in $300 a month for the library work, he was brought up short in his
career of prosperity. Mr. Perkins wrote him to finish the story upon
which he was engaged and then to stop the library work until further
orders. It had been decided to use "re-prints" in the series. This
could very easily be done as the Library had been published for years
and some of the earlier stories could be brought out again without
injuring the sale. The letter, which was a profound disappointment to
Edwards, closed as follows:

  "I regret the necessity of curtailing your work, for I am entirely
  satisfied with it, and if we did not find it necessary to adopt the
  measure referred to above, with a view to decreasing expenses during
  the summer months and dull season, I should have wished to have you
  continue right along. I have no doubt that you will be able to find a
  place for your material in the meantime."

This fell upon Edwards like a bolt from a clear sky. He began to regret
his "paymaster crutch" and to imagine dire things. He had been giving
his time almost exclusively to Harte & Perkins, and had lost touch with
publications for which he had been writing previous to 1893. Where, he
asked himself, was he to place his material in the meantime?

There is little sentiment in business. Harte & Perkins, whenever they
find a line of work is not paying, will cut it off at an hour's notice,
by telegraph if necessary. The man receiving the telegram, of course,
can only make the best of it. This is a point which Edwards has always
disliked about the work for publishers of this class of fiction: the
writer, no matter how prosperous he may be at any given time, is always
in a state of glorious uncertainty.

But Edwards fell on his feet. It so happened that he had sent to Harte
& Perkins, some time before, copies of _Saturday Night_ containing two
of his stories. He had done this in the attempt to prove to them that
he could write for _The Weekly Guest_, their story paper. This little
incident shows how important it is for a writer to get as many anchors
to windward as possible.

Eight days after being cut off from the library work, Edwards received
a letter from Mr. Harte. Mr. Perkins had left New York on business,
but had turned over the printed work in _Saturday Night_ for Mr.
Harte's inspection before leaving. Mr. Harte wrote, in part:

  "I like your work in _Saturday Night_, and think we shall be able to
  give you a commission for a _Weekly Guest_ story, provided you can
  lend yourself successfully to our suggestions as to style, etc., and
  give us permission to publish under any of the pen names we use in
  the office.

  We want a story of the Stella Edwards type. We send you to-day one or
  two samples of the class of work desired, so that you may be able to
  see just what it is. If you can do the work, we shall be pleased to
  send you a title and plot, with synopsis. You can then write us two
  installments for a trial, and, if satisfactory, I have no doubt we
  could arrange to give you a quantity of work in this line.

  I feel, after reading the samples you submitted, that you will be
  able to meet our requirements in this class of story. The two stories
  we send you are the work of a masculine pen, and though not so easy
  to lose one's identity in literary work, this class of story does
  not seem to present the ordinary difficulties; at least, that is the
  testimony of our authors who have tried it."

Edwards was booked to attempt a gushing love story, to follow a copy
and make it appear as though a woman had done the writing! Quite a jump
this, from a rapid-fire Ten-Cent Library story for young men to a bit
of sentimental fiction for young women. However, he went at it, and he
went at it with a determination to make good. It was either that or go
paymastering again.

On April 24 he received title, synopsis and plot of "Bessie, the
Beautiful Blind Girl," and began charging himself with superheated
sentiment preparatory to beginning his work. The popular young lady
authoress, "Stella Edwards," whose portrait in a decollete gown had
been so often flaunted in the eyes of "her" public, was a myth. The
"stuff" supposedly written by the charming "Stella Edwards" was
ground out by men who were versatile enough to befool women readers,
with a feminine style. Edwards, it transpired, was able to do this
successfully for a time, but ultimately he failed to round off the
rough corners of a style too decidedly masculine for "Miss Edwards."
But this is anticipating.

On May 3 he had sent the two trial installments, and from New York came
the word:

  "We like the two opening installments of 'Bessie, the Beautiful Blind
  Girl.' The style is good, the action brisk and sensational and of a
  curiosity-arousing character.

  It is our belief that you are capable of presenting a desirable
  variation from the former Stella Edwards' stories, by introducing
  romantic incidents of a novel and more exalted character.

  In most of the other Stella Edwards' yarns there was little plot and
  the action was rarely varied. The action comprised the pursuit and
  capture, the recapture and loss of the heroine, she being constantly
  whirled, like a shuttle-cock, from the hero to the villain, then to
  the female villain, then back again to the hero for a few tantalizing
  moments, and so on to the end.

  You can readily improve upon this by introducing scenes a little more
  fresh, and far more interesting.

  It is about time for Stella to improve, and we believe you are just
  the man to make her do better work.

  Go on with the story and force our readers to exclaim, 'Well, that's
  the best story Stella has written!'"

While Edwards was deep in the sorrows of "Bessie, the Beautiful Blind
Girl," he received from his publishers on May 10 orders which hurled
him headlong into another "Stella Edwards" yarn.

  "Owing to a change in our publishing schedule of Guest stories, it
  will be necessary to anticipate the issue of 'Bessie, the Beautiful
  Blind Girl' by another story of the same type, sixteen installments,
  same as the one you are now working on. The title of this new story
  will be 'The Bicycle Belle,' and will deal with the bicycle as the
  matter of central interest in the first installment or two. I send
  you a synopsis of the story prepared by one of our editors. This will
  simply give you an idea of one way of developing the theme. It does
  not, however, suit our plans, and we will ask you to invent something
  quite different."

Always and ever Harte & Perkins kept their fingers on the pulse of
their reading public. The safety bicycle was the fashion, in those
days, and Harte & Perkins were usually first to exploit a fashion
or a fad in their story columns. Whenever they had a story with a
particularly popular and striking theme, it was their habit to flood
the country with sample copies of _The Weekly Guest_, breaking off a
generous installment of the serial in such a breathless place that the
reader was forced to buy succeeding issues of the _Guest_ in order
to get the rest of the story. So that is what the change in their
publishing schedule meant. They wanted to boom the circulation of the
_Guest_ with a bicycle story.

Edwards shelved Bessie the beautiful at the 7th installment and threw
himself into the tears, fears and chivalry of "The Bicycle Belle."
This was on May 12. Three days later, on May 15, he forwarded two
installments of the bicycle story for Harte & Perkins' inspection. On
May 16, before these installments had reached the publishers, Edwards
was requested as follows:

  "As we shall not be able to begin, in the Guest, your story, 'Bessie,
  the Beautiful Blind Girl,' until after January the first, next, it
  will be well to change the scene to a winter setting. This can be
  very easily done in the two installments that we have on hand, if you
  will make a note of it and keep it up for the balance of the story.
  In the first installment we will show the girl leaping into the river
  with a few cakes of ice floating about, and in the scene where she is
  expelled from the house there will be plenty of snow. It will make a
  more effective picture and be more seasonable for the story."

More trouble! Harte & Perkins had two installments, and did not seem
to know that Edwards had five more installments on hand, pending the
completion of the bicycle yarn. But he was ready to turn summer into
winter, or day into night, in order to make good. On May 18 he received
a report on the two installments of the bicycle story.

  "The two installments of 'The Bicycle Belle' have been read and
  approved by our editor, who says that the story opens very well, with
  plenty of animated action, briefly yet graphically pictured. You seem
  to have caught our idea exactly, and we would be pleased to have
  you go ahead with the story, finishing it before you again take up
  'Bessie, the Beautiful Blind Girl.'"

On June 3 Edwards sent installments three to sixteen of the bicycle
story, which was the complete manuscript. Ten days later he was
informed:

  "'The Bicycle Belle' is crowded with dramatic action and is just
  what we want. In the next it would be well to have a little more
  of the female element just to demonstrate that 'Stella Edwards' is
  up-to-date."

None the less pleasant was this news, contained in a letter dated June
18:

  "We have placed to your credit, upon our books, the sum of three
  hundred dollars in payment for 'The Bicycle Belle,' which will be the
  figure for all this class of stories from your pen which are accepted
  for _The Weekly Guest_."

Up to that time this was the most money Edwards had ever received for a
serial story, and very naturally he felt elated. Under date of June 20
he wrote Harte & Perkins and told them that he was planning a trip East
as soon as he had finished with "Bessie, the Beautiful Blind Girl." He
received a cordial invitation from the publishers to come on as soon as
possible as they had something which they particularly wanted him to do
for them.

The story of the blind girl was forwarded on June 30. A flaw
was discovered in it and several installments were returned for
correction--not a serious flaw, indeed, but one which necessitated
a little revision. The revision made, the story passed at once to
acceptance.

In July Edwards was in New York and called personally upon Harte &
Perkins. He found them pleasant and capable gentlemen--all that his
fancy had pictured them through months of correspondence. Inasmuch as
it was Edwards' first visit to the metropolis, he studied the city with
a view to using it in some of his fiction.

The special work which Mr. Harte wanted Edwards to do for the firm was
a story of which he gave the salient features. It was to be written in
the best Archibald Clavering Gunter style.

As Edwards had imitated successfully the mythical "Stella Edwards," he
was now confronted with the more trying task of imitating the style
of a popular living author. He read Gunter from "Barnes of New York"
down; and then, when completely saturated with him, turned off two
installments of "The Brave and Fair" and sent them on. He was visiting
in Michigan, at the time, and a letter under date of August 20, reached
him while he was still in that state.

  "I have just finished reading the two installments of 'The Brave and
  Fair.' I think you have made a very good opening indeed. It reads
  smoothly and seems to me to be very much in Gunter's light narrative
  style, which is what we are after. It remains to be seen whether you
  can get as close to Gunter in what might be called his tragedy vein
  as opposed to the comedy vein, which you have successfully worked up
  in these two installments."

"The Brave and Fair," going forward to the publishers piece by piece,
seemed to arouse their enthusiasm. "We have read up to installment
eight. It is fine! Full of heroic action! Bristling with exciting
scenes!" When the completed manuscript was in the publishers' hands,
on October 20, there came another complimentary letter.

  "'The Brave and Fair' bristled with exciting action to the close.

  The best incidents in it are those descriptive of Chub Jones' heroic
  self-sacrifice. In our opinion, this stands out as the gem of the
  story, because it makes the reader's heart bound with admiration for
  the little hero."

Hundreds of thousands of sample copies of _The Weekly Guest_, with
first chapters of this story, were scattered all over the land. Later,
the book was issued in paper covers. Harte & Perkins paid the author
$500 for the story, then ordered another of the same type for which he
was given $450.

These stories were written under a _nom de plume_ which Harte & Perkins
had copyrighted. The _nom de plume_ was their property and could not be
appropriated by any other publisher. Edwards wrote three of the yarns,
and a friend of his wrote others.

All the year Edwards had been patted on the back. On Dec. 14 came
a blow between the eyes. He had been commissioned to write another
"Stella Edwards" rhapsody, but was overconfident and did not take time
to surround himself with the proper "Stella Edwards" atmosphere. Two
installments went forward, and this letter came back:

  "I have just finished reading 'Two Hearts Against the World.' I
  regret to say that the story will not do, and it would be as well for
  you not to attempt to remodel it. In other words, the way you are
  handling the subject is not satisfactory to us and is not a question
  of minor detail. We shall be obliged to give this work into other
  hands to do. The story, as far as it goes, is wildly improbable
  and has a lack of cohesion in the incident. I think you wrote it
  hurriedly, and without mature thought. These stories have to seem
  probable even if they deal with unusual events."

There was bitterness in that, not so much because Edwards had lost $300
but because he had failed to make good. His pride suffered more than
his pocket. Later, however, he wrote some more "Stella Edwards" stories
for Harte & Perkins and they were highly praised; but that type of
fiction was not his forte.

The year 1894 closed with Harte & Perkins giving Edwards a chance at
a new five-cent weekly they were starting. It was merely a shift from
_The Weekly Guest_ back to the libraries again.

His work for Harte & Perkins, during the year, showed as follows:

  10 Ten-Cent Libraries at $100 each          $ 1000.
  Two "Stella Edwards" stories at $300 each      600.
  "The Brave and Fair"                           500.
  "The Man from Montana"                         450.
  2 Five-Cent Libraries at $50 each              100.
  1 Juvenile serial                              100.
                                            ---------
    Total                                     $2,750.

The work tabulated above approximates 850,000 words, and takes no
account of work sold to other publishers. By industry alone Edwards had
secured a fair income.

  W. Bert Foster, a friend of Edwards', who for twenty-five years has
  kept a story-mill of his own busily grinding with splendid success,
  has this to say about a slip he once made in his early years:

  "When I was a young writer I sold a story to a juvenile paper. It
  was published. And not until the boys began to write in about it did
  either the editor or I discover that I had my hero dying of thirst
  _on a raft in Lake Michigan_!"




VII.

  INSPIRATION
  ALIAS INDUSTRY.


Jack London advises authors not to wait for inspiration but to "go
after it with a club." Bravo! It is not intended, of course, to lay
violent hands on the Happy Idea or to knock it over with a bludgeon.
Mr. London realizes that, nine times out of ten, Happy Ideas are drawn
toward industry as iron filings toward a magnet. The real secret lies
in making a start, even though it promises to get you nowhere, and
inspiration will take care of itself.

There's a lot of "fiddle-faddle" wrapped up in that word "inspiration."
It is the last resort of the lazy writer, of the man who would rather
sit and dream than be up and doing. If the majority of writers who
depend upon fiction for a livelihood were to wait for the spirit of
inspiration to move them, the sheriff would happen along and tack a
notice on the front door--while the writers were still waiting.

More and more Edwards' experience, and the experience of others which
has come under his observation, convinces him that inspiration is
only another name for industry. When he was paymaster for the firm of
contractors, he went to the office at 8 o'clock in the morning, took
half an hour for luncheon at noon, and left for home at half-past 5.
When he broke away from office routine, he promised himself that he
would give as much, or more, of his time to his Fiction Factory.

What he feared was that ideas would fail to come, and that he would
pass the time sitting idly at his typewriter. In actual practice, he
found it almost uncanny how the blank white sheet he had run into his
machine invited ideas to cover it. After five, ten or fifteen minutes
of following false leads, he at last hit upon the right scent and was
off at a run. With every leap his enthusiasm grew upon him. A bright
bit of dialogue would evoke a chuckle, a touch of pathos would bring
a tear, an unexpected incident shooting suddenly out of the tangled
threads would fill him with rapture, and for the logical but unexpected
climax he reserved a mood like Caesar's, returning from the wars and
celebrating a triumph.

In the ardor of his work he forgot the flight of time. He balked at
leaving his typewriter for a meal and went to bed only when drowsiness
interfered with his flow of thought.

Whether he was writing a Five-Cent Library, a serial story or a novel
which he hoped would bring him fame and fortune, the same delight
filled him whenever he achieved a point which he knew to be worth
while. And whenever such a point is achieved, my writer friend, there
is something that rises in your soul and tells you of it in words that
never lie.

No matter what you are writing, unless you can thrill to every detail
of excellence in what you do, unless you can worry about the obscure
sentence or the unworthy incident until they are sponged out and
recast, it is not too much to say that you will never succeed at the
writing game. Love the work for its own sake and it will bring its
inspiration and its reward; look upon it as a grind and melancholy
failure stalks in your wake.

There can be no inspiration without industry, and no industry without
inspiration. Start your car on the batteries of industry and it will
soon be running on the magneto of inspiration. Drive yourself to your
work, and presently interest will be aroused and your eager energies
will need a curb instead of a spur.

Edwards has written two 30,000-word stories a week for months at a
time; he has written one 30,000-word story and one 40,000-word serial
in one week; he has begun a Five Cent Library story at 7 o'clock in the
morning and worked the clock around, completing the manuscript at 7
the next morning; and he has done other things that were possible only
because industry brought inspiration, and inspiration takes no account
of time.

Edwards knows a writer of short stories who is like a crazy man for
days while he is frantically groping for an idea. When the idea
comes, he figuratively sweats blood for a week in pulling it through
his typewriter; and then, when the story is in the mails, he takes
to his bed for a week from physical exhaustion. Result: Three weeks,
one story, and anywhere from $50 to $75. He is conscientious, but his
method is wrong. Instead of storming through the house and tearing his
hair while the idea eludes him, he should roll in a fresh sheet, sit
calmly down in front of the keys, look out of the window or around the
room and start off with the first object that appeals to him.

There are writers who will have a Billikin for inspiration, or some
other fetich that takes the place of a Billikin. Edwards has an
elephant tobacco-jar that has occasionally helped him. Sometimes it is
a pipeful of the elephant's contents, and sometimes it is merely a long
look at the elephant that starts the psychology to working.

Of course it isn't really the Billikin, or the elephant, or the tobacco
that does the trick. They merely enable us to concentrate upon the work
in hand: from them we gather hope that work will produce results, so we
get busy and results come.

The main thing is to break the shackles of laziness and begin our
labors; then, after that, to forget that we are laboring in the sheer
joy of creation with which our labor inspires us.

                                          New York, Sept. 2, 1911.

  My dear Mr. Edwards:

  You fairly have me stumped. With the greatest pleasure in the world
  I would give you what you ask for your book, but I am not certain
  that I can recall any humorous anecdotes; and as for "quips," I
  look the word up and discover that it means: "A sneering or mocking
  remark; gibe; taunt." And I am afraid I am not equal to evolving
  any of these.... All I can recall now is that in my early days an
  editor of the _New York Herald_ wanted to kick me down the editorial
  stairs because I asked pay for amusement notes they had been printing
  for nothing. I fled, leaving my last Ms. behind me--which they also
  printed gratis. Now this wasn't humorous to anybody at the time, and
  if there was any 'quip,' that editor uttered it, and I don't remember
  now just the language he used.

                                    Very truly yours,
                                         Matthew White, Jr.,
                                              Editor _The Argosy_.




VIII.

  THE WOLF ON
  THE SKY-LINE.


For Edwards, the year 1895 dawned in a blaze of prosperity and went out
in the gathering shadows of impending disaster.

Spring found him literally swamped with orders, and he tried the
experiment of hiring a young man stenographer and typist to assist
him. The young man was an expert in his line and proved so efficient
an aide that Edwards hired another who was equally proficient. Two
stenographers failing to help him catch up with his flood of orders, he
secured a third.

One assistant put in his time copying manuscripts and cataloguing
clippings, to another the library work was dictated, and the third was
employed on "Stella Edwards" material.

Edwards was versatile, and he experienced no difficulty in passing from
one class of work to another. He was able to chronicle the breathless
adventures of the hero of the Five-Cent Library to one stenographer,
then turn to the other and dictate two or three chapters of a serial
of the class written by Laura Jean Libby, and then fill in the gaps
between dictation with altogether different work on his own machine.

Although Edwards kept these three stenographers for several months, and
although he has since frequently availed himself of the services of an
amanuensis, yet he is free to confess that he doubts the expediency of
such help. Successful dialect cannot be wrapped up in a stenographer's
"pothooks," and so much dialect was used in the library stories that
the young man at work on them had to familiarize himself with the
contorted forms and write them down from memory. It took him so long to
do this, and required so much of Edwards' time making corrections, that
the profit on his work was disappointing.

With such an office force grinding out copy, during the early months
of 1895 the Fiction Factory was a very busy place. During January and
February the cash returns amounted to $1,500. This, Edwards discovered
later, was no argument in favor of stenographer assistance, for he has
since, working alone, earned upward of $1,000 in a month.

In February Edwards was requested by Harte & Perkins to submit a story
for a new detective library which they were starting, and of which
they were very choice. The work was as different as possible from the
two or three detective yarns Edwards had written in 1893. He wrote
and submitted the story, and Mr. Perkins' criticisms are given below
by way of showing how carefully the stories were examined. The letter
from which the excerpt is taken was written Feb. 13, 1895. The mythical
detective, who has become known throughout the length and breadth of
the land, shall here be referred to as "Joe Blake."

  "There is one point to which I would call your attention. On page
  5, Chapter II opens in this way: 'A young man to see Dr. Reynolds;
  no card.' Joe Blake, otherwise 'Dr. Reynolds,' told the boy to show
  the visitor in. The place was Chicago. Scene in room in prominent
  hotel the second day after Joe Blake had had an interview with Abner
  Larkin, 9 o'clock in the evening.

  This is too trite and not easily expressed. Such references to time,
  place, etc., impress the reader with the fact that he is reading
  a romance and not a real story of Joe Blake's experiences. This
  particular point should be kept in mind. We want these stories to
  appear as natural as possible.

  In the opening of the installment, where Mr. Larkin presents himself
  to Joe, you have duplicated the common-place method of most writers.
  There should be more originality in the way Joe Blake's attention
  is called to various cases and not a continual repetition of calls
  at his office, which, though natural enough, become tiresome to the
  reader. In this same opening there is not enough detective flavor,
  and here, as well as in other places, Joe does not appear to be the
  man of authority, which he is usually found to be. These are little
  things, but I believe if you will take care of them they will help
  the story greatly."

This will illustrate the care with which Harte & Perkins looked over
the manuscripts submitted to them, to the end that they might be made
to reflect their ideas of what good manuscripts should be. If a writer
could not do their work the way they wanted it done he was not long in
getting his _conge_. In the case of the story mentioned above, it was
returned, rewritten, and made to conform to Mr. Perkins' ideas.

On Jan. 9 Harte & Perkins had written Edwards:

  "It is more than apparent that the library business is not very
  flourishing, and hereafter we shall only be able to pay $40 for these
  stories. I think this will be satisfactory to you, for I know you can
  do this class of work very rapidly."

This meant a loss of $10 a week, and Edwards endeavored to make up
for it by increasing his output. Particularly he wanted a chance to
write another "Stella Edwards" story, just to show the firm that he
could do the work. Mr. Harte gave him an order for the serial, stating
that the new story was to follow "The Bicycle Belle," then running
in _The Weekly Guest_. The story was to be in twelve installments of
5,250 words each, totalling some 63,000 words. For this Edwards was to
receive $200. This hint was given him:

  "Have plenty of romance, without too great extravagance, and make
  sure of at least one wedding and that in the beginning of the story."

With the order came a picture which it was desired to use in
illustrating the opening installment. Edwards was to write the
installment around the picture. He completed the story, called it
"Little Bluebell," and received the following commendation after two
installments had been received and read:

  "I have just finished reading the first two installments of your
  story, 'Little Bluebell,' and I have to say that the same is entirely
  satisfactory, unquestionably the best thing you have given us in this
  line of work."

Although he was turning out Five-Cent Libraries, Stella Edwards
serials, short sketches for _Puck_ and stories for other publishers
than Harte & Perkins, Edwards was constantly on the alert for more
work in order to keep his stenographers busy. He asked Mr. Perkins for
orders for the Ten-Cent Library, and for juvenile serials for the boys'
paper. He was allowed to send in some "Gentlemen Jim" stories for the
dime publication. The pay was not munificent, however, being only $50
for 37,000 words.

The "Little Bluebell" story was followed by another "Stella Edwards"
serial entitled "A Weird Marriage." This yarn hit the bull's-eye with
a bang. In fact, it was said to be the best thing ever done by "Stella
Edwards." And then, after scoring these two successive hits, Edwards
tripped on a third story called "Beryl's Lovers," and he fell so hard
that it was ten years before the firm ever asked him to do any more
writing in that line.

In the Fall of 1895 Edwards discovered that he had been working too
hard. A doctor examined his lungs, declared that he was threatened
with tuberculosis and ordered him to the Southwest. In November he and
his wife left Chicago, Edwards carrying with him his typewriter and
a plentiful supply of typewriter paper. He transformed a stateroom
in the compartment sleeper into his Fiction Factory, finishing two
installments of the ill-fated "Beryl's Lovers" while enroute.

These installments, forwarded from Phoenix, Arizona, by express, went
into a wreck at Shoemaker, Kansas, and were delivered to Harte &
Perkins, torn and illegible, two weeks after the story had been taken
over by another writer. Edwards filed a claim against the express
company for $300, and then compromised for $50--all the express people
were liable for by the terms of their receipt.

From November, 1895, until April, 1896, Edwards was located on a ranch
near Phoenix, Arizona, writing Five-Cent Libraries for Harte & Perkins
and sketches and short stories for other publishers. His health was
steadily declining, and he could bring himself to his work only by a
supreme effort of the will and at the expense of much physical torture.
In May, 1896, he was told that he must get farther away from the
irrigated districts around Phoenix and into the arid hills. To this end
he interested himself in a gold mine, and went East to form a company
and secure the necessary capital to purchase and develop it.

About the middle of July he returned to Phoenix, still writing
but hoping for golden rewards from the mining venture which would
ultimately make his writing less of a business and more of a pastime.

His health continued to decline and he was ordered to give up writing
entirely and exercise constantly in the open. He at once telegraphed
Harte & Perkins to this effect. On Oct. 13 they wrote:

  "We have heard nothing from you since receipt of your telegram to
  take all work out of your hands. This, of course, we attended to at
  once, but on your account, as well as our own, we were very sorry to
  learn that you found it necessary to give up the work, and trust that
  the illness from which you are suffering will not be lasting.... If,
  in future, you should be able to write again, we shall try to find a
  place for your work."

So the old firm and Edwards parted for a time. A few weeks proved the
mining venture a failure, and $10,000 which Edwards had put away out
of the profits of his writing had vanished--gone to make the failure
memorable. Nor had his health returned.

In some desperation, just before New Year's of '97, Mr. and Mrs.
Edwards entrained for New York, Edwards pinning his hopes to Harte &
Perkins. He had less than $100 to his name when he and his wife reached
the metropolis.

One hundred dollars will not carry a man and his wife very far in New
York, even when both are in good health and the man can work. Ambition
alone kept Edwards alive and gave him hope for the future.

The Factory out-put for 1895:

   3 Five-Cent Libraries at $50 each        $  150.
  29 Five-Cent Libraries at $40 each          1160.
   2 Detective stories at $40 each              80.
   2 Ten-Cent Library stories at $50 each      100.
     "Little Bluebell," serial                 200.
     "A Weird Marriage,"                       300.
                                          ---------
                                            $ 1990.
     Detroit Free Press, Contributions          22.
                                          ---------
         Total                              $ 2012.

For 1896:

  24 Five-Cent Libraries at $40 each         $ 960.
     Short fiction                              71.50
                                           --------
         Total                              $ 1031.50

  For cold brutality perhaps the rejection slip worded as below is
  unequalled:

  We are sorry to return your paper, but you have .

                                           Respectfully yours,
                                                       The Editor.

       *       *       *       *       *

  Before Mr. Karl Edwin Harriman, of The Red Book, had ventured into
  the editorial end of the writing trade, he wrote an article on an
  order from a certain Eastern magazine. Later, that magazine decided
  that it could not use the article, although it had been paid for,
  and, with Mr. Harriman's permission, turned it over to an agent to
  market elsewhere.

  The agent, not knowing Mr. Harriman had associated himself with a
  certain magazine, sent the manuscript to that publication, in the
  ordinary way.

  It was up to Mr. Harriman, then, to consider it in an editorial
  capacity. He was unable to purchase the manuscript, and returned it
  to the agent with a reproof for having submitted such an article, and
  indicating that the author had a great deal to learn before he could
  feel justified in seeking a market among the best known magazines.




IX.

RAW MATERIAL


Where does the writer get his plot-germs, the raw material which
he puts through the mill of his fancy and finally draws forth as a
finished and salable product? Life is a thing of infinite variety,
and the plot-germ is a thing of Life or it is nothing. Being a mere
basic suggestion of the story, the germs must come from the author's
experience, or from the experiences of others which have been brought
to his attention. Unconsciously the germ lodges in his mind, and his
ingenuity, handling other phases of existence, works out the completed
plot.

It follows that the richer an author's experience and the more ardent
his imagination the better will be the plot evolved, providing his
fine sense of values has been adequately cultivated. But no matter how
adventurous and varied a personal experience, or how warm the fancy, or
how highly cultivated the mind in its adaptation of fact to fiction,
the experience of others compels attention if a writer's work is to be
anything more than self-centered.

Newspapers, chronicling the everyday events of human existence, have
not only suggested countless successful plot-germs but have likewise
helped in the rounding out of the plot. An editor wrote Edwards,
as long ago as March 30, 1893: "What we require in our stories is
something written up to date, with incidents new and original.
The daily press is teeming with this raw material." This fact is
universally recognized, so that very few authors neglect to avail
themselves of this source of inspiration.

As a case in point, a few years ago one noted author was accused
of appropriating the work of another noted author. Plagiarism
was seemingly proved by evoking the aid of the deadly parallel.
Nevertheless the evidence was far from being conclusive. Each author
had done no more than build a similar story upon the same newspaper
clipping! Neither was in the wrong. No one writer has a monopoly of
the facts of life, or of the right to use those facts as they filter
through columns of the daily press.

Fortunately for Edwards, he realized the value of newspaper clippings
very early in his writing career. Twenty-five years ago he began to
scissor and to put away those clippings which most impressed him. Until
late in the year 1893 his clipping collection was either pasted in
scrap-books or thrown loosely into a large box. During the winter of
1893-4 he felt the necessity of having the raw material of his Factory
stored more systematically. The services of an assistant were secured
and the work was begun.

Large manila envelopes were used. The envelopes were lettered
alphabetically, and each clipping was filed by title. On the back of
each envelope was typed the title of its contents.

This method was found to be wholly unsatisfactory. Frequent examination
had given Edwards a fair working knowledge of his thousands of
clippings, but he was often obliged to go through a dozen or more
envelopes before finding the particular article whose title had escaped
him.

In 1905 he bought a loose-leaf book and tried out a new system on an
accumulation of several thousand magazines. This indexing was done
in such a way as to suggest the character of the clipping (written
in red), and the title of the article, the page number and number of
the magazine (written in black). All the magazines had been numbered
consecutively and placed on convenient shelves. The first page of "W,"
for instance, appeared as shown below:

  _Washington_ "A Job in the Senate" 771-3
  _Wild Animal Story_ "The Rebellion of a Millionaire" 477-4
  _Washington, Booker T._ "Riddle of the Negro" 519-4
  _White Cross_ "Work of the American W. C." 129-5
  _Waitress_ "Diary of an Amateur W." 543-6
  _Wall Street_ "The Shadow of High Finance" 336-8
  _Woman Suffrage_ "Worlds Half-Citizens" 411-8
  _Woman_ "How to Make Money" 495-9

The above is only part of one of many pages of W's, and will serve to
exemplify the advantages and disadvantages of the system in practical
use. For instance, if it was desired to find out something about Booker
T. Washington, all that was necessary was to take down old magazine No.
4 and turn to page 519.

This manifestly was an improvement over the old envelope method of
indexing, but still left much to be desired. To illustrate, if Edwards
wished to exhaust his material on Booker T. Washington it was necessary
for him to hunt through all the pages under "W," and then examine all
the magazines containing the articles in which he was mentioned. It is
patent that if the indexing were properly done, every reference having
to do with Booker T. Washington should follow a single reference to
him in the index; and, further, the various articles should be grouped
together.

Two years later, Edwards discarded the loose-leaf for the card system.
This, he found, was as near perfection as could be hoped for.

His first step was to buy a number of strong box letter-files. These he
numbered consecutively, just as he had numbered the manila envelopes.
Articles are cut from magazines, the leaves secured together with brass
fasteners, and on the first page margin at the top are marked the file
number and letter of compartment where the article belongs. Thus, if
the article is kept out of the file for any length of time it can be
readily returned to its proper place. Newspaper clippings are handled
in precisely the same way.

The card index has its divisions and sub-divisions. Cards indexing
articles on various countries have a place under the general letter,
and another place in the geographical section under the same letter. So
with articles concerning Noted Personages, Astronomy, Antiquities, etc.
Below, for the benefit of any one who may wish to use the system, is
reproduced a card from the file:


ARMY, U. S.

  Hand Bill used to secure enlistments      "A" 1
  Army Story "Knew It"                      "K" 1
  Army Story "A Philippine Romance"         "P" 1
  Army Story "He is Crazy Jack"             "C" 1
  Army Story "Their Very Costly Meal"       "T" 1
  Army Story "Siege of Bigbag"              "S" 1
  "Fighting Life in the Philippines"        "F" 1
  Pay of Soldiers "Young Man--"             "Y" 2

In this system the character of the material is first indicated, as
_Pay of Soldiers_. If there is a title it follows in quotation marks.
Where the title suggests the character of the material sufficiently,
the title comes first, in "quotes." Then follows the letter under which
the article is filed, and the number of the file. Suppose it is desired
to find out what soldiers of the United States' Army are paid for their
services: File No. 2 is removed from the shelf, opened at letter "Y"
and the information secured under title beginning, "Young Man--."

As a saver of time, and a guard against annoyance when fancies are
running free, Edwards has found his card-index system for clippings
almost ideal.

  A friend of Edwards' is what the comic papers call a "jokesmith."
  Recently he concocted the following:

  "You must be doing well," said Jones the merchant to Quill the
  writer, meeting him in front of his house. "You seem to be always
  busy, and you look prosperous."

  "So I am, Jones," answered Quill, "busy and prosperous. Come into the
  basement with me and I'll show you the secret of my prosperity."

  They descended into the basement and Quill rang up the curtain on a
  ragman weighing three big bags of rejection slips.

  "My stories all come back," confessed Quill, triumphantly, "and I get
  three cents a pound for the rejection slips that come with them."

  This, of course, was not much of a joke, but the perpetrator sent it
  to _Judge_. _Judge_ sent it back with about twenty blank rejection
  slips inclosed by a rubber band. On the top slip was written: "Here
  are some more.--Ed. _Judge_."




X.

  THE WOLF
  AT THE DOOR


Perhaps very few men in this life escape a period as black and
dispiriting as was the year 1897 for Edwards. If not in one way, then
in another, it is the fate of a man to be chastened and subdued so
thoroughly, at least once in his career, that a livid remembrance of it
remains always with him. Edwards has always been an optimist, but those
blows of circumstance of the year 1897 found many weak places in the
armor of his philosophy.

In tangling and untangling the threads of a story plot Edwards had
become tolerably proficient, but in straightening out the snarls Fate
had made in his own life he was crushed with a feeling of abject
helplessness. There is a vast difference, it seems, in dealing with the
complications of others and those that beset ourselves. The impersonal
attitude makes for keener analysis and wiser judgment.

In a story, the poverty stricken hero and his wife may exist for a week
on a loaf of bread, ten cents' worth of potatoes and a twenty-cent
soup-bone; but let the man who creates such a hero attempt to emulate
his fictional fancies and stark realism plays havoc with the equation.
The wolf at our own door is one sort of animal, and the wolf at our
neighbor's is of an altogether different breed.

The thermometer in Southern Arizona was "eighty in the shade" when
Mr. and Mrs. Edwards, during the Christmas holidays, set their faces
eastward. New York City, the shrine of so many pilgrims seeking
prosperity, was their goal; and the metropolis, on that bleak New
Year's Day that witnessed their arrival, was shivering in the grip
of real, old-fashioned winter. The change from a balmy climate to
blizzards and ice and a below-zero temperature brought Edwards to his
bed with a vicious attack of rheumatism. For days while the little fund
of $100 melted steadily away, he lay helpless.

The great city, in its dealings with impecunious strangers, has been
painted in cruel colors. Edwards found this to be a mistake. On the
occasion of their first visit to New York he and his wife had found
quarters in a boarding house in Forty-fourth street. A pleasant
landlady was in charge and the Edwards had won her friendship.

Here, forming one happy family, were actors and actresses, a salesman
in a down-town department store, a stenographer, a travelling man for
a bicycle house, and others. All were cheerful and kindly, and took
occasion to drop in at the Edwards' third floor front and beguile the
tedious hours for the invalid.

Fourteen years have brought many changes to Forty-fourth street between
Broadway and Sixth avenue. The row of high-stoop brownstone "fronts"
has that air of neglect which precedes demolition and the giving way of
the old order to the new. The basement, where the pleasant landlady sat
at her long table and smiled at the raillery and wit of "Beaney," and
Sam, and "Smithy," and Ruth, and Ina and the rest, has fallen sadly
from its high estate. A laundry has taken possession of the place. And
"Beaney," the light-hearted one who laughed at his own misfortunes
and sympathized with the misfortunes of others, "Beaney" has gone to
his long account. A veil as impenetrable has fallen over the pleasant
landlady, Sam, "Smithy," Ruth and Ina; and where-ever they may be,
Edwards, remembering their kindness to him in his darkest days, murmurs
for each and all of them a fervent "God bless you!"....

Before he was compelled to take to his bed Edwards had called at the
offices of Harte & Perkins. His interview with Mr. Perkins impressed
upon him the fact that, once a place upon the contributors' staff of
a big publishing house is relinquished it is difficult to regain.
Others had been given the work which Edwards had had for three years.
These others were turning in acceptable manuscripts and, in justice
to them, Harte & Perkins could not take the work out of their hands.
Mr. Perkins, however, did give Edwards an order for four Five-Cent
Libraries--stories to be held in reserve in case manuscripts from
regular contributors failed to arrive in time. On Feb. 11 he received a
letter from the firm to the following effect:

  "When we wrote you day before yesterday asking you to turn in four
  Five-Cent Libraries before doing anything else in the Library line
  for us, we were under the impression that the gentleman who has been
  engaged upon this work for some time would not be able to turn the
  material in with usual regularity on account of illness, but we hear
  from him today that he is now in better health, and will be able to
  keep up with the work, which he is very anxious to do, and somewhat
  jealous of having any other material in the series so long as he can
  fill the bill. On this account it will be well for you to stop work
  on the Library. When you have completed the story on which you are
  now engaged, turn your attention to the Ten-Cent Library work, which
  we think you will be able to do to our satisfaction."

This will illustrate the attitude which some authors assume toward the
"butter-in." All of a certain grist that comes to a publisher's mill
must be _their_ grist. If the mill ground for another, and found the
product better than ordinary, the other might secure a "stand-in" that
would threaten the prestige of the regular contributor.

In seeking to keep his head above water financially, Edwards attempted
to sell book rights of "The Astrologer," the serial published in 1891
in _The Detroit Free Press_. He had written, also, 66 pages of a
present-tense Gunteresque story which he hoped would win favor as had
his other stories in that style. This yarn he called "Croesus, Jr."
Both manuscripts were submitted to Harte & Perkins.

On Jan. 28, when the Edwards' exchequer was nearly depleted, "Croesus,
Jr.," was returned with this written message:

  "It might be said of the story in a way that it is readable, but it
  does not promise as good a story as we desire for this series. 'Most
  decidedly,' says the reader, 'it lacks originality, novelty and
  strength.' This criticism, which we consider entirely competent, must
  deter us from considering the story favorably."

This was blow number one. Blow number two was delivered Feb. 3:

  "We have had your manuscript, 'The Astrologer,' examined, and the
  verdict is that it would not be suitable for any of our regular
  publications, and it is not in our line for book publication. The
  reader states that it very humorous in parts but rather long drawn
  out.... We return manuscript."

Two Five-Cent Libraries at $40 each were accepted and paid for; also
four sketches written for a small magazine which Harte & Perkins were
starting.[E]

Although he grew better of his rheumatism, Edwards failed to improve
materially in health, and late in March he and his wife returned
to Chicago. They rented a modest flat on the North Side, got their
household effects out of storage, and faced the problem of existence
with a courage scarcely warranted by their circumstances.

Edwards was able to work only half a day. The remainder of the day he
spent in bed with an alternation of chills and fever and a grevious
malady growing upon him. During this period he tried syndicating
articles in the newspapers but without success. He also wrote for Harte
& Perkins a "_Guest_" serial, the order for which he had brought back
with him from New York. He made one try for this by submitting the
first few chapters and synopsis of story which he called "A Vassar
Girl." These were returned to him as unsuitable. He then wrote seven
chapters of a serial entitled, "A Girl from the Backwoods," and--with
much fear and trembling be it confessed--sent them on for examination.
Under date of July 8 this word was returned:

  "The seven chapters of 'A Girl from the Backwoods' read very good,
  and we should like to have you finish the story, and should it prove
  satisfactory in its entirety, we should consider it an acceptable
  story."

Here was encouragement at a time when encouragement was sorely needed.
But how to keep the Factory going while the story was being finished
was a difficult question. There were times when twenty-five cents
had to procure a Sunday dinner for two; and there was a time when
two country cousins arrived for a visit, and Edwards had not the
half-dollar to pay an expressman for bringing their trunks from the
station! Pride, be it understood, was one of Edwards' chief assets. He
had always been a regal spender, and his country cousins knew it. How
the lack of that fifty-cent piece grilled his sensitive soul!

It was during these trying times that the genius of Mrs. Edwards showed
like a star in the heavy gloom. On next to nothing she contrived to
supply the table, and the conjuring she could do with a silver dollar
was a source of never-failing wonder to her husband.

Edwards remembers that, at a time when there was not even car-fare
in the family treasury, a check for $1.50 arrived in payment for a
1,500-word story that had been out for several years.

During the latter part of July the demand for money pending the
completion of "A Girl from the Backwoods" became so insistent, that
Edwards wrote and submitted to Harte & Perkins a sketch for their
magazine. It contained 1,232 words and was purchased on Aug. 3 for
$6.16.

"A Girl from the Backwoods" was submitted late in September, and was
returned on Oct. 13 for a small correction. The following letter, dated
Oct. 27, was received from the editor of the "Guest:"

  "The manuscript of 'A Girl from the Backwoods', also the correction
  which you have made, have been duly received. The correction is very
  satisfactory.

  In regard to your suggestion about the heroine's name being that of a
  well known writer, we would say that inasmuch as the name is rather
  appropriate and suits the character we do not see that the lady who
  already bears it would in any way find fault with your use of it, and
  at present we think it may be allowed to stand."

As showing Edwards' pecuniary distress, the following paragraph from a
letter from Harte & Perkins, dated Oct. 28, may be given:

  "In response to your favor of the 19th and your telegram of
  yesterday,[F] we enclose you herewith our check for $200 in full for
  your story 'A Girl from the Backwoods.' This is the best price we
  can make you for this and other stories of this class from your pen,
  and it is a somewhat better one than we are now paying for similar
  material from other writers. We believe this will be satisfactory to
  you."

The price was not satisfactory. Edwards and his wife had counted upon
receiving at least $300 for the story, and they needed that amount
sorely. A respectful letter at once went forward to Harte & Perkins,
appealing to their sense of justice and fairness, which Edwards had
never yet known to fail him. On Nov. 3 came an additional check for
$100, and these words:

  "Replying to your favor of Nov. 1st, at hand today, we beg to
  state that we shall, agreeably with your request and especially as
  you put it in such strong terms, make the payment on 'A Girl from
  the Backwoods' $300. The story is much liked by our reader and we
  do think it is worth as much if not more than the Stella Edwards
  material which, however, in the writer's judgement was much overpaid.
  We shall take this into account when considering the acceptance of
  other stories from your pen, and while we do not say positively that
  we will not pay $300 for the next one, as we wrote you in our last
  letter this is a high price for this class of material and we will
  expect to pay you according to our views as to the value of the
  manuscript."

The year closed with an order from Harte & Perkins for another story
of the Stella Edwards sort; a very dismal year indeed, and showing
Factory returns as follows:

  Two Five-Cent Libraries at $40      $ 80.00
  Four magazine sketches at $10         40.00
  One magazine sketch                    6.16
  "A Girl from the Backwoods,"         300.
                                    ---------
                      Total           $426.16

Perhaps, after all, this was not doing so badly; for during this year,
and the year immediately following, Edwards was to discover that he had
had one foot in the grave. But his fortunes were at their lowest ebb.
With 1898 they were to begin taking an upward turn.

  Some one said that some one else, by using Ignatius Donnelly's
  cryptogram, proved that the late Bill Nye wrote the Shakespeare
  plays. This, of course, is merely a reflection on the cryptogram;
  BUT if Shakespeare's publishers had not been so slovenly with that
  folio edition of his plays, there would never have been any hunt for
  a cipher, nor any of this Bacon talk.

       *       *       *       *       *

  "In the early days, when I lived on the plains of Western Kansas
  on a homestead," says John H. Whitson, well and favorably known to
  dozens of editors, "I was nosed out by a correspondent for a Kansas
  City paper, who thought there was something bizarre in the fact
  that an author was living the simple life of a Western Settler. The
  purported interview he published was wonderful concoction! He gave
  a descriptive picture of the dug-out in which I lived, and filled
  in the gaps with other matter drawn from his imagination, making me
  out a sort of literary troglodyte; whereas, as a matter of fact, I
  had never lived in a dug-out. On top of it, one of my homesteading
  friends asked me in all seriousness how much I had paid to get that
  write-up and picture in the Kansas City paper, and seemed to think I
  was doing some tall lying when I said I had paid nothing."


FOOTNOTES:

[E] This magazine, by the way, which had an humble beginning, has grown
into one of the high class "populars" and has a wide circulation.

[F] Telegram sent on same day letter was received saying story was
satisfactory.




XI

  WHEN FICTION IS
  STRANGER THAN TRUTH.


We are told that "fiction hath in it a higher end than fact," which we
may readily believe; and we may also concede that "truth is stranger
than fiction," at least in its occasional application. Nevertheless, in
the course of his career as a writer Edwards has created two fictional
fancies which so closely approximated truth as to make fiction stranger
than truth; and, in one case, the net result of imagination was to
coincide exactly with real facts of which the imagination could take
no account. Perhaps each of these two instances is unique in its
particular field; they are, in any event, so odd as to be worthy of
note.

In the early 90's, when a great deal of Edwards' work was appearing,
unsigned, in _The Detroit Free Press_, he wrote for that paper a brief
sketch entitled, "The Fatal Hand." The sketch was substantially as
follows:

  "The Northern Pacific Railroad had just been built into Helena,
  Montana, and I happened to be in the town one evening and stepped
  into a gambling hall. Burton, a friend of mine, was playing poker
  with a miner and two professional gamblers. I stopped beside the
  table and watched the game.

  Cards had just been drawn. Burton, as soon as he had looked at his
  hand, calmly shoved the cards together, laid them face-downward
  in front of him, removed a notebook from his pocket and scribbled
  something on a blank leaf. 'Read that,' said he, 'when you get back
  to your hotel tonight.'

  The play proceeded. Presently the miner detected one of the
  professional gamblers in the act of cheating. Words were passed,
  the lie given. All the players leaped to their feet. Burton, in
  attempting to keep the miner from shooting, received the gambler's
  bullet and fell dead upon the scattered cards.

  An hour later, when I reached my hotel, I thought of the note Burton
  had handed me. It read: 'I have drawn two red sevens. I now hold
  jacks full on red sevens. It is a fatal hand and I shall never
  leave this table alive. I have $6,000 in the First National Bank
  at Bismarck. Notify my mother, Mrs. Ezra J. Burton, Louisville,
  Kentucky.'"

This small product of the Fiction Factory was pure fiction from
beginning to end. In the original it had the tang of point and
counterpoint which caused it to be seized upon by other papers and
widely copied. This gave extensive publicity to the "fatal hand"--the
three jacks and two red sevens contrived by Edwards out of a small
knowledge of poker and the cabala of cards.

Yet, what was the result?

A month later the Chicago papers published an account of a police raid
on a gambling room. As the officers rushed into the place a man at one
of the tables fell forward and breathed his last. "Heart disease," was
the verdict. But note: A police officer looked at the cards the dead
man had held and found them to be _three jacks and two red sevens_.

A week later _The New York Recorder_ gave space to a news story in
which a man was slain at a gaming table in Texas. When the smoke of the
shooting had blown away some one made the discovery that he had held
the fatal hand.

From that time on for several months the fatal hand left a trail of
superstition and gore all over the West. How many murders and hopeless
attacks of heart failure it was responsible for Edwards had no means
of knowing, but he could scarcely pick up a paper without finding an
account of some of the ravages caused by his "jacks full on red sevens."

Query: Were the reporters of the country romancing? If not, will some
psychologist kindly rise and explain how a bit of fiction could be
responsible for so much real tragedy?

In this instance, fancy established a precedent for fact; in the case
that follows, the frankly fictitious paralleled the unknown truth in
terms so exact that the story was recognized and appropriated by the
son of the story's hero.

While Edwards was in Arizona he was continually on the alert for story
material. The sun, sand and solitude of the country "God forgot"
produce types to be found nowhere else. He ran out many a trail
that led from adobe-walled towns into waterless deserts and bleak,
cacti-covered hills to end finally at some mine or cattle camp. It
was on one of these excursions that he was told how a company of men
had built a dam at a place called Walnut Grove. This dam backed up
the waters of a river and formed a huge lake. Mining for gold by the
hydraulic method was carried on profitably in the river below the dam.
One night the dam "went out" and a number of laborers were drowned.

With this as the germ of the plot Edwards worked out a story. He called
it "A Study in Red," and it purported to show how a lazy Maricopa
Indian, loping along on his pony in the gulch below Walnut Grove, gave
up his mount to a white girl, daughter of the superintendent of the
mining company, and while she raced on to safety he remained to die in
the flood from the broken dam.

The story was published in _Munsey's Magazine_. _Six years later_ the
author received a letter from the Maricopa Indian Reservation, sent to
New York in care of the F. A. Munsey Company. The letter was from a
young Maricopa.

  "I have often read the account of my father's bravery, and how he
  saved the life of the beautiful white girl when the Walnut Grove dam
  gave way. I have kept the magazine, and whenever I feel blue, or life
  does not go to please me, I get the story and read it and take heart
  to make the best of my lot and try to pattern after my father.

  I have long wanted to write you, and now I have done so. I am back
  from the Indian School at Carlisle, on a visit to my people, and am
  impelled to send you this letter of appreciation and thanks for the
  story about my father."

Now, pray, what is one to think of this? The letter bears all the
earmarks of a _bona fide_ performance and was written and mailed on the
Reservation. Edwards' fiction, it seems, had become sober fact for this
young Maricopa Indian. Or did his father really die by giving up his
pony to the "beautiful young white girl?" And was Edwards' prescience
doing subliminal stunts when he wrote the story?

John Peter, should this ever meet your eyes will you please communicate
further with the author of "A Study in Red?" It has been some years now
since a letter, sent to you at the Reservation, failed of a reply. And
the letter has not been returned.




XII

  FORTUNE BEGINS
  TO SMILE


Edwards' literary fortunes all but reached financial zero in 1897;
with 1898 they began to mount, although the tendency upward was not
very pronounced until the month of April. During the first quarter of
the year he wrote and sold one Stella Edwards serial entitled "Lovers
En Masque." His poor health continued, and he was able to work only a
few hours each day, but the fact that he could drive himself to the
typewriter and lash his wits into evolving acceptable work gave him
encouragement to keep at it. Early in April, with part of the proceeds
from the serial story for expenses, he made a trip to New York.

"Prospecting trips" is the name Edwards gives to his frequent journeys
to the publishing center of the country. He prospected for orders,
prospected for better prices, prospected for new markets. No fiction
factory can be run successfully on a haphazard system for disposing of
its product. There must be some market in prospect, and on the wheel of
this demand the output must be shaped as the potter shapes his clay.

Edwards made it a rule to meet his publishers once a year, secure their
personal views as he could not secure them through correspondence,
and keep himself prominently before them. In this way he secured
commissions which, undoubtedly, would otherwise have been placed
elsewhere. With each succeeding journey Edwards has made to New York,
his prospecting trips have profited him more and more. This is as
it should be. There is no "marking time" for a writer in the fierce
competition for editorial favor; for one merely to "hold his own" is
equivalent to losing ground. The writer must _grow_ in his work. When
he ceases to do that he will find himself slipping steadily backward
toward oblivion.

Edwards found that in reaching New York in early April 1898, he
had arrived at the psychological moment. Harte & Perkins, already
described as keeping tense fingers on the pulse of their reading
public, had discovered a feverish quickening of interest for which
the Klondike gold rush was responsible. The prognosis was good for a
new five-cent library; so the "Golden Star Library" was given to the
presses. Edwards, because he was on the spot and urging his claims for
recognition, was chosen to furnish the copy. During the year he wrote
sixteen of these stories.

For half of April and all of May and June, Edwards and his wife were
at their old boarding place in Forty-fourth street. During this time,
along with the writing of the Golden Star stories, a juvenile serial
and a Stella Edwards serial were prepared. The title of the Stella
Edwards rhapsody was "A Blighted Heart."

On July 2, owing to the excessive heat in the city and a belief on
Edwards' part that the country would benefit him, the Fiction Factory
was temporarily removed to the Catskill Mountains. Comfortable quarters
were secured in a hotel near Cairo, and the work of producing copy went
faithfully on. Edwards' health improved somewhat, although he was
still unable to keep at his machine for a union day of eight hours.

Under date of Aug. 1, Harte & Perkins wrote Edwards that on account of
the poor success of the Golden Star Library they would have to stop its
weekly publication and issue it as a monthly. Mr. Perkins write:

  "I do not think that the quality of the manuscript is so much at
  fault as the character of the library itself, though it is very
  difficult always to know just what the boys want."

Edwards was depending upon this library to support himself and
wife, and the weekly check was a _sine qua non_. Summer-resorting
is expensive, and he had not yet had his fill of the historic old
Catskills. He wrote the firm and requested them to send on a check for
"A Blighted Heart." The blight did not confine itself to the story
but was visited upon Edwards' hopes, as well. Harte & Perkins did not
respond favorably. The serial was not to begin in "_The Weekly Guest_"
until the latter part of September, and upon beginning publication was
to be paid for in weekly installments of $25. Wrote Mr. Perkins:

  "This is a season when, with depressed business and the many accounts
  we have to look after, it is difficult for us to make advanced
  payments on manuscripts. You may rest assured that, if conditions
  were otherwise, I should have been glad to meet your wishes."

This meant an immediate farewell to the stamping grounds of good old
Rip Van Winkle. Forthwith the Edwards struck their tent and boarded
a night boat at Catskill Landing for down river. In their stateroom
that night, with a fountain pen and using the wash-stand for a table,
Edwards completed No. 16 of the ill-fated Golden Star Library. He had
begun this manuscript before the notification to stop work on the
series had reached him. In such cases, Harte & Perkins never refused
to accept the complete story.

December found Edwards again settled on the North Side, in Chicago. He
had consulted a physician regarding his health, and after a thorough
examination had been told that it would require at least a year, and
perhaps a year and a half, to cure him. The physician was a young man
of splendid ability, and as he had just "put out his shingle" and
patients were slow in rallying "round the standard," he threw himself
heart and soul into the task of making a whole man out of Edwards. The
writer helped by leasing a flat within half a block of his medical
adviser and faced the twelve or eighteen months to come with more or
less equanimity.

Edwards, of course, could not recline at his ease while the work of
rehabilitation was going forward. The family must be supported and the
doctor paid. Forty dollars a month from the Golden Star Library would
not do this. It was necessary to run up the returns somehow and another
Stella Edwards story was undertaken. The title of this story was "Won
by Love," and Harte & Perkins acknowledged receipt of the first two
installments on Dec. 6. Inasmuch as "Won by Love" came very near being
the death of its author, it may be interesting to consider the story a
little further. The letter of the 6th ran:

  "We have received the first two installments of 'Won by Love' and
  like them very much indeed, but before giving you a definite answer
  we would like to have four more instalments on approval, making six
  in all. Kindly send these at your earliest convenience and oblige."

The four installments were sent and nothing more was heard from them
until a telegram, dated Jan. 19, 1899, was received:

  "Please send more of 'Won by Love' as soon as possible. Must have it
  Monday."

Owing to the fact that the writer of the old Five-Cent Library, for
which Edwards had furnished copy some years before, had been taken
seriously ill, this work had been turned over to Edwards on Dec. 27,
1898.

At this time Edwards was confined to his bed, and there he worked, his
typewriter in front of him on an improvised table. He had just finished
several hours' work on a library story when the telegram regarding "Won
by Love" was received. This was Saturday. Edwards wired at once that he
would send two more installments on the following Monday. These 12,000
words went forward according to schedule, and on the night they were
sent the doctor called and found his patient in a state of collapse.
Cause, too much "Won by Love." The young physician took it more to
heart than Edwards did.

"I'm afraid," said he gloomily, "that you have ended your writing for
all time."

"You're wrong, doctor," declared Edwards; "I'm not going to be removed
until I've done something better than pot-boilers."

"I want to call a specialist into consultation," was the reply.

The specialist was called and Edwards was stripped and his body marked
off into sections--mapped out with one medical eye on the "undiscovered
country" and the other on this lowly but altogether lovely "vale
of tears." When the examination was finished, the preponderance of
testimony was all in favor of the Promised Land.

"I should say, Mr. Edwards," said the specialist, in a tone
professionally sympathetic, "that you have one chance in three to get
well. Your other chance is for possibly seven or eight years of life.
The third chance allows you barely time to settle your affairs."

Settle his affairs! What affairs had Edwards to settle? There was the
next library to be written and "Won by Love" to finish, but these would
have netted Mrs. Edwards no more than $340. And the smallest chance
would not suffer Edwards to leave his wife even this pittance. Since
his disastrous Arizona experience Edwards had not been able to save any
money. He was only just beginning to look ahead to a little garnering
when the doctors pronounced their verdict. He had not a dollar of
property, real or personal, if his library was not taken into account,
and not a cent of life insurance. After turning this deplorable
situation over in his mind, he decided that it was impossible for him
to die.

"I'm going to take the first chance," said he, "and make the most of
it."

He did. The young physician gave up more of his time and worked like
a galley slave to see his patient through. Now, thirteen years after
the specialist spoke the last word, Edwards is in robust health--the
monument of his own determination and the young doctor's skill. Nothing
succeeds--sometimes--like the logic of _nil desperandum_.

To regain a foothold with his publishers, following the disastrous
year of 1897, had cost Edwards so much persistent work that he would
not cancel a single order. He hired a stenographer and for two weeks
dictated his stories, then again resumed the writing of them himself,
in bed and with the use of the improvised table. Success awaited all
his fiction, even when turned out in such adverse circumstances.
This, perhaps, was the best tonic he could have. He improved slowly
but surely and was able, in addition to his regular work, to write a
hundred-thousand word novel embracing his Arizona experiences. This
novel he called "He Was a Stranger."

The title was awkward, but it had been clipped from the quotation,
"he was a stranger, and they took him in." The story was submitted to
Harte & Perkins, but they were not in the mood for taking in strangers
of that sort. But the year following the novel secured the friendly
consideration of Mr. Matthew White, Jr., and introduced Edwards into
the Munsey publications.

Another novel, "The Man from Dakota," was returned by Harte & Perkins
after they had had it on hand for a year. It was declined in the face
of a favorable report by one of their readers because, "We have so many
books on hand that must be brought out during the next year that we
cannot consider this story."

The year 1899 closed with Fortune's smile brightening delightfully for
Edwards, and the new century beckoning him pleasantly onward with the
hope of better things to come. The returns for the two years, standing
to the credit of The Fiction Factory, are summarized thus:

  1898:
  "Lovers En Masque,"                       $ 300.
  "Golden Star Library," 16 at $40 each,      640.
  Boys Serial,                                100.
  "A Blighted Heart,"                         300.
                                          --------
  Total                                     $1340.

  1899:
  "Won by Love,"                            $ 300.
  3 "Golden Stars" at $40 each,               120.
  35 Five-Cent Libraries at $40 each,        1400.
                                          --------
  Total                                     $1820.

  Edwards lives in the outskirts of a small town, on a road much
  travelled by farmers. Two honest tillers of the soil were passing
  his home, one day, and one of them was heard to remark to the other:
  "A man by the name of Edwards lives there, Jake. He's one of those
  fictitious writers."

       *       *       *       *       *

  Edwards has few friends whom he prizes more highly than he does Col.
  W. F. Cody, "Buffalo Bill," and Major Gordon W. Lillie, "Pawnee
  Bill." While the Wild West and Far East Show, of which Cody and
  Lillie are the proprietors was making its farewell tour with the Last
  of the Scouts, Major Lillie had this to tell about Colonel Cody:

  "You'd be surprised at the number of people who try to beat their
  way into the show by stringing the Colonel. The favorite way is by
  claiming acquaintance with him. A stranger will approach Buffalo Bill
  with a bland smile and an outstretched hand. 'Hello, Colonel!' he'll
  say, 'guess who I am! I'll bet you can't guess who I am!' Cody will
  give it up. 'Why,' bubbles the stranger, 'don't you remember when you
  were in Ogden, Utah, in nineteen-two? Remember the crowd at the depot
  to see you get off the train? Why, I was the man in the white hat!'"

  "Just this afternoon," laughed the Major, "Cody came up to where I
  was standing. He was wiping the sweat from his forehead and his face
  was red and full of disgust. 'What's the matter?' I inquired. 'Oh,'
  he answered, 'another one of those d-- guessing contests! Why in
  blazes can't people think up something new?'"




XIII.

  OUR FRIEND,
  THE T. W.


In some localities of this progressive country the pen may still be
mightier than the sword; but if, afar from railroad and telegraph,
holed away in barbaric seclusion, there really exists a community that
writes with a quill and uses elderberry ink and a sandbox, it is safe
to say that this community has never been heard of--and the cause is
not far to seek. Just possibly, however, it is from such a backwoods
township that the busy editor receives those rare manuscripts whose
chirography covers both sides of the sheet. In this case the pen is
really mightier than the sword as an instrument for cutting the ground
out from under the feet of aspiring genius. Just possibly, too, it was
from such a place that a typewritten letter was returned to the sender
with the indignant scrawl: "You needn't bother to print my letters--I
can read writin'."

Nowadays penwork is confined largely to signing letters and other
documents and indorsing checks; to use it for anything else should be
named a misdemeanor in the statutes with a sliding scale of punishments
to fit the gravity of the offense.

It is not to be inferred, of course, that a man will dictate his love
letters to a stenographer. Here, indeed, "two's company and three's a
crowd." Every man should master the T. W., and when he confides his
tender sentiments to paper for the eyes of the One Girl, his own
fingers should manipulate the keys and the T. W., should be equipped
with a tri-chrome ribbon--red and black record and purple copying.
Black will answer for the more subdued expressions, red should be
switched on for the warmer terms of endearment, and purple should be
used for whatever might be construed as evidence in a court of law.
Even _billets-doux_ have been known to develop a commercial value.

When a serviceable typewriter may be bought for $25 what excuse has
anyone for side-stepping the inventive ingenuity of the day which makes
for clearness and speed? How much does Progress owe the typewriter? Who
can measure the debt? How much does civilization owe the telephone,
the night-letter, the fast mail and two-cent postage? Even more than
to these does Progress owe to that mechanism of springs, keys and
type-bars which makes plain and rapid the written thought.

In the Edwards Fiction Factory the T. W., comprises the entire "plant."
The "hands" employed for the skilled labor are his own, and fairly
proficient. His own, too, is the administrative ability, modest enough
in all truth yet able to guide the Factory's destiny with a fair meed
of success.

Since the T. W., is so important, Edwards believes in always keeping
abreast of improvements. The best is none too good. A typed script, no
less than a stereotyped idea, is damned by mediocrity. If a typewriter
appears this year which is a distinct advance over last year's machine,
Edwards has it. Keeping up-to-date is usually a little expensive, but
it pays.

In the early days of his writing Edwards used the old Caligraph. It was
a small machine and confined itself to capital letters. Whenever he
wished to indicate the proper place for a capital he did it thus: HIS
NAME WAS CAESAR, AND HE LIVED IN ROME. If he lost a letter--and letters
in those days were not easily replaced--he allowed the unknown quantity
"X" to piece out: HIX NAME WAX CAEXAR--. In due time he came to realize
the importance of neatness and traded his first Caligraph for a later
model equipped with letters from both "cases." During twenty-two years
he has purchased at least twenty-five typewriters, each the last word
in typewriter construction at the time it was bought. At present he has
two machines, one a "shift-key" and the other with every letter and
character separately represented on the key-board.

There are many makes of typewriters, and operators are of many minds
regarding the "best" makes. Edwards has favored the full key-board as
being less of a drain upon the attention than the "shift-key" machine.
For the writer who composes upon his machine the operating must become
a habit, otherwise an elusive idea may take wings for good while the
one who evolved it is searching out the letters necessary to nail it
hard and fast to the white sheet. Edwards has recently discovered that
he can change from his full key-board to a shift-key and back again
without materially interrupting his flow of ideas.

The characters of the key-board used for ordinary business purposes
and those in demand by the writer are somewhat different. Not always,
on the key-board designed for commercial use, will the exclamation
point be found. This, if wanted, must be built up out of a period and
a half-ditto mark,--"." plus "'" equals "!" Such makeshifts should be
tabooed by the careful writer. Whatever is worth doing at all is worth
doing well, and _once_. Three motions, two at the key-board and one at
the back-spacer, are two too many. By all means have the real thing in
exclamation points--!

Another makeshift with which Edwards has little patience is the
custom of using ditto marks for quotation marks, and semi-dittos for
semi-quotes. These, and other characters, may be added to most machines
by eliminating the fractions, the oblique mark or the per cent. sign.

It seems poor policy, also, to use a hyphen, or two hyphens, to
indicate a dash. Why not have the underscore raised to the position of
a hyphen and so have a dash that _is_ a dash?

The asterisk, "*," is a character valuable for indicating footnotes,
and the caret is often useful in making typewritten interlineations.
All these characters Edwards has on his full key-board machine. On the
shift-key machine he must still struggle with the built-up exclamation
point, the ditto quotes and the hyphen dash. No wonder he prefers a
Smith Premier!

Even the best and most up-to-date typewriter cannot answer all the
demands made upon it by writers, however. Some day the growing army of
authors will receive due attention in this matter, and the manuscript
submitted to editors will compare favorably with the printed story.

In "Habits that Help," a very instructive article by Walter D. Scott,
professor of psychology at Northwestern University, published in
_Everybody's Magazine_ for September, 1911, appears this paragraph:

  "Some time ago I could pick out the letters on a typewriter at a rate
  of about one per second. Writing is now becoming reduced to a habit,
  and I can write perhaps three letters a second. When the act has been
  reduced to the pure habit form, I shall be writing at the rate of not
  less than five letters per second."

The "pure habit form" is one for those who compose on the typewriter
to acquire. It not only means ease of composition, but speed in the
performance and perfect legibility.

Until a few years ago, Edwards always carried his typewriter with him
on his travels. The machine was large and heavy and had to be handled
with care, so its transportation was no easy matter. In course of time,
and pending the invention of a practical typewriter to fit the pocket,
he became content to leave his machine at home and rent one wherever he
happened to be.

During one of his eastern "prospecting" trips, Edwards and his wife
left New York for a few summer weeks in the Berkshire Hills. The T. W.,
remained temporarily in the city to be overhauled and forwarded. For
a fortnight Edwards slaved with a pen, _writing four manuscripts of
25,000 words each_. He appreciated then, as he had never done before,
the value of the typewriter in his work. Late in the first week he
began writing and telegraphing for his machine to be sent on.

About the hotel it was known that Edwards expected a typewriter by
every stage from Great Barrington. He had fretted about the non-arrival
of the typewriter, and in some manner had let fall the information
that his typewriter weighed sixty pounds. Speculation was rife as
to whether the T. W., had blue eyes or gray, and as to what manner
of dwarf or living skeleton could fulfill the requirements at sixty
pounds. When the machine finally arrived and the square packing case
was unloaded, a host of curious ladies received the surprise of their
lives.

"Typewriter," commonly used as a generic name for the machine that
prints, as well as for the person who operates it, should have its
double meaning curtailed. The young lady of pleasing face and amiable
deportment, whose deft fingers hover over the keys of a senseless
machine, is entitled to something more appropriate in the way of a
professional title.

Let it be "typist," after the English fashion; and instead of saying
"the typist typewrote the letter," why not say she "typed" it?

  An editor once returned a manuscript with a note like this:

    Dear Sir:--Put it into narrative form.
                     Yours truly, "The Editor."

  I did so. A week later came this:

    "Dear Sir:--A little mystery would help. We like your style very
    much. Yours truly, "The Editor."

  I put in the mystery. A week later,--

    "Dear Sir:--You send us good verse. Why not turn the marked
    paragraphs into verse, with strong influence on story? Well
    written. "Yours truly, etc."

  It was a good idea. The verse was acceptable. It was so acceptable
  that the editor sent back the story and a check for $5 in payment for
  the verse--which was all he kept!




XIV

  FRESH FIELDS
  AND PASTURES NEW


So far in his writing career Harte & Perkins had been the heaviest
purchasers of Edwards' fiction. They had given him about all he could
do of a certain class of work, and he had not tried to find other
markets for the Factory's product. Pinning his hopes to one firm,
even though it was the best firm in the business, was unsatisfactory
in many respects. For various reasons, any one of which is good and
sufficient, a writer should have more than one "string to his bow."
Harte & Perkins, jealously watching the tastes of their reading public,
were compelled to make many and sudden changes in the material they put
out. This directly affected the writers of the material, and Edwards
was often left with no prospects at all, and perhaps at just the time
when he flattered himself that his prospects were brightest.

In preceding chapters mention has been made of two serial stories in
which Edwards had vainly endeavored to interest Harte & Perkins. One of
these was "The Man from Dakota," and the other, "He Was A Stranger."
These, and another entitled "A Tale of Two Towns," written late in
1900, were ultimately to open new markets.

In a diary for the year 1900, Edwards has this under date of Tuesday,
Jan. 2:

  "Mr. Paisley called to see me this morning on a business matter.
  It appears that the proprietor of _The Western World_ had ordered
  a serial from Opie Read and was not satisfied with it.[G] As _The
  Western World_ goes to press in a few days they must have another
  story at once. Later in the day I talked with Mr. Underwood the (as
  I suppose) proprietor, and he asked me to get 'The Man from Dakota'
  from Mr. Kerr, of _The Chicago Ledger_. I did so and took the
  manuscript over to Mr. Paisley. If it is acceptable they are to pay
  me $200 for it."

Mr. Paisley was a gentleman with whom Mrs. Edwards had become
acquainted while attending Frank Holme's School for Illustration, in
Chicago. He was a man of much ability.

Under Thursday, Jan. 4, the diary has a memorandum to this effect:

  "Mr. Paisley came out to see me at noon. They like 'The Man from
  Dakota' and will pay me $200 for it, divided into three payments of
  $50, $50 and $100."

So, finally, "The Man from Dakota" got into print. While it was still
appearing in _The Western World_; Mr. Underwood conceived the idea of
booming the circulation of his paper by publishing a mystery story--one
of those stories in which the mystery is not revealed until the last
chapter, and for the solution of which prizes are offered. He asked
Edwards if he would write such a story. Why should Edwards write one
when he already had on hand the mystery story unsuccessfully entered in
the old _Chicago Daily News_ contest? He offered this to Mr. Underwood.
He read it and liked it. Mr. Paisley read it and liked it. What was the
very lowest figure Edwards would take for it?

Mr. Underwood, in getting around to this point, told how he had sent
for Stanley Waterloo and asked him to write the mystery story. "What
will you pay?" inquired Mr. Waterloo. "I'll give you $100," said Mr.
Underwood. Whereupon Mr. Waterloo arose in awful majesty and strode
from the office. He did not even linger to say good-by.

"Now," said Mr. Underwood to Edwards, with a genial smile, "don't you
do that if I offer you seventy-five dollars for 'What Happened to the
Colonel.'"

"Cash?" asked Edwards.

"On the nail."

"Give me the money," said Edwards; "I need it."

Now that the diary has been quoted with a reference to Opie Read,
perhaps another reference to the same genial and talented gentleman may
be pardoned:

  Jan. 19, 1900.--"Opie Read made his 'first appearance in vaudeville'
  this week, and Gertie (Mrs. Edwards) and I went to the Chicago Opera
  House this afternoon to hear him. He was very good, but I would
  rather read one of his stories than hear him tell it."

Later in the year Edwards "broke into" the papers served by the
McClure Syndicate with "A Tale of Two Towns." After using this serial
in metropolitan papers, the McClure people sold it to The Kellogg
Newspaper Union to be used in the "patents" sent out to country
newspapers. The story was later brought out in cloth by the G. W.
Dillingham Co., New York.

The third novel, "He Was A Stranger," had already been refused by Harte
& Perkins. Late in May, 1900, Edwards again went "prospecting" to New
York. Feeling positive that Harte & Perkins had missed some of the
good points in the story, he carried the manuscript with him and once
more submitted it. Again it was refused, but Mr. Hall, editor of the
"_Guest_," informed Edwards that he had an excellent story but that it
was impossible for Harte & Perkins to consider its purchase. Edwards
asked if he knew of a possible market. "Mr. Munsey," was the reply, "is
looking for stories for _The Argosy_, and I'd suggest that you take
the story over there and show it to Mr. White, _The Argosy's_ editor."
Edwards tucked the novel under his arm and strolled up Fifth Avenue to
the offices of the Frank A. Munsey Company. There, and for the first
time, he met Mr. Matthew White, Jr.

The impression of power, tremendous ability and a big, two-handed
grasp of _Argosy_ affairs which the editor made upon Edwards, at this
time, has deepened with the passing years. An author, as well as a
keen dramatic critic, Mr. White brings to bear on his editorial duties
an intuition that closely approximates genius. He has proved his
remarkable fitness for the post he occupies by making _The Argosy_,
since Mr. Munsey "divested it of its knickerbockers," the most widely
read of all the purely fiction magazines. And withal he is one of the
most pleasant editors whom a writer will ever have the good fortune to
meet.

Mr. White was glad to consider "He Was A Stranger." He thumbed over the
pages, noted the length, and asked what price Edwards would put upon
the manuscript in case it was acceptable. Edwards named $500, and told
of "The Brave and Fair" which Harte & Perkins, a few years before, had
bought at that figure. Mr. White replied that _The Argosy_, as yet, was
unable to pay such prices, but that he would read the story and, if he
liked it, make an offer. A few days later he offered $250 for serial
rights. Edwards took into consideration the fact that the story would
establish him in the columns of a growing magazine and, with an eye to
the future, accepted the offer. He has never had occasion to regret his
decision.

From the beginning of the year Edwards had been doing a large amount
of five-cent library work for Harte & Perkins. A new weekly had been
started, the writer who furnished the copy failed to get his manuscript
in on time, and Edwards was given a story to finish and, a few days
afterward, the entire series to take care of.

At the time he sold the serial to Mr. White, he was supplying weekly
copy for two libraries--the old Five-Cent Library and the new weekly,
which shall here be referred to as the Circus Series.

On the proceeds from the sale of "He Was A Stranger" Edwards and his
wife had a little outing at Atlantic City. They returned to New York
for a few days, and then went on to Boston. Here, comfortably quartered
in a hotel, Edwards devoted his mornings to work and his afternoons to
seeing the "sights" with Mrs. Edwards. They haunted Old Cambridge, they
made pilgrimages to Salem, to Plymouth and to other places, and they
enjoyed themselves as they had never done before on an eastern trip.
Later they finished out the summer near Monterey, in the Berkshire
Hills.

During all these travels the Fiction Factory was regularly grinding
out its grist of copy--so many pages a day, so many stories a week.
Two libraries, together with a sketch each month for a trade paper
published by Harte & Perkins, kept Edwards too busy to prepare
any manuscripts for _The Argosy_. Much of his work, while in the
Berkshires, was done in longhand. On this point Mr. Perkins wrote, July
25:

  "I should think you would miss your typewriter. I fear that I shall
  miss it, too, when I read your manuscript, although I find your
  writing easier to read than that of any of our other writers."

In August the Edwards went West, visited for a time in Michigan and
then in Wisconsin, finally returned to the former state and, in the
little country town where Edwards was born, bought an old place and
settled down.

As with the Golden Star Library, misfortune finally overtook the Circus
Series. A telegram was received telling Edwards to hold No. 47 of the
Circus Series pending instructions by letter. The letter instructed
him to close up finally the adventures of the hero and his friends and
bring their various activities to an appropriate end. The series was
continued, for a while longer, with a brand-new hero in each story; but
Edwards was requested to write but three of the stories in the new form.

The year, which opened auspiciously and proved a banner year
financially, closed with a discontinuance of all orders from
Harte & Perkins. Re-prints were being used in the old Five-Cent
Library--stories that had been issued years before and could now be
republished for another generation of boy readers. Under date of Dec.
1, 1911, Mr. Perkins wrote:

  "I know of nothing, just at present, which you can do for us, but
  should anything develop I shall be very glad to inform you."

This left Edwards with a sketch a month for the trade paper, for which
he was paid $10 each. That "misfortunes never come singly" is an
old saying, and one which Edwards has found particularly true in the
writing profession. A letter of Dec. 27, informed him:

  "We have decided to dispense with the sketches in our trade paper for
  the present, at least; therefore the February sketch we have in hand
  will be the last we will want unless we give you further notice."

In a good many cases the tendency of a writer, when fate deals hardly
with him in the matter of a demand for his work, is to take his rebuffs
too seriously. Often he will lock up his Factory, leaving a placard on
the door: "Closed. Proprietor gone to Halifax. Nothing in the fiction
game anyhow."

Edwards used to feel in this way. As he grew older he learned to take
his disappointments with more or less equanimity, and to keep the
Factory running. He thought, now, of Mr. White and _The Argosy_. Here
was a good time to prepare an _Argosy_ serial. He wrote it, sent it,
and on Feb. 15, 1901, received this terse letter:

  "My dear Mr. Edwards:

  We can use your story, 'The Tangle in Butte,' in _The Argosy_ at
  $200. Very truly yours,

                                               Matthew White, Jr."

This was less than the price paid for "He Was A Stranger," but the
story ran only 60,000 words, while the other serial had gone to
100,000. The acceptance went to Mr. White by return mail.

On the day following there came a letter from Harte & Perkins ordering
work in the old Five-Cent Library--work that would keep Edwards busy
for the rest of the year. Ten of the old stories which Edwards had
written were to be revised and lengthened by 10,000 words. For this
work he was to be paid $30 for each story. When the ten numbers had
been revised and lengthened, he was to go on with the stories, writing
a new one each week. Fifty dollars apiece was to be paid for the new
stories.

There was an order, too, for more sketches for the trade paper, to be
done in another vein.

On Aug. 5 the length of the Five-Cent Library stories was cut from
30,000 words to 20,000, and the remuneration was cut from $50 to $40.
Another juvenile paper was started and Edwards was asked to submit
serials for it. In fact, 1901 might be called a "boom" year for the
Fiction Factory, although the returns, while satisfactory, were not of
the "boom" variety.

Perhaps the reader may remember the serial, "A Vassar Girl," referred
to in a previous chapter as having been submitted to Harte & Perkins
and rejected. Edwards had faith in this story and offered it to Mr.
White. Mr. White's judgment, however, tallied with that of Harte &
Perkins. Under date of June 13 Mr. White wrote:

  "I am sorry that 'A Vassar Girl' has not borne out the promise of the
  opening chapters. The interest in it is not sufficiently _sustained_
  for serial use. The story might be divided into several incidents,
  which do not grow inevitably the one out of the other. For this
  reason it has, as a whole, proved disappointing and I am returning
  the manuscript by express. We should be glad, however, to have you
  continue to submit work to us."

With faith undiminished, Edwards forwarded the story to McClure's
Newspaper Syndicate. It was returned without an explanation of any
kind. Again he prevailed upon Harte & Perkins to consider it. It came
back from them on Sept. 13, with this message:

  "I am sorry to say that we do not feel inclined to revise our
  judgement with reference to your manuscript story, 'A Vassar Girl.' I
  am inclined to think from looking over the review of the story that
  it would be well for you to sell it just as it is, and we hope you
  will be able to find a market for it somewhere. It would not pay us
  to publish."

Edwards knew that the story, wrought out of his Arizona experiences,
was true in local color and good of its kind, and he failed to
understand why it was not appreciated. Then, on Sep. 14, came this from
the S. S. McClure Company:

  "During July we had under consideration a story of yours entitled, 'A
  Vassar Girl.' On July 31 we wrote you from the Syndicate, informing
  you that we hoped to be able to use the story as a serial in the very
  near future. The serial was taken back for consideration in the book
  department by one of the readers who wished again to examine it, and
  from there it was erroneously returned to you. Now if you have not
  disposed of the serial rights of 'A Vassar Girl' we should like you
  again to forward the story to us, and we will submit it to some of
  our papers as we had always intended to do. We will then give you a
  prompt decision."

The story was purchased, and Edwards' faith in it was confirmed.

It was during this year of 1901 that Edwards had a fleeting glimpse
of fortune as a playwright. His story, "The Tangle in Butte," had
been read by an actor, a leading man in a Kansas City stock company,
who wanted dramatic rights so that he might have a play taken from it
and written around him. Edwards proposed to write the play himself.
He did so, and was promptly offered $5,000 for the play, payable in
installments after production. Following a good deal of correspondence
it was decided to put on the piece for a week's try-out in Kansas City.
Edwards waived his right to royalties for the week, models of the
scenery were made, rehearsals began--and then the actor was suddenly
stricken with a serious illness and the deal was off. When he had
recovered sufficiently to travel he went East, taking the play with
him. For several months he tried to interest various managers in it,
but without effect.

The year 1901 closed for Edwards with the sketches for the trade paper
no longer in demand; but, otherwise, he faced a steadily brightening
prospect for the Fiction Factory.

  1900:
  Circus Series, 28 @ $40 each                     $1120.00
  Circus Series, Completing unfinished story          20.00
  Five-Cent Library, 23 @ $40 each                   920.00
  Trade Paper Sketches, 10 @ $10 each                100.00
  "He Was A Stranger,"                               250.00
  "The Man From Dakota,"                             200.00
  "What Happened to the Colonel,"                     75.00
                                                  ---------
      Total                                        $2685.00

  1901:
  Five-Cent Library, 10 rewritten @ $30 each      $  300.00
  Five-Cent Library, 8 @ $50 each                    400.00
  Five-Cent Library, 16 @ $40 each                   640.00
  Four Boys' Serials @ $100 each                     400.00
  "The Tangle in Butte,"                             200.00
  "Tale of Two Towns,"                               150.00
  "A Vassar Girl,"                                   100.00
  Trade Paper Sketches, 9 @ $10 each                  90.00
                                                  ---------
      Total                                        $2280.00

  =Very Often.=

  _Poeta nascitur; non fit._ This has been somewhat freely translated
  by one who should know, as "The poet is born; not paid."


FOOTNOTES:

[G] What do you think of _that_!




XV.

  FROM THE
  FACTORY'S FILES


A letter of commendation from the reader of a story to the writer is
not only a pleasant thing in itself but it proves the reader a person
of noble soul and high motives. _Noblesse oblige!_

The writer who loves his work is not of a sordid nature. The check an
editor sends him for his story is the smallest part of his reward. His
has been the joy to create, to see a thought take form and amplify
under the spell of his inspiration. A joy which is scarcely less is to
know that his work has been appreciated by others.

A letter like the one below, for instance, not only gives pleasure to
the recipient but at the same time fires a writer with determination
never to let his work fall short of a previous performance. This
reader's good will he _must_ keep, at all hazards.

                                "Wayland, N. Y., March 22nd, 1905.

  Mr. John Milton Edwards,
    Care The F. A. Munsey Co., New York.

  My dear Sir:

  I read the story in this last _Argosy_, entitled 'Fate and the Figure
  Seven,' and was in a way considering if it were possible that a man
  could act in the subconscious state you picture. Deem my surprise,
  last night, when I read of a similar case in the report of the
  Brockton accident.

  In case you should have failed to notice this item, I send you a
  clipping from a Buffalo paper.

  I WISH INCIDENTALLY TO THANK YOU FOR YOUR SHARE IN MAKING LIFE
  PLEASANT FOR ME. I have enjoyed your works immensely from time to
  time on account of their decidedly original ideas. They are always
  refreshingly out of the ordinary rut.

                                                Yours truly,
                                                     A. F. V----."

There is one sentence in this letter which Edwards has put in capitals.
If possible, he would have written it in letters of gold. In this
little world, so crowded with sorrow and tragedy, what is it worth to
have had a share in making life pleasant for a stranger? To Edwards
it has been worth infinitely more than he received for "Fate and the
Figure Seven."

Another letter carries an equally pleasant message:

                             "Livingstone, Montana, Sep. 16, 1903.

  Mr. John Milton Edwards,
    Care The Argosy, New York City.

  Dear Sir:

  Having read your former stories in _The Argosy_ on Arizona, and last
  night having commenced 'The Grains of Gold,' I trust you will pardon
  my expression of appreciation of said stories. I lived ten years in
  Arizona as private secretary to several of the Federal Judges, and
  also lived in Mexico, and am still familiar with conditions in that
  section.

  I have enjoyed most keenly your handling of thrilling scenes on
  Arizona soil. It is an exasperation that they appear in serial form,
  as I dislike the month's interval.

  My only purpose in writing is to express my admiration of your plots
  and local color, and I remain,

                                           Sincerely yours,
                                                Richard S. S----."

Edwards has always prided himself on keeping true to the actual
conditions of the country which forms the screen against which his plot
and characters are thrown. This is a gratifying tribute, therefore,
from one who knows.

A letter which rather startled Edwards, suggesting as it did the
Maricopa Indian incident which trailed upon the heels of "A Study in
Red," is this:

                               "Colorado Springs, Colo., 2-25-'09.

  Mr. John Milton Edwards,

  Dear Sir: Through the kindness of the editor of the _Blue Book_
  I received your address. I am very much interested in your story
  entitled, 'Country Rock at Kish-Kish,' and know the greater part of
  it to be true to life, but would like to know if it is ALL true. Did
  Sager have a daughter? And where did Sager go when he left Arizona?
  Or is that just a part of the story? I am very much interested in
  that character, Sager. Can you tell me if he is still living, and
  where? Any information that you may be able to give me will be more
  than appreciated.

  Thanking you in advance for the favor, I am,

                                        Yours respectfully,
                                             Mrs. James R. S----."

Edwards answered this letter--he answers promptly all such letters
that come to him and esteems it a privilege--and received a reply. It
appeared that Mrs. S-- was the grand-daughter of a man whom "Sager"
had robbed of a large amount of money. "Country Rock at Kish-Kish" was
built on a newspaper clipping twenty years old. This clipping Edwards
forwarded to Mrs. S-- in the hope that it might help her in her quest
for "Sager." The letter was returned as uncalled for. Should this ever
fall under the eye of Mrs. S-- she will understand that Edwards did
everything in his power to be of assistance to her.

Now and again a letter, which compliments an author indirectly, will
chasten his mounting spirit with the reminder of a "slip:"

                                 "Rochester, N. Y., Nov. 17, 1905.

  Mr. John Milton Edwards:

  Dear Sir:--Will you please tell me where I can get more of your
  stories than in the _Argosy_; and also, in reference to your story
  which concludes in December _Argosy_, how many large autos were in
  use in New York in 1892?

                                               Yours respectfully,
                                                    Howard Z----."

Carelessness in a writer is inexcusable. It is the one thing which a
reader will not forgive, for it is very apt to spoil his pleasure in
what would otherwise have been a good story. This is a sublimated form
of the "gold-brick game," inasmuch as the reader pays his money for
a magazine only to find that he has been "buncoed" by the table of
contents. If there is a flaw in the factory's product, rest assured
that it will be discovered and react to the disadvantage of everything
else that comes from the same mill.

Many readers will be found whose interest in a writer's work is so keen
that they are tempted to offer suggestions. Such suggestions are not to
be lightly considered. Magazines are published to please their readers,
and they are successful in a direct ratio with their ability to
accomplish this end. Naturally, the old doggerel concerning "many men
of many minds" will apply here, and a single suggestion that has not a
wide appeal, or that fails to conform to the policy of the magazine,
must be handled with great care.

                                 "Cincinnati, Ohio, Oct. 31, 1905.

  Mr. John Milton Edwards,
    Care Frank A. Munsey Co.,
         New York.

  Dear Sir:

  Because of the increasing interest in Socialism, would it not be a
  good idea to write a story showing under what conditions we should
  live in, say, the year 2,000, if the Socialists should come into
  power?

  You might begin your story with the United States under a Socialistic
  form of government, and later on Socialize the rest of the world.

  Your imaginative stories are the ones most eagerly sought in the
  pages of _The Argosy_, and I think that a story such as I have
  suggested would serve to increase your popularity among the readers
  of fiction.

                                                Sincerely yours,
                                                     J. H. S----."

It frequently happens that a comedian will get after a writer with a
stuffed club or a slapstick. Some anonymous humorist, upon reading
a story of Edwards' in _The Argosy_, labored and brought forth the
following:

                                               "November 19, 1904.

  John Milton Edwards,
    Care Frank A. Munsey Co.,
          New York.

  My dear John:--

  I have read with much pleasure and delight the first six chapters of
  your latest story, 'At Large in Terra Incognita,' as published in the
  December number of _The Argosy_.

  I cannot understand why you failed to send me the proof-sheets of
  this story for correction, as you did with 'There and Back.' It
  is evident so far as I have read the person who corrected your
  proof-sheets was as ignorant as yourself.

  Where you got the material for this story is not within my memory,
  retrospective though it is, and I am sure you must have been on one
  of your periodical drunks, otherwise the flights of fancy you have
  taken would have been more rational and not so far removed beyond the
  pale of the human intellect.

  Now, my dear John, I beg of you to give up going on these habitual
  tears, because you are not only ruining your constitution but your
  reputation as a writer is having reflections cast upon it. I trust
  you will not take this letter as a sermon but rather in a spirit of
  friendly counsel.

  I hope you will send me at once the remaining chapters of this great
  'At Large in Terra Incognita.'

                                 Your Nemesis,
                                      Theo. Roosenfeldt,
                                      Pres't Trust-Busters' Asso."

Readers have usually the courage of their convictions and not many
anonymous letters find their way into the office of the Fiction
Factory. Edwards remembers one other letter which was signed "Biff A.
Hiram." At that time Edwards did not know Mr. Biff A. Hiram from Adam,
but he has since made the gentleman's acquaintance, and discovered how
wide is his circle of friends.

If praise from a reader has a tendency to exalt, then how much more
of the flattering unction may a writer lay to his soul when approval
comes from a brother or sister of the pen? With such a letter, this
brief symposium from the Factory files may be brought to a close.

  "Mr. John Milton Edwards,

  Dear Sir:--

  Allow me to congratulate you upon your success with the novelette in
  a recent issue of the _Blue Book_. It is to my mind the BEST short
  story of its kind I have EVER read. As I try to write short stories I
  see its merits doubly. The modelling is splendid. Will you pardon my
  display of interest?

                                           Very truly yours,
                                                        K. B----."

  =Rules for Authors.=

  Dr. Edward Everett Hale, author of "The Man without a Country," and
  other notable books, gives a few rules which are of interest to the
  author and the journalist. Dr. Hale's success in the literary world
  makes these rules, gleaned from the field of experience, especially
  valuable to young writers:

    1. Know what you want to say.

    2. Say it.

    3. Use your own language.

    4. Leave out all fine phrases.

    5. A short word is better than a long one.

    6. The fewer words, other things being equal, the better.

    7. Cut it to pieces--which means revise, revise, revise.




XVI.

  GROWING
  PROSPERITY


The years 1902 and 1903 were busier years than ever for the Fiction
Factory. Nineteen-two is to be remembered particularly for opening a
new departure in the story line in _The Argosy_, and for placing the
first book with the G. W. Dillingham Company. Nineteen-three claims
distinction for seeing the book brought out and for boosting the
Factory returns beyond the three-thousand-dollar mark. But it must
not be inferred that the book had very much to do with this. Edwards'
royalties for the year were less than $100.

In September, 1902, Edwards made one of his customary "prospecting"
trips to New York. If there was anything in omens his stay in the city
promised dire things. On the second day after his arrival he went to
Coney Island with a friend. Together they called on the seventh son
of a seventh son and had their palms read. The dispenser of occult
knowledge assured Edwards that the future was _very_ bright, that
Tuesday was his lucky day and that Spring was the best time for him to
consummate his business undertakings. That day, as it happened, was
Tuesday. In the teeth of this promising augury, and within ten minutes
after leaving the palmist's booth, some Coney Island "dip" shattered
Edwards' confidence in Tuesday by annexing his wallet. The wallet, as
it happened, contained all the money Edwards had brought from home,
with the exception of a little loose change.

This was the second time Edwards had been all but stranded in the
Metropolis, and this time the stranding was more complete. When he cast
up accounts that evening he found himself with a cash balance of $1.63.
Fortunately Mrs. Edwards was not along. He had left her at home with
the understanding that she was to come on later. When a writer has come
within hailing distance of the bread line there remains but one thing
to do, and that is to start the Factory going with day and night shifts.

Edwards called on Mr. White, of _The Argosy_, and outlined a serial
story. He was told to go ahead with it. For five days Edwards hardly
stirred from his room. At the end of that time he had completed "The
Desperado's Understudy," and had sold it to Mr. White for $250, spot
cash.

After completing this serial, Edwards outlined to Mr. White a
novelette which would furnish _The Argosy_ with something new in the
fiction line. The plot was based on a musical extravaganza which he
had written, several years before, in collaboration with Mr. Eugene
Kaeuffer, at one time connected with _The Bostonians_. Nothing had ever
come of this ambitious effort, although book and musical score were
completed and offered to Mr. McDonald of _The Bostonians_ and to Mr.
Thomas Q. Seabrooke. Mr. White liked the idea of the story immensely
and gave Edwards _carte blanche_ to go ahead with it.

This story, "Ninety, North," paved the way for other fantastic yarns
which made a decided hit in _The Argosy_ and so pointed Edwards along a
fresh line of endeavor which proved as congenial as it was profitable.

Several months before he visited New York Edwards had sold to The
McClure Syndicate, a juvenile serial which may be referred to here as
"The Campaign at Topeka." For this he had been offered $200, which
offer he promptly accepted. He had not received a check, however, and
was at a loss to understand the reason. To this day the reason remains
obscure, although later events pointed to a misunderstanding of some
kind regarding the story between the Syndicate and one of its readers.
Before Edwards left New York he was paid the $200. More than a year
afterward he was informed that the serial had been sold to the Century
Company for _St. Nicholas_, and that after publication in that magazine
it was to be brought out in book form.

It was Mr. T. C. McClure who put Edwards in touch with the Dillingham
Company and referred him to them as prospective publishers, in cloth,
of the successful Syndicate story, "A Tale of Two Towns." Edwards
submitted galley proofs of the serial to Mr. Cook of the Dillingham
Company, and ultimately signed a contract to have the book published on
the usual royalty basis of ten per cent.

For Harte & Perkins, during the year, the Factory ground out nickel
novels, juvenile serials, one sketch for the trade paper and a few
detective stories. On Nov. 28, after he had returned home from New
York, he was notified:

  "Much as I regret to inform you of it, by a recent purchase of
  copyright stories we are placed in a position where we will not
  require any further material for any of our five-cent libraries for
  some time to come, so we must discontinue orders to you for all this
  material."

Edwards, in a way, had become hardened to messages of this kind.
_The Argosy_ was an anchor to windward, and he resolved to give his
attention to serials for Mr. White. In December, 1902, and January
and February, 1903, he wrote and forwarded "Ninety, North," a second
fantastic story called "There and Back," and the Arizona serial "Grains
of Gold." All three of these stories were sold at once, bringing in
$700. In a letter dated Oct. 14, 1903, Mr. White had this to say about
"There and Back:"

  "Thanks for letting me see the enclosed letter regarding 'Ninety,
  North.' I am equally pleased with yourself at its significance. I am
  wondering whether you have heard much about your story 'There and
  Back?' My impression is that that has been one of the most popular
  stories you have ever written for _The Argosy_. When I see you I will
  tell you an odd little circumstance that occurred in connection with
  its run in the magazine."

The circumstances referred to by Mr. White took place in Paris. One of
_The Argosy's_ readers happened to be in a café, looking over proofs of
a forthcoming installment of "There and Back" while at her luncheon,
when she heard the story being discussed, in complimentary terms,
by a number of Frenchmen at an adjoining table. Strange indeed that
Frenchmen should be interested in an American story, and stranger still
that _The Argosy's_ reader should be reading an installment of the very
same story while men in that foreign café were discussing it!

The first installment of "There and Back," Mr. White informed Edwards,
had increased _The Argosy's_ circulation _seven thousand copies_.[H]

On March 2 Harte & Perkins requested Edwards to continue work on
the old Five-Cent Library. By taking up this work again he would
be diminishing the Factory's serial output, but he reflected that
his fertility in the matter of serials would soon have Mr. White
over-supplied. Therefore Edwards decided to go on with the nickel
weeklies.

In March, as Mr. MacLean of _The Popular Magazine_ once put it, Edwards
"came out in cloth," the Dillingham Company issuing "A Tale of Two
Towns" on St. Patrick's Day.

What are the feelings of an author when he opens his first book for the
first time? If you, dear reader, are yet to "get out in cloth" for the
first time, then some day you will know. But, if you value your peace
of mind, do not build too gorgeous an air castle on the foundation of
this printed thing. Printed things are at the mercy of the reviewers
and, in a larger sense, of the great reading public. The reviewers, in
nearly every instance, were kind with "A Tale of Two Towns." In many
quarters it was praised fulsomely, but the book did not strike that
fickle sentiment called popular fancy. In six months, Mr. Cook, of the
Dillingham Company, wrote Edwards that "A Tale of Two Towns" was "a
dead duck." In the December settlement, however, the remains yielded
royalties of $96.60. For two or three years the royalties trailed
along, and finally the edition was wound up with a payment of $1.50.
_Sic transit gloria!_

During January, 1903, a theatrical gentleman requested Edwards to
dramatize a book which Messrs. Street & Smith had issued in paper
covers. "You can change the title," the gentleman suggested, "and
slightly change the incidents. In that way it won't be necessary to
write Street & Smith for permission or, indeed, to let them know
anything about it." Edwards knew, however, that nothing will so surely
wreck a writer's prospects as playing fast and loose with editors
and publishers. He refused to consider the theatrical gentleman's
proposition. Instead, he forwarded his _Argosy_ story, "The Desperado's
Understudy," upon which Mr. White had given him dramatic rights, and
offered to make a stage version of it. The offer was accepted and a
play was built up from the story. The theatrical gentleman was pleased
and said he would give $1,500 for the dramatization. Then, alas! the
theatrical gentleman's company went on the rocks at the Alhambra
Theatre, in Chicago, and Edwards had repeated his former playwriting
experience.

The two years' work figured out in this wise:

  1902:
  23 Five-Cent Libraries @ $40 each           $ 920.00
  8 detective stories @ $40 each                320.00
  4 juvenile serials @ $100 each                400.00
  1 sketch for trade paper                       10.00
  "The Desperado's Understudy,"                 250.00
  "The Campaign at Topeka,"                     200.00
  Short stories                                  67.00
                                              --------
      Total                                   $2167.00

  1903:
  42 Five-Cent Libraries @ $40 each           $1680.00
  2 detective stories @ $40 each                 80.00
  "Ninety, North,"                              150.00
  "There and Back,"                             250.00
  "A Sensational Affair," short story,           15.00
  "Grains of Gold,"                             300.00
  "Fate's Gamblers,"[I]                         100.00
  "The Morning Star Race," short story,          15.00
  "A Game for Two,"                             200.00
  Royalties on book, "A Tale of Two Towns,"      96.60
  "The Point of Honor,"                         150.00
                                              --------
      Total                                   $3036.60

  As several gentlemen in these times, by the wonderful force of genius
  only, without the least assistance of learning, perhaps without being
  able to read, have made a considerable figure in the republic of
  letters; the modern critics, I am told, have lately begun to assert,
  that all kind of learning is entirely useless to a writer, and
  indeed, no other than a kind of fetters on the natural sprightliness
  and activity of the imagination, which is thus weighed down, and
  prevented from soaring to those high flights which otherwise it would
  be able to reach.

  This doctrine, I am afraid, is at present carried much too far; for
  why should writing differ so much from other arts? The nimbleness of
  a dancing-master is not at all prejudiced by being taught to move;
  nor doth any mechanic, I believe, excercise his tools the worse by
  having learnt to use them.--_Fielding_, "Tom Jones."


FOOTNOTES:

[H] "There and Back" went through the Fiction Factory in twelve days.

[I] This story sold through Kellogg Newspaper Company, Chicago. The two
short stories sold to the late lamented _Wayside Tales_, Detroit, Mich.




XVII.

  ETHICS OF THE
  NICKEL NOVEL


Is the nickel novel easy to write? The writer who has never attempted
one is quite apt to think that it is. There are hundreds of writers,
the Would-be-Goods, making less than a thousand a year, who would throw
up their hands in horror at the very thought of debasing their art by
contriving at "sensational" five-cent fiction. So far from "debasing
their art," as a matter of fact they could not lift it to the _high
plane_ of the nickel novel if they tried. Of these Would-be-Goods
more anon--to use an expression of the ante-bellum romancers. Suffice
to state, in this place, writers of recognized standing, and even
ministers, have written--and some now are writing--these quick-moving
stories. There's a knack about it, and the knack is not easy to
acquire. No less a person than Mr. Richard Duffy, formerly editor of
_Ainslee's_ and later of the _Cavalier_, a man of rare gifts as a
writer, once told Edwards that the nickel novel was beyond his powers.

So far as Edwards is concerned, he gave the best that was in him to the
half-dime "dreadfuls," and he made nothing dreadful of them after all.
He has written hundreds, and there is not a line in any one of them
which he would not gladly have his own son read. In fact, his ethical
standard, to which every story must measure up, was expressed in this
mental question as he worked: "If I had a boy would I willingly put
this before him?" If the answer was No, the incident, the paragraph,
the sentence or the word was eliminated. In 1910 Edwards wrote his last
nickel novel, turning his back deliberately on three thousand dollars
a year (they were paying him $60 each for them then), not because they
were "debasing his art" but because he could make more money at other
writing--for when one is forty-four he must get on as fast as he can.

The libraries, as they were written by Edwards, were typed on paper
8-1/2" by 13", the marginal stops so placed that a typewritten line
approximated the same line when printed. Eighty of these sheets
completed a story, and five pages were regularly allowed to each
chapter. Thus there were always sixteen chapters in every story.

First it is necessary to submit titles, and scenes for illustration.
Selecting an appropriate title is an art in itself. Alliteration is all
right, if used sparingly, and novel effects that do not defy the canons
of good taste should be sought after. The title, too, should go hand
in hand with the picture that illustrates the story. This picture, by
the way, has demands of its own. In the better class of nickel novels
firearms and other deadly weapons are tabooed. The picture must be
unusual and it must be exciting, but its suggested morality must be
high.

The ideas for illustrations all go to the artist days or even weeks in
advance of the stories themselves. It is the writer's business to lay
out this prospective work intelligently, so that he may weave around it
a group of logical stories.

Usually the novels are written in sets of three; that is, throughout
such a series the same principal characters are used, and three
different groups of incidents are covered. In this way, while each
story is complete in itself, it is possible to combine the series and
preserve the effect of a single story from beginning to end. These sets
are so combined, as a matter of fact, and sold for ten cents.

Each chapter closes with a "curtain." In other words, the chapter works
the action up to an interesting point, similar to a serial "leave-off,"
and drops a quick curtain. Skill is important here. The publishers of
this class of fiction will not endure inconsistency for a moment. The
stories appeal to a clientele keen to detect the improbable and to
treat it with contempt.

Good, snappy dialogue is favored, but it must be dialogue that
moves the story along. An apt retort has no excuse in the yarn
unless it really belongs there. A multitude of incidents--none of
them hackneyed--is a prime requisite. Complexity of plot invites
censure--and usually secures it. The plot must be simple, but it must
be striking.

One author failed because he had his hero-detective strain his massive
intellect through 20,000 words merely to recover $100 that had been
purloined from an old lady's handbag. If the author had made it a
million dollars stolen from a lady like Mrs. Hetty Green, probably his
labor would have been crowned with success. These five-cent heroes are
in no sense small potatoes. They may court perils galore and rub elbows
with death, now and then, for nothing at all, but certainly never for
the mere bagatelle of $100.

The hero does not drink. He does not swear. Very often he will not
smoke. He is a chivalrous gentleman, ever a friend of the weak and
deserving. He accomplishes all this with a ready good nature that has
nothing of the goody-good in its make-up. The hero does not smoke
because, being an athlete, he must keep in constant training in order
to master his many difficulties. For the same reason he will not drink.
As for swearing, it is a useless pastime and very common; besides, it
betrays excitement, and the hero is never excited.

The old-style yellow-back hero was given to massacres. He slew his
enemies valiantly by brigades. Not so the modern hero of the five-cent
novel. Rarely, in the stories, does any one cross the divide. And
whenever the villain is hurt, he is quite apt to recover, thank the
hero for hurting him--and become his sworn friend.

The story must be _clean_, and while it must necessarily be exciting,
it must yet leave the reader's mind with a net profit in all the manly
virtues. Is this easy?

Please note this extract from a letter written by Harte & Perkins Dec.
25, 1902--it covers a point whose humor, Edwards thought, drew the
sting of dishonesty:

  "Your last story, No. 285, opened well, had plenty of good incidents
  and was interesting, but there are several points in which it might
  have been improved.

  Your description of Two Spot's scheme of posing Dutchy as a petrified
  boy is amusing, but the plan was dishonest and a piece of trickery.
  It was all right, perhaps, to let the boys go ahead without the
  knowledge of the Hero, but when he learned of it he should have put
  a stop to the plan immediately. It was all right to have him laugh
  at it, but at the same time he should have spoken severely to the
  boys about it and ordered them to return the money they had received
  through their trick. He did not do this in your story and it was
  necessary for me to alter it considerably in the first part on that
  account.

  The Hero is supposed to be the soul of honor, and in your story he is
  posed as a party to a deception practised on the citizens of Ouray,
  by which they were defrauded of the money they paid for admission
  to see the supposed "petrified boy." Such conduct on his part would
  soon lose for him the admiration of the readers of the weekly, as
  it places him on a moral level, almost, with the robbers whom he is
  bringing to justice."

Consider that, you Would-be-Goods, who are not above putting worse
things in your "high-class" work. And can you say "I am holier than
thou" to the conscientious writer who turns out his 20,000 or 25,000
words a week along these ethical lines? Handsome is as handsome does!

Somebody is going to write these stories. There is a demand for them.
The writer who can set hand to such fiction, who meets his moral
responsibilities unflinchingly, is doing a splendid work for Young
America.

And yet, as stated in a previous chapter, there are nickel novels
_and_ nickel novels--some to read and some to put in the stove unread.
High-minded publishers, however, are not furnishing the careful head of
the family with material for his kitchen fire.

  It costs you nothing to think, but it costs infinitely to write. I
  therefore preach to you eternally that art of writing which Boileau
  has so well known and so well taught, that respect for the language,
  that connection and sequence of ideas, that air of ease with which
  he conducts his readers, that naturalness which is the true fruit of
  art, and that appearance of facility which is due to toil alone. A
  word out of place spoils the most beautiful thought.--_Voltaire to
  Helvetius_, a young author.




XVIII

  KEEPING
  EVERLASTINGLY AT IT


Edwards had not visited New York in 1903, but he landed there on
Friday, Jan. 1, 1904,--literally storming in on a train that was seven
hours late on account of the weather. A cab hurried him and his wife to
the place in Forty-fourth street where the pleasant landlady used to
hold forth, but they found, alas! that the old stamping ground was in
the hands of strangers. It was like being turned away from home.

Where should they go? Edwards remembered that, on one of his previous
visits to New York, Mr. Perkins had recommended the St. George Hotel,
over in Brooklyn. The St. George was within a few blocks of the south
end of the bridge and the offices of Harte & Perkins were in William
street, close to the north end. So Edwards and his wife went to the
Brooklyn hotel and there established their headquarters.

On Jan. 2 Edwards called on the patrons of his Factory. The result was
not particularly encouraging. Harte & Perkins instructed him to stop
work on the Five-Cent Library, but said that in about two months they
would have a new library for him to take care of.

Edwards had brought with him to the city his dramatic version of "The
Tangle in Butte," the play which had come so near turning $5,000 into
the Factory's strong-box. It was Edwards' hope that he might be able
to dispose of the play, but the hope went glimmering when he learned
that there were 10,000 actors stranded in New York, and that things
theatrical were generally in a bad way.

During 1903 Edwards had corresponded with Mr. H. H. Lewis, editor of
_The Popular Magazine_, a recent venture of Messrs. Street & Smith's.
He had submitted manuscripts to Mr. Lewis but they had not proved to
be in line with _The Popular's_ requirements. It is difficult, through
correspondence, to discover just what an editor wants. The only way to
get at such a thing properly is by personal interview. If the would-be
contributor does not then get the editor's needs clearly in mind it is
his own fault.

Edwards called on Mr. Lewis and had a pleasant chat with him. The
assistant editor was Mr. A. D. Hall, a capable gentleman who had been
with Messrs. Street & Smith for many years, and with whom Edwards was
well acquainted.

At that time Louis Joseph Vance was writing for _The Popular Magazine_,
among others, and Edwards met him in Mr. Lewis' office. As Edwards was
leaving, after outlining a novelette and receiving a commission to
write it, he paused with one hand on the door-knob.

"I'll turn in the story, Mr. Lewis," said he, "and I hope you'll like
it and buy it."

"Of course he'll like it and buy it," called out Vance. "You're going
to write it for him, aren't you?"

"Why, yes," returned Edwards, "but--"

"You're not a peddler," interrupted Vance, "to write stuff and go
hawking it about from office to office. We're writers, and when we know
what a man wants _we deliver the goods_."

This was before the days of "The Brass Bowl" and "_Terence O'Rourke_,"
but already Vance had found himself and was striking the key-note of
confidence. _Confidence_--that's the word. Back it up with fair ability
and the writer will go far.

From _The Popular's_ editorial rooms Edwards went up Fifth avenue for
a call on the editor of _The Argosy_. Much to his disappointment Mr.
White was out of town for New Year's and would not return until the
following week.

The story which Edwards had presented to Mr. Lewis in its oral and
tabloid form was one that had been written in 1903 and turned down by
Mr. White. Before offering the manuscript to _The Popular_, Edwards
intended to rewrite it and strengthen it.

A typewriter was ordered sent over to the St. George Hotel, and on Jan.
3 the rewriting of the novelette was begun. The story was called "The
Highwayman's Waterloo," or something to that effect. On the following
day twenty-four pages of the manuscript were submitted to Mr. Lewis,
won his approval, and the rewriting proceeded.

Two chapters of a serial were also offered to Mr. White for
examination. The story was called "The Skirts of Chance," and had been
begun before Edwards left home.

During 1902 and '03 Edwards had worked, at odd times, on what he
designed to be a "high-class" juvenile story. It was 60,000 words in
length, when completed in the Summer of 1903, and in September he had
submitted it to Dodd, Mead & Company. Not having heard from the story,
on this January day that saw him passing out fragments of manuscripts
to _The Popular_ and _The Argosy_ he went on farther up Fifth avenue
and dropped in to ask D., M. & Co., how "Danny W.," was fareing at the
hands of their readers. He was told that five readers had examined
the story and that it was then in the hands of the sixth! Some of the
readers--and this came to him privately--had turned in a favorable
report. Because of this, the author of "Danny W.," went back to
Brooklyn considerably elated. It would be an honor indeed to have the
book break through such a formidable brigade of readers and get into
the catalogue of the good old house of Dodd, Mead & Company.

The "highwayman" novelette was finished and submitted in its complete
form on Jan. 6. On the same day Mr. White informed Edwards that he was
well pleased with the two chapters of "The Skirts of Chance" and told
him to proceed with it.

Fortune was on the upward trend for Edwards, and he was sent for by
Dodd, Mead & Company, on Jan. 15, and informed that they would either
bring out "Danny W.," on a royalty or pay a cash price for the book
rights. Edwards, remembering his disastrous publishing experience with
"A Tale of Two Towns," accepted $200 in cash.

Mr. Lewis bought the novelette for $125, and Harte & Perkins, on the
same day, gave Edwards a new library to do--35,000 words in each story
at $50.

Complete manuscript of "The Skirts of Chance" was submitted to Mr.
White on Jan. 22, and on Jan. 27 Edwards received $300 for it.

By Feb. 8 Edwards had written and sold to Mr. Lewis another novelette
entitled, "The Duke's Understudy," for which he received $140.

On Feb. 9 he and his wife returned to Michigan. Edwards had been in New
York forty days and had gathered in $965. He left New York with orders
for _Argosy_ serials and with the new library, "Sea and Shore," to be
turned in at the rate of one story every two months.

In May he was requested to go on with the Old Five-Cent Library. These
stories were forwarded regularly one each week, until November, when
orders were again discontinued.

In September, "Danny W.," appeared. As with "A Tale of Two Towns,"
the reviewers were more than kind to "Danny W.," and there is just
a possibility that they killed him with kindness. The idea obtains,
in supposedly well-informed circles, that the only way for reviewers
to help a book is to damn it utterly. Be this as it may, although
illustrated in color and put out in the best style of the book-maker's
art, "Danny W.," did not prove much of a success. A California paper
bought serial rights on the story for $50, and thus the book netted the
author, all told, the modest sum of $250.

During this year, also, The A. N. Kellogg Newspaper Company sold serial
rights on "Fate's Gamblers" for $30, took 50 per cent. as a commission
and presented Edwards with what was left.

A short story, "The Camp Coyote," was sold to Mr. Titherington, for
_Munsey's_; and Edwards had opened a new market in Street & Smith's
magazines. Thus was brought to a close a fairly prosperous year.

In 1905 the returns slid backward a little. During this year, and the
year preceding, some stories which had failed with Mr. White were
received with favor by Mr. Kerr, of _The Chicago Ledger_--at the
_Ledger_ price, ranging from $30 upward to $75.

The _Woman's Home Companion_, to which Edwards had vainly tried to sell
serial rights on "Danny W.," accepted a two-part story entitled, "The
Redskin and the Paper-Talk," and paid $200 for it. This is the story of
which a chapter was lost in the composing room, and Edwards received an
honorarium of $5 for having a carbon duplicate of the few missing pages.

In 1905, also, The American Press Association did business with Edwards
to the amount of $30. Another market for the Edwards' product--worth
mentioning even though the amount of business done was not large.

The returns for the two years were as follows:

  1904:
  "The Highwayman's Waterloo,"                         $ 125.00
  "Danny W.,"                                            200.00
  "Danny W.," serial rights                               50.00
  "The Skirts of Chance,"                                300.00
  "The Duke's Understudy,"                               140.00
  "At Large in Terra Incognita,"                         175.00
  "The Man from the Stone Age," short story               25.00
  "The Honorable Jim,"                                   250.00
  "Fate's Gamblers," serial rights                        15.00
  "A Deal with Destiny,"                                 150.00
  "The Enchanted Ranch,"                                  75.00
  "The Camp Coyote,"                                      40.00
  "Under the Ban,"                                        75.00
  "A Master of Graft,"                                   225.00
  26 Five-Cent Libraries @ $40 each                     1040.00
   4 Sea and Shore Libraries @ 50 each                   200.00
                                                       --------
  Total                                                $3085.00

  1905:
  "Cornering Boreas," short story                      $  30.00
  "The Redskin and the Paper-talk,"                      200.00
  "The Redskin and the Paper-talk," additional pay't       5.00
  "Mountebank's Dilemma," short story                     25.00
  "Helping Columbus,"                                    350.00
  "The Edge of the Sword,"                               200.00
  "Yellow Clique,"                                       100.00
  "A Mississippi Snarl,"                                 200.00
  "The Black Box,"                                       200.00
  "A Wireless Wooing," short story                        15.00
  "The Freelance,"                                        50.00
  "The Luck of Bill Lattimer,"                            30.00
  "Machine-made Road-agent," short story                  15.00
  "The Man from Mars,"                                   275.00
  10 Sea and Shore stories @ $50 each                    500.00
                                                       --------
  Total                                                $2195.00

  Good, philosophical Ras Wilson once said to a new reporter, "Young
  man, write as you feel, but try to feel right. Be good humored toward
  every one and everything. Believe that other folks are just as good
  as you are, for they are. Give 'em your best and bear in mind that
  God has sent them, in his wisdom, all the trouble they need, and it
  is for you to scatter gladness and decent, helpful things as you
  go. Don't be particular about how the stuff will look in print, but
  let'er go. Some one will understand. That is better than to write so
  dash bing high, or so tarnashun deep, that no one understands. Let'er
  go."

       *       *       *       *       *

  There was once a poor man hounded to death by creditors. Ruin and
  suicide vied for his surrender. But he was a man of the twentieth
  century, and flippantly but with unbounded faith he collected a few
  odd pennies and hied him to a newspaper office. Stopping scarcely to
  frame his sentence he inserted a "want" advertisement, stating his
  circumstances and declaring he would commit suicide unless aid was
  proffered. Within twenty-four hours he had $250; before another sun
  his employer advanced as much more. Carefully advising the newspaper
  to discontinue the advertisement, he paid off his creditors--and
  lived happily ever afterward! No, this is not a fairy tale. The
  time was a few weeks ago, the city Chicago and the newspaper, _The
  Tribune_. The moral is, that originality in writing, coupled with a
  fresh idea, brings a check.




XIX.

  LOVE YOUR WORK
  FOR THE
  WORK'S SAKE


The sentiment which Edwards has tried to carry through every paragraph
and line of this book is this, that "Writing is its own reward."
His meaning is, that to the writer the joy of the work is something
infinitely higher, finer and more satisfying than its pecuniary value
to the editor who buys it. Material success, of course, is a necessity,
unless--happy condition!--the writer has a private income on which to
draw for meeting the sordid demands of life. But this also is true: A
writer even of modest talent will have material success in a direct
ratio with the joy he finds in his work!--Because, brother of the pen,
when one takes pleasure in an effort, then that effort attracts merit
inevitably. If any writing is a merciless grind the result will show
it--and the editor will see it, and reject.

There are times, however, when doubt shakes the firmest confidence. A
writer will have moods into which will creep a distrust of the work
upon which he is at that moment engaged. If necessity spurs him on and
he cannot rise above his misgivings, the story will testify to the lack
of faith, doubts will increase as defects multiply and the story will
be ruined. THE WRITER MUST HAVE FAITH IN HIS WORK QUITE APART FROM THE
MONEY HE EXPECTS TO RECEIVE FOR IT. If he has this faith he reaches
toward a spiritual success beside which the highest material success
is paltry indeed.

When a writer sits down to a story let him blind his eyes to the
financial returns, even though they may be sorely needed. Let him
forget that his wares are to be offered for sale, and consider them
as being wrought for his own diversion. Let him say to himself, "I
shall make this the best story I have ever written; I shall weave my
soul into its warp and whether it sells or not I shall be satisfied to
know that I have put upon paper the BEST that is in me." If he will do
this, he will achieve a spiritual success and--as surely as day follows
night--a material success beyond his fondest dreams. BUT he must keep
his eye single to the TRUE success and must have no commerce in thought
with what may come to him materially.

To some, all this may appear too idealistic, too transcendental. There
are natures so worldly, perhaps even among writers, as to scoff at
the idea of spiritual success. They are overshadowed by the Material,
and when the Spiritual, which is the true source of their power, is
no longer the "still, small voice" of their inspiration, they will be
bankrupt materially as well.

A writer cannot hide himself in his work. His individuality is written
into it, and he may be read between the lines for what he is. A
creation reflects the creator, and that the work may be good the writer
should have spiritual ideals and do his utmost to live up to them. Let
him have a purpose, be it never so humble, to benefit in some way his
fellow-man, and let him hew steadily to the line. Love your work for
the work's sake and material benefits "will be added unto you."

Years ago Edwards found an article in a newspaper that appealed to him
powerfully. He clipped it out, preserved it and has made it of great
help in his writing. It is a wonderful "Doubt-destroyer." In the hope
that it may be an inspiration to others, he reproduces it here:


STANDARDS OF SUCCESS.

  At a time when material success is so generally regarded as the
  chief goal of human effort it is interesting to find a man in
  Professor Hadley's position presenting arguments for a broader
  view of the question. In his baccalaureate sermon the president of
  Yale offered the graduates some advice which at least they should
  find stimulating. He does not discredit or discourage the ambition
  for practical success but he makes it plain that in his view there
  is danger in measuring success in life "by the concrete results
  with which men can credit themselves." "We should value life," he
  declares, "as a field of action." We should care for the doing of
  things quite as much as for the results. Tried by this standard,
  aspiration and effort are to be more highly prized than achievement
  itself. The man who sincerely strives for a great object has
  succeeded, whether or not the object is attained or its attainment
  brings any tangible reward.

  It is no novelty, of course, to hear a college president upholding
  ideal standards and rejecting utilitarian views of success, but few
  of the educators have cared to follow their theories, as President
  Hadley does, to their logical conclusion. Probably a majority of
  them would applaud Nansen's courage in attempting to reach the north
  pole but would question the utility of the attempt. President Hadley
  admires Nansen simply "because he succeeded in getting so much nearer
  the pole than anybody before him ever did," and thinks it is one
  of the most discouraging testimonies to the false standards of the
  nineteenth century that Nansen feels compelled to justify himself on
  the basis of the scientific results of his expedition. Furthermore,
  a man who tries to get to the pole is engaged in a glorious play,
  "which justifies more risk and more expenditure of life than would be
  warranted for a few miserable entomological specimens, however remote
  from the place where they had previously been found."

  The young man of to-day has no lack of exhortations to lead the life
  of strenuous effort. It is as well that he should be taught also that
  the reward for this effort will be barren if the whole object sought
  be material benefit to himself. Life is something to be used. Whether
  or not it has been successfully used depends not on the results so
  much as on the object sought and the earnestness of the seeking. It
  is somewhat novel to find an American college president expounding
  this philosophy to his students, but the philosophy is, on the whole,
  helpful. It will spur to effort in crises where the desire for more
  material success fails to provide a sufficient incentive.

  A certain New York author is fond of his own work, and Robert W.
  Chambers is responsible for the story that he called at one of the
  libraries to find out how his latest book was going. He hoped to have
  his vanity tickled a little.

  "Is ---- in?" he said to the librarian, naming his book.

  "It never was out," was the reply.

       *       *       *       *       *

  What is a great love of books? It is something like a personal
  introduction to the great and good men of all past times. Books, it
  is true, are silent as you see them on your shelves; but, silent as
  they are, when I enter a library I feel almost as if the dead were
  present, and I know if I put questions to these books they will
  answer me with all the faithfulness and fullness which has been left
  in them by the great men who have left the books with us.--_John
  Bright._

       *       *       *       *       *

  The spring poet has been much exploited in the comic papers. The
  would-be novelist has been plastered with signs and tokens until
  one could not fail to recognize him in the dark. But the ordinary,
  commonplace, experienced writer has been so shamefully neglected that
  few realize his virtues. The editor recognizes his manuscript as far
  off as he can see it, and seizes upon it with joy. The manuscript is
  typewritten and punctuated. It bears the author's name and address
  at the top of the first page. It is signed with the author's name
  at the end. It is NOT tied with a blue ribbon. No, the blue ribbon
  habit is not a myth. It really exists in every form from pale baby
  to navy No. 4 and in every shape from a hard knot to an elaborate
  rosette--_Munsey's._




XX.

  THE LENGTHENING
  LIST OF PATRONS


During the year 1906 the patrons of the Fiction Factory steadily
increased in number. _The Blue Book_, _The Red Book_, _The Railroad
Man's_, _The All-Story_, _The People's_--all these magazines bought of
the Factory's products, some of them very liberally. The old patrons,
also, were retained, Harte & Perkins taking a supply of nickel novels
and a Stella Edwards' serial for _The Guest_.

Edwards' introduction to _The Blue Book_ came so late in the year that
the business falls properly within the affairs of 1907. The first
step, however, was taken on Aug. 13, 1906, and was in the form of the
following letter:

  "My dear Mr. Edwards:

  Why don't you send me, with a view to publication in _The Blue Book_,
  as we have renamed our old _Monthly Story Magazine_, one or more of
  those weird and fantastic novelettes of yours? If you have anything
  ready, let me see it. I can at least assure you of a prompt decision
  and equally prompt payment if the story goes. Anything you may have
  up to 6,000 words I shall be very glad to see for _The Red Book_.

                                       Yours very truly,
                                            "Karl Edwin Harriman."

Here was a pleasant surprise for Edwards. He had met Mr. Harriman the
year before in Battle Creek, Michigan. At that time Mr. Harriman was
busily engaged hiding his talents under a bushel known as _The Pilgrim
Magazine_. When the Red Book Corporation of Chicago, kicked the basket
to one side, grabbed Mr. Harriman out from under it and made off with
him, the aspect of the heavens promised great things for literature
in the Middle West. And this promise, by the way, is being splendidly
fulfilled.

When you take down your "Who's Who" to look up some personage
sufficiently notorious to have a place between its red covers, if you
find at the end of his name the words, "editor, author," you may be
sure that there is no cloud on the title that gives him a place in the
book. You will know at once that he must have been a good author or he
would never have been promoted from the ranks; and having been a good
author he is certainly a better editor than if the case were otherwise,
for he knows both ends of the publishing trade.

Having been through the mill himself, Mr Harriman has a fellow-feeling
for his contributors. He knows what it is to take a lay figure for a
plot, clothe it in suitable language, cap it with a climax and put it
on exhibition with a card: "Here's a Peach! Grab me quick for $9.99."
Harriman's "peaches" never came back. The author of "Ann Arbor Tales,"
"The Girl and the Deal," and others has been successful right from the
start.

No request for material received at the Edwards' Factory ever fails of
a prompt and hearty response. A short story and a novelette were at
once put on the stocks. They were constructed slowly, for Edwards could
give them attention only during odd moments taken from his regular
work. The short story was finished and submitted long in advance of the
novelette. This letter, dated Sept. 18, will show its success:

  "My Dear Old Man: Why don't you run on here and see me, now and
  again. Oh, yes, New York's a lot better, but we're doing things
  here, too. About 'Cast Away by Contract,' it's very funny--such a
  ridiculously absurd idea that it's quite irresistible. How will $75
  be for it? O. K.? It's really all I can afford to pay for a story
  of its sort, and I do want you in the book. Let me hear as soon as
  possible and I will give it out to the artist.

                                            Very truly yours,
                                                           "K. H."

And so began the business with Mr. Harriman. He still, at this writing
(1911), has a running account on the Factory's books and is held in
highest esteem by the proprietor.

A letter, written May 13, 1905, (a year dealt with in a previous
chapter), is reproduced here as having a weighty bearing on the events
of 1906. It was Edwards' first letter from a gentleman who had recently
allied himself with the Munsey publications. As a publisher Mr. F. A.
Munsey is conceded to be a star of the first magnitude, but this genius
is manifest in nothing so much as in his ability to surround himself
with men capable of pushing his ideas to their highest achievement.
Such a man had been added to his editorial staff in the person of Mr.
R. H. Davis. Mr. Davis, like Mr. Bryan, hails originally from Nebraska.
Although he differs somewhat from Mr. Bryan in political views, he
has the same powers as a spellbinder. He's Western, all through, is
"Bob" Davis, bluff, hearty and equally endowed with stories, snap and
sincerity.

  "Dear Sir:

  We would like to have a few pictures of those writers who have
  contributed considerably to our various magazines. It is obvious that
  this refers to you. Therefore, if you will send us a portrait it will
  be greatly appreciated.

                                               Very truly yours,
                                                    "R. H. Davis."

Mr. Davis got the picture; also a serial or two and some short stories
for new publications issued by the Munsey Company of which he was
editor. Late in 1905 he called for a railroad serial, and he wanted a
particularly good one.

Edwards had never tried his hand at such a story. He knew, in a general
way, that the "pilot" was on the front end of a locomotive, and that
the "tender" was somewhere in the rear, but his technical knowledge
was hazy and unreliable. The story, if accepted, was to appear in _The
Railroad Man's Magazine_, would be read by "railroaders" the country
over, and would be damned and laughed at if it contained any technical
"breaks."

Here was just the sort of a nut Edwards liked to crack. The perils of
the undertaking lent it a zest, and were a distinct aid to industry
and inspiration. He resolved that he would give Mr. Davis a story that
would bear the closest scrutiny of railroad men and win their interest
and applause. To this end he studied railroads, up and down and
across. He absorbed what he could from books, and the rest he secured
through personal investigation. When the story was done, he submitted
the manuscript to a veteran of the rails--one who had been both a
telegraph operator and engineer--and this gentleman had not a change to
suggest! Mr. Davis took the story aboard. While it was running in the
magazine a reader wrote in to declare that it must have been written
by an old hand at the railroad game: the author of the letter had been
railroading for thirty-five years himself, and felt positive that he
ought to know! "The Red Light at Rawlines" scored a triumph, proving
the value of study, and the ability to adjust one's self to an untried
situation.

Edwards had imbibed too much technical knowledge to exhaust it all on
one story, so he wrote another and sent it to Mr. White. The latter
informed him:

  "I turned 'Special One-Five-Three' over to _The Railroad Man's
  Magazine_ at once, without reading it, and they are sending you a
  check for it this week, I understand. This does not mean that I did
  not care to consider it for _The Argosy_. I certainly have an opening
  for more of your stories, but when you took the railroad for your
  theme and treated it so intelligently, I think it better that you
  give _The Argosy_ some other subject matter."

Another story, written this year to order, also serves to show that
facility in handling strange themes or environments does not always
depend upon personal acquaintance with the subject in hand. Intelligent
study and investigation can many times, if not always, piece out a lack
of personal experience. Blazing a course through _terra incognita_ in
such a manner, however, is not without its dangers.

Harte & Perkins wished to begin the yearly volume of _The Guest_ with
a Stella Edwards serial. This story was to have, for its background,
the San Francisco earthquake. Nearly the whole action of the yarn was
to take place in the city itself. Edwards had never been there. He had
vague ideas regarding the "Golden Gate," Oakland and other places, but
for accurate knowledge he was as much at sea as in the case of the
railroad story. He set the wheels of industry to revolving, however,
and familiarized himself so thoroughly with the city from books,
newspapers and magazines that the editor of _The Guest_, an old San
Francisco newspaper man, had this to say about the story:

  "It will please you to learn that we think 'A Romance of the
  Earthquake' a very interesting story, with plenty of brisk action,
  picturesque in description, and DISPLAYING A THOROUGH KNOWLEDGE OF
  CALIFORNIA'S METROPOLIS AND VICINITY."

Although these are interesting problems to solve, yet Edwards, as a
rule, prefers dealing with material that has formed a part of his own
personal experiences.

His "prospecting" trip for the year brought him into New York on
Monday, Nov. 12. On Tuesday (his "lucky day," according to the Coney
Island seer of fateful memory), he called on Mr. White, and Mr. White
took him across the hall and introduced him to Mr. Davis. The latter
gentleman ordered four serials and, for stories of a certain length,
agreed to pay $500 each.

Next day Edwards dropped in at the offices of Street & Smith and
submitted a novelette--"The Billionaire's Dilemma"--to Mr. MacLean,
editor of _The Popular Magazine_ (Mr. Lewis having retired from that
publication some time before). Mr. MacLean carried the manuscript in
to Mr. Vivian M. Moses, editor of _People's_ and the latter bought it.
This story made a hit in the _People's_ and won from Mr. George C.
Smith, of the firm, a personal letter of commendation. Result: More
work for _The People's Magazine_.

About the middle of December, Edwards and his wife left for their
home in Michigan. They had been in the city a month, and during that
time Edwards had received $1150 for his Factory's products. The year,
financially, was the best Edwards had so far experienced; but it was to
be outdone by the year that followed.

During 1907 a great deal of writing was done for Mr. Davis. Among other
stories submitted to him was one which Edwards called, "On the Stroke
of Four." Regarding it Mr. Davis had expressed himself, May 6, in
characteristic vein:

  "My dear Colonel:

  Send it along. The title is not a bad one. I suppose it will arrive
  at a quarter past five, as you are generally late....

  Now that spring is here, go out and chop a few kindlings against the
  canning of the fruit. This season we are going to preserve every dam
  thing on the farm. In the meantime, put up a few bartletts for little
  Willie. We may drop in provided the nest contains room."

He received an urgent invitation to "drop in." But he didn't. He
backed out. Possibly he was afraid he would have to "pioneer it" in
the country, after years of metropolitan luxury in the effete East. Or
perhaps he was afraid that Edwards might read some manuscripts to him.
Whatever the cause, he never appeared to claim the "bartletts," made
ready for him with so much painstaking care by Mrs. Edwards. But this
was not the only count in the indictment. He sent back "On the Stroke
of Four!" And this was his message:

  "Up to page 106 this story is a peach. After that it is a peach, but
  a rotten peach, and I'd be glad to have you fix it up and return it."

After Edwards has finished a story he has an ingrained dislike for
tampering with it any further. However, had he not been head over ears
in other work, he would probably have "fixed up" the manuscript for Mr.
Davis. In the circumstances, he decided to try its fortunes elsewhere.
Mr. Moses took it in, paid $400 for it, and pronounced it better than
"The Billionaire's Dilemma."

At a later date, Mr. Davis wanted another sea story for _Ocean_ which,
at that time, was surging considerably. "On the Stroke of Four" had
been designed to fill such an order. Inasmuch as it had failed,
Edwards wrote a second yarn which was accepted at $450.

The sea, and the people who go down to it in ships, to say nothing of
the ships themselves, were all out of Edwards' usual line. He prepared
himself by reading every sea story he could lay hands on, long or
short. He bought text-books on seamanship and navigation, and whenever
there were manoeuvers connected with "working ship" in a story, Edwards
puzzled them out with the help of the text-books. With both deep-water
serials he succeeded tolerably well. He is sure, at least, that he
didn't get the spanker-boom on the foremast, nor the jib too far aft.

Harte & Perkins again favored the Factory with an order for a "Stella
Edwards" to begin another volume of _The Guest_. This was an automobile
story, "The Hero of the Car," and was accepted and highly praised.

Another novelette, "An Aerial Romance," was bought by Mr. Moses for
_The People's Magazine_.

Beginning in March, Edwards had written some more nickel novels for
Harte & Perkins--not the old Five-Cent Weekly, for that he was never
to do again--but various stories, in odd lots, to help out with a
particular series. On July 14 he was switched to another line of
half-dime fiction, and this work he kept throughout the remainder of
the year.

For the two years the Factory's showing stands as follows:

  1906:
  18 nickel novels @ $50 each           $ 900.00
  Royalties on book, Dillingham            10.20
  "The World's Wonder,"                   300.00
  "A Romance of the Earthquake,"          250.00
  "The Sheriff Who Lost and Won,"         300.00
  "The Reporter's Scoop,"                  60.00
  "The Deputy Sheriff,"                    40.00
  "The Red Light at Rawlin's,"            350.00
  "Cast Away by Contract,".                75.00
  "Special One-Five-Three,"               350.00
  "The Disputed Claim,"                   500.00
  "Fencing with Foes,"                    450.00
  "The Billionaire's Dilemma,".           200.00
                                        --------
  Total                                 $3785.20

  1907:
  "Under Sealed Orders,"                $ 250.00
  "The Pacific Pearlers,"                 450.00
  "Call of the West,"                     200.00
  "Wilderness Gold-Hunter,"               500.00
  "Dupes of Destiny,"                      75.00
  "On the Stroke of Four,"                400.00
  "The Hero of the Car,"                  300.00
  "An Aerial Romance,"                    200.00
  "West-Indies Mix-Up,"                    60.00
  33 nickel novels @ $50 each            1650.00
                                        --------
  Total                                 $4085.00

  In that remarkable group of authors who made the dime novel famous,
  the late Col. Prentiss Ingraham was one of the giants. These "ready
  writers" thought nothing of turning out a thousand words of original
  matter in an hour, in the days when the click of the typewriter
  was unknown, and of keeping it up until a novel of 70,000 words
  was easily finished in a week. But to Col. Ingraham belongs the
  unique distinction of having composed and written out a complete
  story of 35,000 words with a fountain pen, between breakfast and
  breakfast. His equipment as a writer of stories for boys was most
  varied and valuable, garnered from his experience as an officer in
  the Confederate army, his service both on shore and sea in the Cuban
  war for independence, and in travels in Mexico, Austria, Greece and
  Africa. But he is best known and will be most loyally remembered
  for his Buffalo Bill tales, the number of which he himself scarcely
  knew, and which possessed peculiar value from his intimate personal
  friendship with Col. Cody.




XXI.

  A WRITER'S
  READING


That old Egyptian who put above the door of his library these words,
"Books are the Medicines of the Soul," was wise indeed. But the Wise,
ever since books have been made, have harped on the advantage of good
literature, and have said all there is to be said on the subject a
thousand times over. If one has any doubts on this point let him
consult a dictionary of quotations. No intelligent person disputes
the value of books; and it should be self-evident that no writer,
whose business is the making of books, will do so. To the writer books
are not only "medicines for the soul" but tonics for his technique,
febrifuges for his rhetorical fevers and prophylactics for the
thousand and one ills that beset his calling. A wide course of general
reading--the wider the better--is part of the fictionist's necessary
equipment; and of even more importance is a specializing along the
lines of his craft.

"Omniverous reader" is an overworked term, but it is perfect in its
application to Edwards. From his youth up he has devoured everything
in the way of books he could lay his hands on. The volumes came
hap-hazard, and the reading has been desultory and, for the most part,
without system. If engaged on a railroad story, he reads railroad
stories; if a tale of the sea claims his attention, then his pabulum
consists of sea-facts and fiction, and so on. The latest novel is a
passion with him, and he would rather read a story by Jack London, or
Rex Beach, or W. J. Locke than eat or sleep--or write something more
humble although his very own. He is fond of history, too, and among the
essayists he loves his Emerson. Nothing so puts his modest talents in a
glow as to bring them near the beacon lights of Genius.

Edwards has a library of goodly proportions, but it is a hodge-podge
of everything under the sun. Thomas Carlyle "keeps company" with Mary
Johnston on his bookshelves, Marcus Aurelius rubs elbows with Frank
Spearman, "France in the Nineteenth Century" nestles close to "The
Mystery" from the firm of White & Adams, and four volumes of Thackeray
are cheek by jowl with Harland's "The Cardinal's Snuff-Box." A most
reprehensible method of book keeping, of course, but to Edwards it
is a delightful confusion. To him the method is reprehensible only
when he wants a certain book and has to spend half a day looking for
it. Some time, some blessed time--he has promised himself for years
and years,--he will catalogue his books just as he has catalogued his
clippings.

Books that concern themselves with the writer's trade are many, so
many that they may be termed literally an embarrassment of riches.
If a writer had them all he would have more than he needed or could
use. Books on the short story by J. Berg Eisenwein and James Knapp
Reeve, Edwards considers indispensable. They are to be read many times
and thoroughly mastered. "Roget's Thesaurus" is a work which Edwards
consulted until it was dogeared and coverless; he then presented it to
an impecunious friend with a well-defined case of _writeritis_ and has
since contented himself with the large "Thesaurus Dictionary of the
English Language," by F. A. March, LL. D. This flanks him on the left,
as he sits at his typewriter, while Webster's "Unabridged" closes him
in on the right. The Standard Dictionary is also within reach. Dozens
and dozens of books about writers and writing have been read and are
now gathering dust. After a writer has once charged himself to the
brim with "technique," he should cease to bother about it. If he has
read to some purpose his work will be as near technical perfection
as is necessary, for unconsciously he will follow the canons of the
art; while if he loads and fires these "canons" too often, they will
be quite apt to burst and blow him into that innocuous desuetude
best described as "mechanical." He should exercise all the freedom
possible within legitimate bounds, and so acquire individuality and
"style"--whatever that is.

No sane man in any line of trade or manufacturing will attempt to
do business without subscribing to one or more papers or magazines
covering his particular field. He wants the newest labor-saving
wrinkle, the latest discoveries, tips on new markets, facts as to what
others in the same business are doing, and countless other fresh and
pertinent items which a good trade paper will furnish. A writer is such
a man, and he needs tabulated facts as much as any other tradesman or
manufacturer. Periodicals dealing with the trade of authorship are few,
but they are helpful to a degree which it is difficult to estimate.

From the beginning of his work Edwards has made it a point to acquire
every publication that dealt with the business of his Fiction Factory.
In early years he had _The Writer_, and then _The Author_. When these
went the way of good but unprofitable things, THE EDITOR fortunately
happened along, and proved incomparably better in every detail.

From its initial number THE EDITOR has been a monthly guest at the
Factory, always cordially welcomed and given a place of honor. Guide,
counsellor and friend--it has proved to be all these.

Edwards subscribes heartily to that benevolent policy known as "the
helping hand." Furthermore, he tries to live up to it. What little
success he has had with his Fiction Factory he has won by his own
unaided efforts; but there were times, along at the beginning, when he
could have avoided disappointment and useless labor if some one who
knew had advised him. Realizing what "the helping hand" might have done
in his own case, he has always felt the call to extend it to others.
Assistance is useless, however, if a would-be writer hasn't something
to say and doesn't know how to say it. Another who has had some success
may secure the novice a considerate hearing, but from that on the
matter lies wholly with the novice himself. If he has it in him, he
will win; if he hasn't, he will fail. Edwards' first advice to those
who have sought his help has invariably been this: "Subscribe to THE
EDITOR." In nearly every instance the advice has been taken, and with
profitable results.

This same advice is given here, should the reader stand in need of
a proper start along the thorny path of authorship. Nor is it to be
construed in any manner as an advertisement. It is merely rendering
justice where justice is due, and is an honest tribute to a publication
for writers, drawn from an experience of twenty-two years "in the
ranks."




XXII.

  NEW SOURCES
  OF PROFIT


The out-put of the Fiction Factory brought excellent returns during
the years 1908 and 1909. Industry followed close on the heels of
opportunity and the result was more than gratifying. The 1908
product consisted of forty-four nickel novels for Harte & Perkins,
two novelettes for _The Blue Book_, four serials for the Munsey
publications, and one novelette for _The People's Magazine_. This work
alone would have carried the receipts well above those of the preceding
year, but new and unexpected sources of profit helped to enlarge the
showing on the Factory's books.

The rapidity with which Edwards wrote his serial stories--sometimes
under the spur of an immediate demand from his publishers, and
sometimes under the less relentless spur of personal necessity--seemed
to preclude the possibility of profit on a later publication "in
cloth." Only a finished performance is worthy of a durable binding.
Realizing this, Edwards had never made a determined effort to interest
book-publishers in the stories. In the ordinary course of affairs, and
with scarcely any attention on his part, two serials found their way
into "cloth." "Danny W.," accepted and brought out by Dodd, Mead & Co.,
was written for book publication, and serialized after it had appeared
in that form. It fell as far short of a "best seller" as did the two
republished serials.

Nevertheless, in spite of the fact that additional profit through
publication in cloth seemed out of the question, Edwards wondered if
there were not something else to be gained from the stories besides the
serial rights.

His stories were dramatic and, in several instances, had appealed to
play-writers. For a time he had hopes that dramatic rights might prove
a source of additional income. His hopes, in this respect, have not
been completely dashed, inasmuch as competent hands are at this date
(September, 1911) fitting some of his stories for the stage. Something
may come of it, but his experience has made him wary and he is not at
all sanguine.

Eliminating book and dramatic rights from the equation, and what
remained? A letter from Waltham, Mass., dated April 23, 1908, uncovered
possibilities of which Edwards had never dreamed. Most of these
possibilities, as it transpired, _were_ a dream, but, as in the matter
of dramatic rights, some day the dream may come true in a large and
substantial manner. Here is the letter:

  "Dear Sir:

  If you have not yet disposed of the sole and unrestricted rights
  of translation into the GERMAN language of your books: 'The
  Billionaire's Dilemma' and 'The Shadow of the Unknown,' will you
  permit me to submit them to my GERMAN correspondents--some of the
  best known GERMAN PUBLISHERS--with the idea of effecting a sale?

  I shall require a single copy of 'The Billionaire's Dilemma,' but
  not of 'The Shadow of the Unknown' having preserved the story as it
  appeared first in the POPULAR,[J] to send abroad, with a statement of
  the best terms you will make for the _cash out-right purchase of both
  book and serial rights_.

  If the serial rights of translation in GERMAN belong to the POPULAR,
  you will have to come to a satisfactory understanding with them,
  in order to legally assign to me the SERIAL, as well as your own
  individual, book-rights, because all GERMAN publishers insist on
  serial rights, although they seldom or never use them, as MAGAZINES
  are not good and little used there.

  My experience has been, that the MAGAZINE COMPANIES are very broad in
  their treatment of their writers, and usually willing to re-transfer
  their SERIAL rights of translation, in order to facilitate a sale,
  and make them universally known.

  Of course less is paid for translation rights of stories that have
  only appeared in SERIAL form in the STATES.

  If any of the publishers I represent purchases your stories, you
  have the best possible guarantee of perfect translation and speedy
  publication.

  Awaiting the courtesy of an early reply and the necessary copy of
  'The Billionaire's Dilemma,' I have the honor to be, dear Sir,

                                         Yours very truly,
                                              "Eugene Niemann."[K]

Several guns were fired during this invasion of Germany, but only
one shell "went home." This was not the fault of Mr. Niemann. In
Edwards' brief experience with him he found him always a scholar and
a gentleman. Sincerity and courtesy were his never-failing traits.
The pleasant little twists he gave his English, and the occasional
naive expression that struggled through his typewriter, along with the
prodigal use of "caps," will perhaps excuse a further offering from the
correspondence. Here is the shot that hit the mark:

                                                    "May 12, 1908.

  "Dear Sir:--

  Before I have even had time to forward 'The Billionaire's Dilemma'
  and 'On the Stroke of Four', and to await your other announced
  stories, a letter comes from one of my German correspondents, saying
  he had run through your short story: 'The Shadow of the Unknown' and
  would purchase the rights of translation if you will accept an offer
  of FORTY DOLLARS.

  Perhaps you will say, "such an offer is absurd," but first let me
  state to you, that the best books placed in GERMANY bring at the most
  ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS, and oftener anywhere from FIFTY to ONE HUNDRED,
  that the chief profit, is not a monetary one, rather the spreading
  of the writer's name and fame.

  'The Shadow of the Unknown,' writes the publisher, is a very short
  story, and if you will be guided by my long experience, dear Sir,
  you will accept the offer, in order to make our name popular and
  facilitate a better sale of your following stories, which I shall
  take double pleasure in forwarding, feeling surer of a good offer.

  Were I guilty of business indiscretion, you would be surprised
  to know the names of the already published 'BOOKS' I have sold
  and am daily selling the GERMAN rights of, for hardly a monetary
  consideration at all, and yet the literary satisfaction quite
  out-balances all other considerations, does it not?

  I enclose the customary form of assignment, which you can sign and
  have duly witnessed by a NOTARY PUBLIC, if you see fit to accept the
  offer, and which you will please then send me per AMERICAN EXPRESS C.
  O. D. subject to examination to avoid every possible chance of error.

  The personal receipt need not be signed before the NOTARY PUBLIC,
  your signature without witness suffices.

  Hoping to do much better for you with your other fine stories and
  appreciating your confidence, I remain, dear Sir,

                                            Very truly yours,
                                                 "EUGENE NIEMANN."

After the dust had settled, and the invasion was finally completed,
$40 had been added to the year's receipts of the Fiction Factory; but
Edwards clings to the hope that some day more of his "fine stories" may
be greedily bought by the German publishers. These German publishers
are honorable enough to buy, where they might pirate, and there are a
few American publishers who might take lessons from them in business
probity. With a small tidbit from a letter of May 18, the pleasant Mr.
Niemann will be dismissed:

  "Later, with your permission, I will take up the stories I sell in
  GERMANY for sale in FRANCE, DENMARK, NORWAY and SWEDEN?

  The monetary remuneration in the SCANDINAVIAN countries is yet
  smaller than in GERMANY, but the people are fine readers, and that
  for all, who truly LOVE their ART is the chief standpoint I take it?!"

During the latter part of July and the earlier part of August Edwards
was in New York for a couple of weeks. As usual when in the city he
worked even harder than he did at home. Two nickel novels were written,
a serial was put through the Factory for Mr. Davis, and he collected
$200 for a novelette which he sold to _People's_. There was an
interesting, almost a humorous, circumstance connected with the serial.

Edwards called the story "The Man Who Left." When the manuscript was
completed he took it in to Mr. Davis, and two or three days later
called again to learn its fate.

The Munsey offices are up close to the roof in the Flatiron building.
The lair of the editor who presides over the destinies of _The
All-Story Magazine_, _The Railroad Man's Magazine_ and _The Scrap
Book_[L] is flanked on one side by a prospect of space that causes
the occasional caller to hang on to his chair. Across from this dizzy
void is a partition hung with framed photographs of contributors--a
rogues' gallery in which Edwards, when he last saw the collection,
had a prominent place. North of an imaginary line drawn between the
window and the partition sits the editor, grimly prominent against a
motto-covered wall. As the caller faces the editor he is, of course,
confronted by placards reminding him that "This is My Busy Day--Cut it
Short," and "Find A Man for the Job not A Job for the Man," and others
cunningly calculated to put him on tenterhooks.

To this place, therefore, came Edwards, proffering inquiries about "The
Man Who Left." He read fateful things in the august countenance, and
he was not surprised when Mr. Davis handed him a lemon, but he _was_
surprised when he took the lemon back.

"Rotten," said Mr. Davis, "r-r-rotten! When I'm out for peaches,
Edwards, I side-step the under-ripe persimmons. 'The Man Who Left'
ought to have made his get-away along about line one, paragraph one,
chapter one; and then if he had staid out plumb to the place where you
have written 'Finis' this gorgeous but unconvincing tale would have
been vastly improved. Am I a Jasper that you seek thus to inveigle me
into purchasing a gold-brick? Here, take it away! Now let me have it
again. I am going to give you three hundred for it and tuck it away in
the strong-box. Later you are to evolve, write and otherwise put upon
paper a fictional prize for which 'The Man Who Left' will be returned
to you in even exchange. Do you get me? 'Nuff said. I think you're out
of mazuma, and that's why I'm doing this. My friends'll ruin me yet!"

Now the humor, if there is any, fits in about here: Edwards went back
to Michigan and wrote a serial which he sent on to replace "The Man Who
Left." Here is the letter in reply:

  My dear Edwards:

  While I was away on my vacation, some one spilled a pitcher of
  milk. In other words, they put "The Man Who Left" to press for _The
  All-Story Magazine_, and it is now too late to yank it back. That's
  the trouble of leaving anything in the safe that should not be there.
  You and I, however, being practical men, can understand the facility
  with which the yarn was nabbed up.

  Now, the point is, I can use the "Mydus" yarn and get a check off
  to you next week, provided I have some basis on which to operate.
  What's the lowest price for which you will give me 'Mydus,' call
  all previous arrangements equal, and let things stand as they are.
  The way to trim me and square accounts is to come back with a quick,
  short, sharp, cheap reply, and let it go at that.

  Hurry up this 'Mydus' business and we'll see what we can do.

                                               Sincerely yours,
                                                    "R. H. DAVIS."

The spilling of that "pitcher of milk" while Mr. Davis was away on his
vacation had netted Edwards just an even $300.

Another source of profit from the serial stories which the Fiction
Factory had been turning out for years was revealed to Edwards in
a letter dated Nov. 19, 1908. This, like the matter of translation
rights, came to Edwards as a pleasant surprise; but, unlike the "German
invasion," it was to prove vastly more profitable. Here is the letter:

  "Dear Sir:

  Upon looking over the files of _The Argosy_ we find that you have
  written the following serial stories. Are the book rights of these
  your property? If not, can you get Mr. Munsey to give them to you? If
  you can, and will lengthen the stories to about 75,000 words, we will
  pay you $100 each for the paper book rights of same.

  We cannot offer you more, as we would put these out in cheap
  paper edition, but this publication would do a great deal toward
  popularizing your name and work with the class of readers who buy
  _The Argosy_ and other fiction magazines.

  The stories are as follows: (Here were listed the titles of seven
  _Argosy_ serials.)

                                            Very truly yours,
                                                 "STREET & SMITH."

Edwards caught at this opportunity. He failed to realize, at the
time, just how much work was involved in lengthening the stories for
paper-book publication. In his reply to Street & Smith he offered a
list of forty-five serials, and promised others if they could use
so many. He was requested, on Dec. 4, to forward copies of all the
stories for reading. The same letter contained this paragraph:

  "I note that your letter is dated December 2nd and that you state you
  expect to be in New York inside of three weeks. I think it might be
  to our mutual advantage if you could come on in a week or ten days,
  for there is a new line of work which I think you could do for us
  about which I would like to talk with you."

Just before Christmas Edwards and his wife arrived in New York. On some
of the serials which had appeared in the Munsey magazines Edwards owned
all but serial rights, but there were many more wherein all rights were
held by the publishers.

The folly of a writer's selling all rights when disposing of a story
for serial publication dawned upon Edwards very strongly, at this
time. The conviction was driven "home" at a little dinner which
Edwards tendered to several editors and readers. During the course of
the dinner one of the guests--an editor in charge of a prominent and
popular magazine--averred bluntly that "any writer who sells all rights
to a story to a magazine using the story serially, is a fool."

With Edwards this sale of all rights had resulted from carelessness
more than anything else, and had he not been dealing with friends
like Mr. White and Mr. Davis he might have suffered financial loss
because of his folly. Two or three interviews with Mr. Davis secured
the paper-book rights, but with the understanding that if any of the
lengthened stories were brought out in cloth, one-half of the royalties
were to go to The Munsey Company.

In the whole list there were only seven stories long enough for
immediate issue in paper-book form. These were paid for, at once.
The other stories fell short of the required number of words all
the way from 5,000 to 30,000 words. There was no profit to Edwards
in lengthening the stories at the price of $100 each. What benefit
he derived--and is now deriving, for the work continues--was in the
advertising which the wide circulation of the paper-covered books
afforded him. Also, Edwards considered the value of cementing his
friendship with the old-established publishing house of Street & Smith,
a house noted for the fairness of its dealings with contributors and
for the prompt payment for all material upon acceptance. "Making good"
with publishers of such high standing is always of inestimable value to
a writer.

One of Street & Smith's editors, at this time, was St. George
Rathborne, author of "Dr. Jack" and dozens of other popular stories
that have appeared in paper covers. Here was another author who had
become an editor, bringing to his duties an experience and ability
that made for the highest success. Mr. C. A. MacLean, another member
of the Street & Smith editorial staff, was also a gentleman with whom
Edwards had occasional dealings. Mr. MacLean, beginning at the lowest
rung of the ladder, had mounted steadily to the post of editor of
_The Popular Magazine_ and _Smith's Magazine_, by sheer force of his
own merit pushing those publications to the forefront of magazines of
their class. To these gentlemen, and particularly to Mr. Rathborne,[M]
Edwards is indebted for unfailing kindness and courtesy, and takes this
means to acknowledge it.

The special work which was mentioned in Street & Smith's letter of
Nov. 19 consisted of a new weekly publication for which Edwards was to
furnish the copy. Seventy-five dollars each was to be paid for these
stories.

With all this work ahead of the Fiction Factory, the year 1909 dawned
in a blaze of prosperity. During 1909 Edwards found himself so busy
with the paper-books and the other publication that he had no time
for serial stories. After thirty-four issues the new publication was
discontinued, and Edwards went back to writing novels for Harte &
Perkins, at $60 each.

During 1909 Edwards tried his hand at moving pictures. The alluring
advertisements under the scare-head, "We Pay $10 to $100 for Picture
Plays," caught his eye and fired his ambition. He wrote a scenario,
sent it in, and waited expectantly for his $100. He had been only two
hours preparing the "photoplay" and it looked like "easy money." When
the check arrived it was for $10! He wrote in to ask what had become of
the remaining $90? Thus answered The Vitagraph Company of America, Oct.
27, '09:

  "In regard to the payment for a manuscript of this character, we
  never give more than ten dollars, for two or three reasons.

  In the first place, we only use the idea. The manuscript has to be
  revised in almost every instance in order to put it in practical
  shape for the directors.

  Again, they contain an idea which is more or less stereotyped or
  conventional and cannot be claimed as entirely original only as
  applied to the action of the play.

  Regarding your own idea, I will frankly say that the same idea has
  often been embodied in other plays, but the general suggestion of it
  gives a new phase to the action of the idea.

  THE EDITOR merely surmises, or so we think, that a thoroughly
  original manuscript in practical shape would be worth at least $25,
  but we seldom get one of that kind. We would welcome one at any time
  and would pay its full value.

  The members of our staff, who are obliged to write practical working
  scenarios, appreciate the above facts because they know what it means
  to perfect a scenario with the synopsis of the story, the properties,
  settings, &c., &c.

  We merely state these things so you will understand that we are
  thoroughly fair in your case and will certainly be so in every
  instance.

  Ideas, if they are entirely original, would be worth more than ten
  dollars, but they are scarcer than hen's teeth at any price.

  We find most of the ideas which we receive, and we receive hundreds
  of them, are nothing but repetition or old ones in new guises.

  Again we will say, if we can get original ideas we will pay their
  full value."

Another case of _sic transit_--this time, _sic transit mazuma_.

Here follows a transcript from the Factory's books for the two years
with which this chapter has dealt:

  1908:
  Dillingham, last royalties on "Tales of Two Towns"       $    1.50
  45 nickel novels @ $50 each                                2250.
  "The Shadow of the Unknown"                                 200.
  "The Shadow of the Unknown," translation rights              40.
  "Parker & O'Fallon"                                         300.
  "In the Valley's Shadow"                                    200.
  "The Man Who Left,"                                         300.
  "Trail of the Mydus,"                                       350.
  "Just A Dollar,"                                            350.
  "Frisbie's Folly,"                                          350.
  "The Man Called Dare,"                                      300.
  "The Streak of Yellow,"                                     200.
  7 paper-book rights at $100 each,                           700.
                                                            --------
      Total,                                                $5541.50

  1909:
  34 issues "Motor Boys" @ $75 each                        $ 2550.
  21 paper-book rights @ $100 each                           2100.
  9 nickel novels @ $60 each,                                 540.
  "The Stop on the 'Scutcheon," short story                    35.
  Moving-picture,                                              10.
  "Breaking Even," short story                                 40.
  "Divided by Eight," short story                              35.
                                                           -------
      Total                                                $ 5310.

  The following advertisement from an English paper, which is vouched
  for, once more illustrates the truth of the statement that fact is
  stranger than fiction. The owner of the houses, it may be mentioned,
  was ill in bed, far away, and the neighbors evidently did not
  question the right of the men to do as they did. The advertisement is
  as follows:

  LOST.--Three fine cottages have mysteriously disappeared from the
  property Nos. 296, 298 and 300 High road, Willesden Green, London.
  Please communicate with J. M. Godwin, 71 Bank Street, London, W. C.

       *       *       *       *       *

O. Henry told a whimsical tale of what he considered unfair competition
in the short story field. He was in the office of a big magazine,
when he witnessed the return to a dejected looking young fellow of a
couple of manuscripts. "I am sorry for that fellow," said the editor.
"He came to New York from New Orleans a year ago, and regularly brings
some stories to our office. We can never use them. He doesn't make a
dollar by his pen, and he is getting shabby and pale." A month or so
later O. Henry saw the same writer in the same office, and the editor
was talking to him earnestly. "You had better go back to New Orleans,"
said that gentleman. "Why?" said the young man. "Some day I may write a
story you may want." "But you can do that just as well in New Orleans,"
said the editor, "and you can save board bills." "Board bills,"
ejaculated the young man. "What do I care about board bills! I have an
income of twenty thousand a year from my father's estate."


FOOTNOTES:

[J] A mistake, the story appeared in =The Blue Book=.

[K] Edwards uses a fictitious name for this correspondent.

[L] Now no more as =The Cavalier=, the former monthly, now a weekly has
"absorbed" =The Scrap Book=.

[M] Mr. Rathborne has recently given up his editorial duties and has
retired to what seems to be the ultimate goal of writers and editors--a
farm. He is somewhere in New Jersey.




XXIII.

  THE INJUSTICE
  OF IT


The commercial world may hearken sentimentally to that plaintive
ballad, "Silver Threads Among the Gold," as it floats into the Emporium
from a street organ, but the commercial world never allows sentiment
to interfere with business. When a man presents himself and asks for
a job, he is examined for symptoms of decrepitude before his mental
abilities are canvassed. The wise seeker for place, before making
the rounds of the Want Column, will see to it that his hair is of a
youthful color, for there is nothing so damned by the octopus of trade
as hoary locks. A bottle of walnut juice, carefully administered, may
bridge the gap and lead from failure to success.

"New blood!" that's the cry. "Age is too conservative, too partial
to the old and outworn standards, too apt to keep in a rut. Give us
the mop of black hair and the bright, snappy eye! Give us energy and
brilliant daring and a fresh view-point! We'll be taking a few chances,
but what of that? We must follow the fashion."

Some of the publishers have gone to the extreme of the prevailing
mode. The yearling from the football field, if he happens to have been
sporting editor of the college journal, is brought to the sanctum,
shoved into the chair of authority, and given $50 a week and the power
to go ahead and be ruthless. He rarely disappoints his employer.
Whenever he does, his employer is to be congratulated. Usually,
however, he sticks to his schedule. He thinks he is Somebody, and
attempts to prove it by kicking all the old contributors out of the
office and forwarding invitations for manuscripts to every member of
the Class of '10.

There is no writer of experience who has failed to meet this sort
of editor. For years a publishing house may have steadily increased
in power and prestige through the loyalty and labor of the old
contributor, only to give some darling of the campus a desk and the
authority to begin oslerizing faithfulness and ability.

This injustice would be humorous were some of its aspects not so
tragic. The smug publishers themselves may have something to answer
for. They have wrung their ratings in Dun and Bradstreet from the old
contributor, and when they abandon a policy that has brought success
they are steering through troubled waters and into unknown seas.

For anything short of incompetence this casting aside of the old in
order to try out the new is reprehensible. To weather a decade or two
of storm and stress a writer must have been versatile. Versatility
increases with his years, and he is as capable of brilliant daring and
a fresh viewpoint as any youth in the twenties.

Times out of number this has been made manifest. Stories disguised with
a pen-name and a strange typewriter have won welcome and success where
the old name and the old typewriter would have insured rejection. Note
this from one who has been twenty-five years at the game:

  "In the near-humorous line I may mention the fact that I once tried
  to get the editor of a certain paper to let me furnish him a serial,
  but he didn't think I could write it. Soon afterward a friend who had
  been contributing serials to that particular paper was asked by the
  editor to furnish a serial. As it chanced, the writer happened to be
  engaged in other work. So he came to me and wanted to know if I could
  not write the desired serial. When I informed him that the editor had
  turned my offer down, he then suggested that I write the serial and
  let him send it in under his own name. It was a chance to try the
  sagacity of that particular editor. I salved my conscience, wrote the
  serial, and my typewritten copy was submitted to the editor under
  the name of my friend. The serial was accepted, with medals thrown
  all over it--my literary friend being informed that it was just the
  thing the editor wanted, and that he had hard work to get authors
  who could suit his view as to what was available for his particular
  publication. My friend got the honor, if there was any, of seeing the
  serial run under his name; and I got the money for doing the work."

If an author ever suffers an editor's contempt, what must the editor
suffer on being caught red-handed in such a way as this? It is the
worm's prerogative to turn whenever it finds the opportunity.

Illustrating this point, and several other points with which this
chapter is concerned, the following letter from another writer, who has
been turning out successful manuscripts for upward of twenty years, is
reproduced:

  "Dear Bro. Edwards:

  You certainly DO put a poser to me. At the present time I have
  difficulty in seeing anything that has happened to me in the
  twenty-odd years of my following the literary game in anything but
  a tragic light. I believe my success, such as it was, was tragic.
  At least, it has rivetted my reputation to a certain class of
  literature--heaven save the mark!--and makes it almost impossible
  for me to sell anything of a better quality. I might tell you of
  plenty of cruel things that have been done to me by publishers and
  editors when they knew or suspected that I was hard up; and plenty of
  silly things done to me by the same folk when they thought I didn't
  particularly NEED their money. But funny things----?

  It's the point of view makes the thing funny. The child pulling the
  wings off a fly to see the insect crawl over the window pane is
  amused; but I don't suppose the fly sees the humor of the situation.
  I could tell you tales of submitting the same manuscript three times
  to an editor whom we both know well, having it shot through with
  criticism the first two times and then having it accepted and paid
  for at extra rates within two years of the first submission, and
  without even a word of the title changed! Is THAT the kind of an
  incident you want?

  One of the funniest things that ever happened to me was that an
  editor of a popular magazine used to say that my stuff resembled
  Dickens, and when I wrote half-dime novels the readers used to write
  in and say the same. The quality of mind possessed by the scholarly
  editor and the street boys who read 'Bowery Billy' must be somewhat
  the same--eh?

  There was once a magazine that bore as its title the name of a
  publisher as famous as any American ever saw, and the editor bought
  a story of me at the rate of half a cent a word, and owed me two
  years for it. Finally, one time when I was very hard up I went to the
  office and hung around until I could see the 'boss' and put it up to
  him to pay me. He did. He knocked off 33 1-3 per cent for 'cash.'
  Pretty good, eh?

  I tell you, Edwards, there's nothing funny in the game that I can
  see--not for the so-called literary worker. The gods may laugh when
  they see a man with that brand of insanity on him that actually
  forces him to write. But I doubt if the writer laughs--not even if
  he writes a 'best seller.' For success entails turning out other
  successes, and that is hard work. Excuse me! I am going back to the
  farm. I will write only when I have to, and only as long as my farm
  will not support me. I've got hold of a pretty good place cheap, down
  here with the outlook of making a good living on it in time. No more
  the Great White Way, with the Dirty Black Alley behind it, in mine!
  I am not going to carry my hat in my hand around to editors' offices
  and take up collections for long. Besides, most of the editors
  blooming now are just out of college and are not dry behind the ears
  yet. They think that Johnny Go-bang, who edited the sporting page in
  the Podunk University Screamer, knows more about writing fiction than
  the old fellows who have been at it a couple of decades. And I reckon
  they are right. They are looking for 'fresh' material; some of it is
  pretty 'raw' as well as fresh. I fooled an editor the other day by
  sending a manuscript on strange paper, written on a new typewriter,
  and with an assumed name attached. Sold the story and got a long
  letter of encouragement from the editor. Great game--encouraging
  'new' writers! About on a par with the scheme some rum sellers have
  of washing their sidewalks with the dregs of beer kegs. The spider
  and fly game. Now, if I told that editor what an ass he had made of
  himself, would he ever buy another manuscript of me again? I fear not!

  Perhaps I am pessimistic, Brother Edwards. There's no real fun in
  the writing game--not for the writer, at least. Not when he is forty
  years old and knows that already he is a 'has-been.' Good luck to
  you. Hope your book is a success, and if I really knew just what
  you wanted I'd try to whip something into shape for you. For you
  very well know that, if other fiction writers give you incidents for
  your book, they'll mostly be fiction! That is the devil of it. If a
  fiction writer cuts a sliver off his thumb while paring the corned
  beef for dinner, he will make out of the story a gory combat between
  his hero and a horde of enemies, and give details of the carnage fit
  to make his own soul shudder.

  I hope to meet up with you again some time. But pretty soon when I go
  to New York I'll wear my chin-whiskers long and carry a carpet-bag;
  and you bet I'll fight shy of editors' offices."

Another example of injustice to writers which, however, happened to
turn out well for the writer:

  "I offered a short serial to a certain newspaper syndicate. Soon
  I received a letter saying they could pay me $200 for the serial
  rights. Before my letter accepting the offer reached them, I had
  another letter from the syndicate withdrawing the offer. The editor
  stated pathetically that the proprietor had returned and had asked
  him to withdraw it. I then sent the serial to a Chicago newspaper,
  which paid me $200 for serial rights--BUT NEVER PUBLISHED THE STORY.
  Finally I rewrote the story, had it published as a book by a leading
  Eastern publishing house, and it sold well."

Here, again, is injustice of another kind:

  "Once a certain Eastern magazine authorized me to go to Santa Fe, New
  Mexico, and write a description of a Pueblo dance and of Pueblo life,
  and send the manuscript on with photographs for illustration. I did
  the work. And I was rewarded by the generous editor with a check for
  $20! You can imagine how profitable that particular stunt was, for
  I took a week's time and paid my own expenses. But not out of that
  twenty. There wasn't enough of it to go 'round."




XXIV.

  WHAT SHALL
  WE DO
  WITH IT?


Edwards wrote only one serial story during 1910, and turned his hand
to that merely to bring up the financial returns and leave a safe
margin for expenses. Nickel novels, a few short stories, a novelette
for _The Blue Book_ and the lengthening of two stories for paper-book
publication comprised the year's work. He "soldiered" a little, but
when a writer "soldiers" he is not necessarily idle. Edwards' thoughts
were busy, and the burden of his reflections was this: Heaven had
endowed him with a small gift of plot and counter-plot, and a little
art for getting it into commercial form; but were his meager talents
producing for him all that they should? Was the purely commercial aim,
although held to with a strong sense of moral responsibility, the
correct aim? After a score of years of hard work did he find himself
progressing in any but a financial direction? Forgetting the past and
facing the future with eyes fixed at a higher angle, how was he to
proceed with his "little gift of words?" What should he do with it?

In the bright summer afternoons Edwards would walk out of his Fiction
Factory and make a survey of it from various points. He was always so
close to his work that he lost the true perspective. He was familiar
with the minutiae, the thousand and one little details that went to
make up the whole, but how did it look in the "all-together," stripped
of sentiment and beheld in its three dimensions?

Paradoxically, the work appeared too commercial in some of its aspects,
and not commercial enough in others. The sordid values were due to the
demand which came to Edwards constantly and unsolicited, and which
it was his unvarying policy always to meet. "All's fish that comes
to the writer's net" was a saying of Edwards' that had cozzened his
judgment. He was giving his best to work whose very nature kept him to
a dead level of mediocrity. And within the last few years he had become
unpleasantly aware that at least one editor believed him incapable of
better things. This was largely Edwards' fault. Orders for material
along the same old lines poured in upon him and he hesitated to break
away from them and try out his literary wings.

Years before he had faced a similar question. The same principal of
breaking away from something that was reasonably sure and regular
for something else not so sure but which glowed with brighter
possibilities, was involved. Vaguely he felt the call. He was
forty-four, and had left behind him twenty-odd years of hard and
conscientious effort. As he was getting on in years so should he be
getting on with some of his dreams, before the light failed and the
Fiction Factory grew dark and all dreaming and doing were at an end.

One evening in Christmas week, 1910, he mentioned his aspirations to a
noted editor with whom he happened to be at dinner. The book that was
to bring fame and fortune, the book Edwards had always been going to
write but had never been able to find the time, was under discussion.
"Write it," advised the noted one, "but not under your own name."

Edwards fell silent. What was there in the work he had done which
made it impossible to put "John Milton Edwards" on the title page of
his most ambitious effort? Were the nickel novels and the popular
paper-backs to rise in judgment against him? He could not think so
then, and he does not think so now.

"Why don't you write up your experiences as an author?" inquired the
editor a few moments later. "You want to be helpful, eh? Well, there's
your chance. Writers would not be the only ones to welcome such a book,
and if you did it fairly well it ought to make a hit."

This suggestion Edwards adopted. Having the courage of convictions
directly opposed to the noted editor's, the other one he will not
accept.

The reflections of 1910 began to bear fruit in 1911. With the beginning
of the present year Edwards gave up the five-cent fiction, not
because--as already stated in a previous chapter--he considered it
debasing to his "art," but because he needed time for the working out
of a few of his dreams.

Presently, as though to confirm him in his determination, two
publishing houses of high standing requested novels to be issued with
their imprint. He accepted both commissions, and at this writing the
work is well advanced. If he fails of material success in either or
both these undertakings, by the standards elsewhere quoted and in which
he thoroughly believes, the higher success that cannot be separated
from faithful effort will yet be his. And it will suffice.

Even in 1910 Edwards had been swayed by his growing convictions. Almost
unconsciously he had begun shaping his work along the line of higher
achievement. During 1911 he has been hewing to the same line, but more
consistently.

Edwards has demonstrated his ability to write moving picture scenarios
that will sell. But is the game worth the candle? Is it pleasant for an
author to see his cherished Western idea worked out with painted white
men for Indians and painted buttes for a background? Of course, there
are photoplays enacted on the Southwestern deserts, with real cowboys
and red men for "supers," but somewhere in most of these performances
a false note is struck. One who knows the West has little trouble in
detecting it.

This, however, is a matter of sentiment, alone. The nebulous ideas most
scenario editors seem to have as to rates of payment, and the usually
long delay in passing upon a "script," are important details of quite
another sort. And, furthermore, it is unjust to throw a creditable
production upon the screen without placing the author's name under the
title. Of right, this advertising belongs to the author and should not
be denied him.

In 1910 a moving picture concern secured a concession for taking
pictures with Buffalo Bill's Wild West and Pawnee Bill's Far East Show,
and Edwards was hired to furnish scenarios at $35 each. He furnished
a good many, and of one of them Major Lillie (Pawnee Bill) wrote from
Butte, Montana, on Sep. 2;

  "Friend Edwards:

  I saw one of the films run off at a picture house a few days ago
  and I think they are the greatest Western scenes that I have ever
  witnesed--that is, they are the truest to life. I had a letter from
  Mr. C---- yesterday, and he thinks they are fine.

                                               Your friend,
                                                    G. W. Lillie."

For a time Edwards thought his faith in the moving picture makers was
about to be justified. But he was mistaken. He received a check for
just $25, which probably escaped from the film men in an unguarded
moment, and no further check, letter or word has since come from the
company. The proprietors of the Show had nothing to do with the picture
people, and regretted, though they could not help the loss Edwards had
suffered.

When the moving picture writers are assured of better prices for their
scenarios, of having them passed upon more promptly and of getting
their names on the films with their pictures, the business will have
been shaken down to a more commendable basis. Possibly the film
manufacturers borrow their ideas of equitable treatment for the writer
from some of the publishing houses.

The "hack" writer, in many editorial offices, is looked down upon with
something like contempt by the august personage who condescends to buy
his "stuff" and to pay him good money for it. Perhaps the "hack" is at
fault and has placed himself in an unfavorable light. Writers are many
and competition is keen. Among these humble ones there are those who
have suffered rebuff after rebuff until the spirit is broken and pride
is killed, and they go cringing to an editor and supplicate him for an
assignment. Or they write him: "For God's sake do not turn down this
story! It is the bread-line for me, if you do."

Did you ever walk through the ante-room of a big publishing house on
the day checks are signed and given out? Men with pinched faces and
ragged clothes sit in the mahogany chairs. They have missed the high
mark in their calling. They had high ambitions once--but ambitions are
always high when hope is young. They are writing now, not because they
love their work but because it is the only work they know, and they
must keep at it or starve (perhaps _and_ starve).

A taxicab flings madly up to the door in front, and a stylishly clad
gentleman floats in at the hall door and across the ante-room to the
girl at the desk. They exchange pleasant greetings and the girl punches
a button that communicates with the private office of the powers that
be.

"Mr. Oswald Hamilton Brezee to see Mr. Skinner."

Delighted mumblings by Mr. Skinner come faintly to the ears of the
lowly ones. The girl turns away from the 'phone.

"Go right in, Mr. Brezee." she says. "Mr. Skinner will see you at once."

Mr. Brezee's "stuff" has caught on. Dozens of magazines are clamoring
for it. Mr. Brezee vanishes and presently reappears, tucking away his
check with the careless manner of one to whom checks are more or less
of a bore. He passes into the hall, and in a moment the "taxi" is heard
bearing him away.

The lowly ones twist in their chairs and bitterness floods their
hearts. Like the author of "Childe Harold," Brezee awoke one morning to
find himself famous. These others, with the dingy Windsor ties and the
long hair and pinched faces never awake to anything but a doubt as to
where the morning meal is to come from.

After hours of waiting in the ante-room, checks are finally produced
and passed around to the lowly ones and they fade away into the haunts
that know them best. Next pay-day they will be back again, if they are
alive and have been given anything to do in the meantime.

Is _this_ game worth the candle? What shall these men do with their
"little gift" but keep it grinding, merciless though the grind may be?
They cannot all be Oswald Hamilton Brezees.

Before a young man throws himself into the ranks of this vast army of
writers, let him ponder the situation well. If, under the iron heel of
adversity, he is sure he can still love his work for the work's sake
and be true to himself, there is one chance in ten that he will make a
fair living, and one chance in a hundred that he may become one of the
generals.

The Factory returns for 1910 and for part of 1911 are given below.
Edwards believes that, in its last analysis, 1911 will offer figures
close to the ten-thousand dollar mark--but it is a guess hedged around
with many contingencies.

  1910:
  54 nickel novels @ $60 each,           $3240.00
  Short story for Munsey's,                 75.00
  Short story for The Blue Book,            40.00
  Novelette for The Blue Book,             200.00
  Moving picture, Essanay Co,               25.00
  Short story for Gunter's,                 40.00
  Short story for Columbian,                15.00
  Paper-book rights,                       200.00
  Serial story for Scrap Book,             400.00
  Moving picture,                           25.00
                                         --------
  Total                                  $4260.00

  Part of 1911:
  5 paper-book rights,                   $ 500.00
  Serial for All-Story,                    400.00
  Novelette for Adventure,                 250.00
  Serial for The Argosy,                   250.00
  Novelette for The Blue Book,             200.00
  Short stories for The Blue Book,         150.00
  Short story for Harper's Weekly,          75.00
  Serial for "Top-Notch,"                  150.00
                                         --------
  Total,                                 $1975.00

  George Ade asked an actress, who was one of the original cast of "The
  County Chairman," to whom he had just been introduced, "Which would
  you rather be--a literary man or a burglar?" It is related that the
  actress, who was probably as excited as Ade, answered, "What's the
  difference?" And this is supposed to be a humorous anecdote!

       *       *       *       *       *

  The man who tells stories, sometimes fiction and sometimes stories,
  about the Harper publications, evolves the following realistic story
  about "The Masquerader," originally published in _The Bazaar_. Well,
  it seems that one morning, the editor sat her down and found the
  following letter, which is truly pathetic and possibly pathetically
  true: "You may, and I hope you have, some little remembrance of my
  name. But this will be the very oddest letter you have ever received.
  I am reading that most clever and wonderfully well-written novel,
  'The Masquerader.' I have very serious heart trouble and may live
  years and may die any minute. I should deeply regret going without
  knowing the general end of that story. May I know it? Will be as
  close as the grave itself if I may. I really feel that I may not live
  to know the unravelling of that net. If I may know for reason good
  and sufficient to yourself and by no means necessary to explain, may
  I please have the numbers as they come to you, and in advance of
  general delivery?" The editor sent on the balance of the story, but
  it was never revealed whether it made the person well again or not.
  Edwards imagines that the whirl of action in books would not be good
  for the heart--or, for the matter of that, the soul.




XXV.

  EXTRACTS
  GRAVE AND GAY,
  WISE AND OTHERWISE


Cigars on the Editor:

  "The berth check came to me this morning. I suppose the cigars are
  on me. At the same time, there is another kind of check which you
  get when you buy your Pullman accomodation at the Pullman office in
  the station. It was that which I had in mind. I suppose the one you
  enclosed is the conductor's check. I don't believe I ever saw one
  before."

How "Bob" Davis hands you a Lemon:

  "The first six or seven chapters of 'Hammerton's Vase' are very
  lively and readable--after which it falls off the shelf and is badly
  shattered. Everybody in the yarn is pretty much of a sucker, and the
  situations are more or less of a class. I think, John, that there is
  too much talk in this story. Your last thirty pages are nothing but.

  What struck me most was the ease with which you might have wound
  the story up in any one of several places without in anyway
  injuring it. That is not like the old John Milton of yore. You used
  to pile surprise upon surprise, and tie knot after knot in your
  complications. But you didn't do it in 'Hammerton's Vase'--for which
  reason I shed tears and return the manuscript by express."

How Mr. White does it:

  "I am very sorry to be obliged to make an adverse report on 'The Gods
  of Tlaloc.' For one thing the story is too wildly improbable, for
  another the hero is too stupid, and worse than all the interest is of
  too scrappy a nature--not cumulative. You have done too good work for
  The Argosy in the past for me to content myself with this.... When I
  return Aug. 9, I shall hope to find a corking fine story from your
  pen awaiting my perusal. I am sure you know how to turn out such a
  yarn."

A tip regarding "Dual-identity":

  "The story opens well, and that is the best I can say for it. I put
  up the scheme to Mr. Davis and he expressed a strong disinclination
  for any kind of a dual-identity story."--Matthew White, Jr.

How Mr. Davis takes over the Right Stuff:

  "We are taking the sea story. Will report on the other stuff you
  have here in a day or two. In the meantime, remember that you owe me
  an 80,000-word story and that you are getting the maximum rate and
  handing me the minimum amount of words. You raised the tariff and I
  stood for it and it is up to you to make good some of your threats
  to play ball according to Hoyle. It is your turn to get in the box
  and bat 'em over the club-house. And remember, I am always on the
  bleachers, waiting to cheer at the right time."

How Mr. White lands on it:

  "'Helping Columbus' pleases me very much, and on our principle of
  paying for quality I am sending you for it our check for $350."

During the earlier years of his writing Edwards made use of an
automatic word-counter which he attached to his Caligraph--the machine
he was using at that time. He discovered that if a story called for
30,000 words, and he allowed the counter to register that number,
the copy would over-run about 5,000 words. At a much later period he
discovered by actual comparisons of typewritten with printed matter
just the number of words each page of manuscript would average in the
composing-room. From his publishers, however, he once received the
following instructions:

  "To enable you to calculate the number of words to write each week,
  we make the following suggestions: Type off a LONG paragraph from
  a page of one of the weeklies that has been set solid, so that the
  number of words in each line will correspond with the same line in
  print.

  When you have finished the paragraph you can get the average length
  of the typed line as written on your machine, and by setting your
  bell guard at this average length you will be able to fairly
  approximate, line for line, manuscript and printed story.

  A complete story should contain 3,000 lines. Calculating in this way,
  you will be able to turn in each week a story of about the right
  length. Our experience shows us that the calculated length of a story
  based on a roughly estimated number of words usually falls short of
  our requirements, and although to proceed in the manner suggested
  above may involve a little extra work--not above half an hour at the
  outside and on one occasion only--by it alone are we convinced that
  you will strike the right number of words for each issue."

"Along the Highway of Explanations":

  "I cannot see 'The Yellow Streak' quite clear enough. You whoop it up
  pretty well for about three-quarters of the story, and then it begins
  to go to pieces along the highway of explanations."--Mr. Davis.

Concerning the "Rights" of a Story:

  "Unless it is otherwise stipulated, WE BUY ALL MANUSCRIPTS WITH FULL
  COPYRIGHT."--F. A. Munsey Co.

And again:

  "The signing of the receipt places all rights in the hands of the
  Frank A. Munsey Company, but they will be glad to permit you to make
  a stage version of your story, only stipulating that in case you
  succeed in getting it produced, they should receive a reasonable
  share of the royalties."

The Last Word on the Subject:

  "Mr. White has turned over to me your letter of October 12, as
  I usually answer letters relating to questions of copyright. I
  think, under the circumstances, if you want to dramatize the story
  we ought to permit you to do so without payment to us. The only
  condition we would make would be that if you get the play produced,
  you should print a line on the program saying,--'Dramatized from a
  story published in _The Argosy_,' or words to that effect."--Mr.
  Titherington, of _Munsey's_.

Paragraphing, Politics and Puns:

  "Your paragraphs are pretty good, so far. But SHUN POLITICS AND
  RELIGION in any form, direct or indirect, as you would shun the
  devil. And please don't pun--it is so cheap."--Mr. A. A. Mosley, of
  _The Detroit Free Press_.

Climaxes, Snap and Spontaneity:

  "We don't like to let this go back to you, and only do so in the
  hope that you can let us have it again. The sketch is capitally
  considered, the character is excellent, the way in which it is
  written admirable, the whole story is very funny, and yet somehow it
  does not quite come off. The climax--the denouement--seems somewhat
  labored and lacks snaps and spontaneity. Can't you devise some other
  termination--something with more 'go?' This is so good we want it to
  be better."--Editor _Puck_.

Novelty and Exhilarating Effect:

  "We have no special subject to suggest for a serial, but would
  cheerfully read any you think desirable for our needs. The better
  plan always is to submit the first two installments of about four
  columns each. Novelty and exhilarating effect are desirable."--Editor
  _Saturday Night_.

Saddling and Bridling Pegasus:

  "We are very much in need of a short Xmas poem--from 16 to 20
  lines--to be used at once. Knowing your ability and willingness to
  accomodate at short notice, I write you to ask if you can get one to
  us by Saturday of this week, or Monday at latest. I know it is a very
  short time in which to saddle and bridle Pegasus, but I am sure you
  can do it with celerity if any one can."--Editor _The Ladies' World_.

Carrying the Thing too Far:

  "We regret that we cannot make use of 'The Brand of Cain,' after
  your prompt response to our call, but the title and story are JUST
  A LITTLE BIT too sensational for our paper, and we think it best
  to return it to you. It is a good story and well written, but we
  get SO MUCH condemnation from our subscribers, often for a trifle,
  that we are obliged to be very careful. Only a week or two ago we
  were severely censured because a recipe in Household Dep't called
  for a tablespoonful of wine in a pudding sauce, and the influence
  of the writer against the paper promised if the offense were
  repeated."--From the editor of a woman's journal.

And, finally, this from Mr. Davis:

  "We are of the non-complaining species, ourself, and aim only to
  please the mob. Rush the sea story. If it isn't right, I'll rush it
  back, by express.... Believe, sir, that I am personally disposed to
  regard you as a better white man than the average white man because
  you a larger white man, and, damnitsir, I wish you good luck."




XXVI.

  PATRONS AND
  PROFITS FOR
  TWENTY-TWO YEARS


On the 20th of this month (September, 1911) it will be just twenty-two
years since Edwards received payment for his first story. On Sept. 20,
1889, _The Detroit Free Press_ sent him a check for $8. On that $8 the
Fiction Factory was started.

Who have been the patrons of the Factory for these twenty-two years,
and what have been the returns?

A vast amount of work has been necessary in order to formulate exact
answers to these questions. Papers and other memoranda bearing upon
the subject were widely scattered. During Edwards' travels about the
country many letters and records were lost. The list that follows,
therefore, is incomplete, but exact as far as it goes. More work was
realized upon, by several thousands of dollars, than is here shown. For
every item in the record Edwards has a letter, or a printed slip that
accompanied the check, as his authority. The errors are merely those of
omission.

Titles of the material sold will not be given, but following the name
of the publication that purchased the material will be found the year
in which it was either published or paid for.

  Adventure, The Ridgway Company,
    Spring & Macdougal Streets, New York City,
      1911--1 novelette.                                 $    250.

  All-Story Magazine, The F. A. Munsey Co.,
    175 Fifth Ave., New York City,
      1904--1 serial.                                         225.
      1905--2 short stories, 1 serial.                        255.
      1906--2 serials.                                        950.
      1908--3 serials.                                      1,000.

  American Press Association,
    45 & 47 Park Place, New York City,
      1905--2 short stories.                                   30.

  The Argosy, F. A. Munsey Co.,
    175 Fifth Ave., New York City,
      1900--1 serial.                                         250.
      1901--1 serial.                                         200.
      1902--1 serial.                                         250.
      1903--1 novelette, 4 serials.                         1,050.
      1904--1 short story, 1 novelette, 4 serials.            975.
      1905--3 serials, 1 novelette.                           925.
      1906--2 serials.                                        600.
      1911--1 serial.                                         250.

  Boston Globe, Boston, Mass.,
      1897--1 short story.                                      4.

  Boyce's Monthly, Chicago, Ills.,
      1901--1 short story.                                     10.

  Banner Weekly, The, Beadle & Adams, New York City,
      1889--1 short story.                                      4.

  Blue Book, The, Chicago, Ills.,
      1907--1 novelette.                                      220.
      1908--2 novelettes.                                     400.
      1910--1 short story, 1 novelette.                       240.
      1911--1 novelette, 3 short stories.                     350.

  Chips, Frank Tousey's Publishing House,
    New York City,
      1901--1 short story.                                      4.

  Chatter, 12 Beekman St., New York,
      1890--1 short story.                                      5.
          --1 short story.                                      5.

  Chicago Inter-Ocean, Chicago, Ills.,
      1898--1 article, space rates.                             2.50

  Chicago Record, Chicago, Ills.,
      1897--1 short story.                                      5.
      1898--1 short story.                                      7.
          --1 short story.                                      4.
      1901--1 short story.                                      6.

  Chicago Daily News, Chicago, Ills.,
      1898--1 short story.                                      3.
      1899--1 short story.                                      3.50
      1899--4 short stories.                                   14.50
      1901--1 short story.                                      5.

  Chicago Blade, Chicago, Ills.,
      1891--2 articles, space rates, 1 short story.            10.

  Chicago Ledger, Chicago, Ills.,
      1891--3 serials.                                        120.
      1892--2 serials.                                         55.
      1896--1 serial.                                          50.
      1904--1 serial.                                          75.
      1905--2 serials.                                         80.
      1906--2 serials.                                        100.
      1907--1 serial.                                          75.

  Columbian Magazine, New York City,
      1910--1 short story.                                     15.

  Demorest's Monthly, New York City,
      1899--1 article.                                          5.

  Dillingham Co., G. W., New York City,
      1903--royalties.                                         96.60
      1906--royalties.                                         10.20
      1908--royalties.                                          1.50
      1909--Cloth book rights.                                100.

  Detroit Free Press, The, Detroit, Michigan.
      1889--1 short story.                                      8.
          --1 short story.                                      7.
      1890--2 serials.                                        203.
      1889--2 short stories.                                   23.
      1891--1 short story, space rates.                        95.
      1892--6 short stories.                                   48.50
      1893--1 short story.                                     10.
      1894--1 space rate.                                      20.
      1895--1 space rate.                                      22.
      1896--1 short story.                                      1.50
      1899--2 short stories.                                    7.
      1900--1 short story.                                      3.

  Essanay Film Manufacturing Company,
    Chicago, Illinois.
      1910--M. P. scenario.                                    25.

  Figaro, 170 Madison St., Chicago,
      1890--1 space rate.                                      30.
      1891--1 space rate.                                      90.
      1892--1 space rate.                                      10.

  Frank Leslie's Popular Monthly,
    110 Fifth Ave., New York City.
      1897--1 short story.                                      8.

  Gunter's Magazine, Street & Smith, New York City.
      1910--1 short story.                                     40.

  Harper's Weekly, New York City.
      1911--1 short story.                                     75.

  Illustrated American,
    1123 Broadway, New York City.
      1896--2 verses.                                          10.

  Kellogg Newspaper Co., The A. N.,
    71-73 W. Adams St., Chicago.
      1903--1 serial.                                         115.

  Life, New York City.
      1897--1 short story.                                      3.

  Ledger Monthly, Ledger Building, N. Y.
      1899--1 short story.                                     10.

  Lubin Mfg. Co., Philadelphia, Pa.
      1910--M. P. scenario                                     30.

  Ladies' World, The, New York City.
      1890--2 short stories.                                    8.
      1891--1 verse.                                            2.
          --1 verse.                                            2.
      1892--2 verses.                                           4.
      1894--1 verse.                                            2.
      1898--1 short story.                                      2.

  McClure's Newspaper Syndicate, The,
    116 Nassau St., New York City.
      1901--2 short stories, 2 serials.                       295.
          --1 serial.                                         200.

  McC's Monthly, Detroit, Michigan,
      1898--2 short stories.                                   10.

  Munsey's Magazine, New York City,
      1896--1 short story.                                     10.
      1904--1 short story.                                     40.
      1910--1 short story.                                     75.

  New York World, New York City,
      1894--1 short story.                                      5.64
      1897--2 short stories.                                   15.02
      1898--1 short story.                                      4.68
      1899--1 short story.                                      5.50

  Overland Monthly, 508 Montgomery St., San Francisco,
      1897--1 short story.                                     10.

  Ocean, F. A. Munsey Co., New York City,
      1907--1 serial.                                         450.

  People's Magazine, The, Street & Smith,
    New York City,
      1906--1 serial.                                         200.
      1907--1 serial.                                         250.
      1908--2 serials.                                        600.

  Popular Magazine, The, Street & Smith,
    New York City,
      1904--2 novelettes.                                     265.
      1909--1 serial.                                         200.

  Puck, Keppler & Schwartzmann,
    Puck Building, New York City,
      1891--2 short stories.                                   20.
      1892--1 short story.                                      5.
      1893--2 short stories, 1 verse.                          14.
      1896--1 short story.                                      6.
      1897--2 short stories, 1 verse.                          22.
      1899--2 short stories.                                   17.

  Railroad Man's Magazine, F. A. Munsey Co.,
    New York,
      1906--2 serials.                                        700.
      1907--1 serial.                                         500.
      1908--2 serials.                                        650.
      1909--2 short stories.                                   70.

  Red Book, Chicago, Ills.,
      1906--1 short story.                                     75.
      1909--1 short story.                                     40.

  Scrap Book, F. A. Munsey Co., N. Y. C.,
      1905--1 serial.                                         200.
      1908--1 serial.                                         300.
      1910--1 serial.                                         400.
      1911--1 serial.                                         400.

  Saturday Times, The, Chicago, Ills.,
      1907--1 serial.                                          60.

  Southern Tobacco Journal, Winston, N. C.,
      1897--1 verse.                                            2.

  Short Stories, Current Literature Pub. Co.,
    New York City,
      1891--1 short story.                                      5.
      1898--2 short stories.                                   10.
      1900--2 short stories.                                   30.

  San Francisco Chronicle, San Fran.,
      1896--1 short story.                                      6.

  Saturday Night, James Elverson Pub.
    Philadelphia, Pa.,
      1890--1 serial.                                          75.
      1891--1 serial, 8 short stories.                        166.
      1892--5 short stories.                                   10.
      1893--1 serial, 5 short stories.                        160.

  Truth, 203 Broadway, New York City,
      1893--1 short story.                                      3.50
      1897--7 short stories.                                   57.

  Top-Notch Magazine, Street & Smith,
    New York City,
      1911--1 serial.                                         150.

  Translation Rights, 1908.                                    40.

  Vitagraph Company of America, The,
    Brooklyn, N. Y.,
      1909--M. P.                                              10.

  Wayside Tales, Detroit Monthly Publishing Co.,
    Detroit, Mich.,
      1901--3 short stories.                                   23.
      1902--2 short stories.                                   35.
      1903--1 short story.                                     15.

  White Elephant, Frank Tousey's Pub. House,
    New York City,
      1897--2 short stories.                                   30.

  Western World, Chicago, Ills.,
      1900--2 serials, 7 short stories, 1 space rates.        308.80

  Woman's Home Companion, New York,
      1905--1 serial, space rate.                             205.

  Yankee Blade, Boston, Mass.,
      1890--2 short stories.                                   20.
      1891--3 short stories, 2 verses.                         13.
      1893--1 short story.                                      6.50
          --1 short story.                                      4.

  Powers Company, New York City,
      1910--M. P.                                              25.

  Street & Smith, New York City,
      1909--34 issues "Motor Boys"                          2,550.
      1908-- 7 paper-book rights.                             700.
      1909--21 paper-book rights.                           2,100.
      1910-- 2 paper-book rights.                             200.
      1911-- 5 paper-book rights.                             500.

  Dodd. Mead & Co., New York City,
      1904--Cloth book rights.                                200.

  Harte & Perkins, New York,
      Nickel Novels:                                     $ 23,964.44
      1893-- 4 @ $ 50 each,.                                  200.
      1894-- 3 @ $ 50 each,.                                  150.
          --31 @ $ 40 each,.                                  960.
      1896--24 @ $ 40 each,.                                  960.
      1897-- 2 @ $ 40 each,.                                   80.
      1898--16 @ $ 40 each,.                                  640.
      1899--38 @ $ 40 each,.                                1,400.
      1900--51 @ $ 40 each,.                                2,040.
      Completing story.                                        20.
      1901--10 @ $ 30 each,.                                  300.
          -- 8 @ $ 50 each,.                                  400.
          --16 @ $ 40 each,.                                  640.
      1902--31 @ $ 40 each,.                                1,240.
      1903--44 @ $ 40 each,.                                1,760.
      1904--26 @ $ 40 each,.                                1,040.
          -- 4 @ $ 50 each,.                                  200.
      1905--10 @ $ 50 each,.                                  500.
      1906--18 @ $ 50 each,.                                  900.
      1907--33 @ $ 50 each,.                                1,650.
      1908--45 @ $ 50 each,.                                2,250.
      1909-- 9 @ $ 60 each,.                                  540.
      1910--54 @ $ 60 each,.                                3,240.
      Ten-Cent Novels:
      1893--13 @ $100 each,.                                1,300.
      1894--10 @ $100 each,.                                1,000.
      1895-- 2 @ $ 40 each,.                                  100.
      Serials for "Guest:"
      1894-- 2 @ $300 each,.                                  600.
          -- 2 @ $500 & $400                                  900.
      1897-- 1.                                               300.
      1895-- 2 @ $300 & $200.                                 500.
      1898-- 2 @ $300.                                        600.
      1899-- 1.                                               300.
      1906-- 1.                                               250.
      1907-- 1.                                               300.
      Juvenile Serials:
      1893-- 2 @ $100 & $75.                                  175.
      1894-- 1.                                               175.
      1894-- 1.                                               100.
      1901-- 4 @ $100 each,.                                  400.
      1902-- 4 @ $100 each,.                                  400.
      Miscellaneous:
      1897-- 4 magazine sketches.                              40.
          -- 1 magazine sketches.                               6.16
      1900--10 trade-paper sketches.                          100.
      1901-- 9 trade-paper sketches.                           90.
      1902-- 1 trade-paper sketch.                             10.
                                                         -----------
    Total                                                $ 65,859.60

  The finest music in the room is that which streams out to the ear
  of the spirit in many an exquisite strain from the hanging shelf of
  books on the opposite wall. Every volume there is an instrument which
  some melodist of the mind created and set vibrating with music, as a
  flower shakes out its perfume or a star shakes out its light. Only
  listen, and they soothe all care, as though the silken-soft leaves
  of poppies had been made vocal and poured into the ear.--_James Lane
  Allen._

       *       *       *       *       *

  When William Dean Howells occupied an editorial chair in Harper's
  office, a young man of humble and rough exterior one day submitted
  personally to him a poem. Mr. Howells asked:

  "Did you write this poem yourself?"

  "Yes, sir. Do you like it?" the youth asked.

  "I think it is magnificent," said Mr. Howells. "Did you compose it
  unaided?"

  "I certainly did," said the young man firmly. "I wrote every line of
  it out of my head."

  Mr. Howells rose and said:

  "Then, Lord Byron, I am very glad to meet you. I was under the
  impression that you died a good many years ago."




ADVERTISEMENTS




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  _Compiled by William R. Kane._

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  and Photographer's Year Book_)
  _in its ninth edition_.

  POINTS ABOUT POETRY                .60
  _By Donald G. French._

  RHYMES AND METERS                  .50
  _By Horatio Winslow._

  THE FICTION WRITER'S
  WORKSHOP                           .50
  _By Duncan Francis Young._

  HOW TO WRITE A SHORT STORY         .50

  THE EDITOR MANUSCRIPT
  RECORD (loose leaf)                .50

  ESSAYS ON AUTHORSHIP               .25

  THE WAY INTO PRINT                 .25


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Transcriber's Notes:


Italics are represented with _underscores_, bold with =equal signs=.

Inconsistent and occasionally inaccurate capitalization/italicization
of publication titles are retained from the original.

Retained some archaic/unusual spellings from the original (e.g.
"grevious," "Omniverous").

Retained inconsistent spellings from the original where different
writers used different word variations (e.g. "installment" in the main
text vs. "instalment" in a quoted letter). Inconsistent spellings
within the same context have been normalized as noted in detail below.

Retained some inconsistent hyphenation from the original (e.g.
viewpoint vs. view-point).

The original text contained several instances of "he" / "be" confusion.
These have been corrected and are noted below. They are not the result
of OCR errors; they are present in the original typography.

Page 10, normalized indentation before "The modest goal, the lesser
fame."

Page 15, changed double to single quotes around "When the Editor's Eye
Struck" and added missing end double quote.

Page 21, changed "ocassion" to "occasion." Normalized second appearance
of "sewer-pipe" to include hyphen. Changed "Ewards" to "Edwards"
("first story for which Edwards").

Page 30, removed duplicate "by" from "spoiled by just such a slip."

Page 35, italicized _nom de plume_ (in sentence about _Boy's Story
Paper_) for consistency with all other appearances in the text.

Page 36, added missing colon to paragraph above "We are in a hurry for
this series."

Page 43, changed double to single quotes around "Dalton's Double."

Page 46, changed two instances of "villian" to "villain" for
consistency with the rest of the text (in sentence including "female
villain").

Page 47, changed "pubilc" to "public" ("their reading public") and
"succeding" to "succeeding" ("succeeding issues").

Page 48, changed "be felt elated" to "he felt elated."

Page 58, removed stray single quote after "9 o'clock in the evening."

Page 67, changed "decended" to "descended" and "prepetrator" to
"perpetrator."

Page 68, changed "rememberance" to "remembrance" for consistency
("livid remembrance").

Page 69, changed "For day's while" to "For days while."

Page 71, there appears to be a missing word in "that it very humorous"
but this error comes from the original.

Page 72, changed "entirely" to "entirety" ("satisfactory in its
entirety") and "word was deturned" to "word was returned."

Page 74, changed "saticfactory" to "satisfactory" ("price was not
satisfactory").

Page 77, changed "responisble" to "responsible" ("it was responsible
for").

Page 82, "Mr. Perkins write:" appears to be an error, but it comes from
the original. Changed "manusccript" to "manuscript" ("quality of the
manuscript").

Page 83, changed "installemnts" to "installments" ("first two
installments").

Page 90, if there is supposed to be special formatting in the example
following "he did it thus," it is not present in the original book;
nothing unusual has been lost in translation to digital format here.

Page 91, changed "Is seems poor policy" to "It seems poor policy."

Page 92, changed "lettters" to "letters" ("letters on a typewriter").

Page 97, changed double to single quotes around "The Man from Dakota."

Page 100, added missing open quote before "misfortunes never come
singly."

Page 103, Changed "be" to "he" in "he faced a steadily brightening
prospect".

Page 108, added missing space after comma in "November 19, 1904."

Page 118, moved comma from before " to after " in 13". Changed "must he
high" to "must be high."

Page 120, added missing open quote before "Your last story, No. 285."

Page 122, changed "particluarly" to "particularly" in "not particularly
encouraging." Changed "Edward's hope" to "Edwards' hope."

Page 126, changed "damm" to "damn" in "damn it utterly."

Page 127, changed "Edward's product" to "Edwards' product."

Page 141, removed unnecessary apostrophe after "Edwards" in "to Edwards
it is a delightful confusion."

Page 143, added missing apostrophe to "Edwards' first advice" and
removed unnecessary apostrophe from "which Edwards consulted."

Page 147, changed "Dilema" to "Dilemma" in "I shall require a single
copy of 'The Billionaire's Dilemma.'"

Page 148, changed open double quote to single quote in "your short
story: 'The Shadow of the Unknown.'" Changed "ficticious" to
"fictitious" in footnote.

Page 149, changed open double quote to single quote in "'The Shadow of
the Unknown,' writes the publisher."

Page 156, changed "royalities" to "royalties" ("Dillingham, last
royalties").

Page 160, changed "bettter" to "better" ("anything of a bettter
quality").

Page 162, changed "lettter" to "letter" ("letter saying they could
pay").

Page 169, added some commas to 1910 table for consistency.

Page 170, changed "sometmes" to "sometimes" ("sometimes stories, about
the Harper"). Changed double to single quotes around "The Masquerader."

Page 171, added missing colon after "How "Bob" Davis hands you a Lemon:"

Page 173, added missing close quote after "reasonable share of the
royalties."

Page 175, corrected chapter number from XXII to XXVI and corrected
double comma after "Sept. 20, 1889."

Pages 176-180, normalized some punctuation within the table of
publications (but still retained some inconsistencies). Deleted
partial totals and "brought forward" entries at page boundaries. Did
not attempt to correct some apparent mathematical errors. Changed
"Philadeljhia" to "Philadelphia" and corrected "senario" to "scenario"
in entry for Lubin Mfg. Co.

Advertisements, changed "AUHORSHIP" to "AUTHORSHIP" in "ESSAYS ON
AUTHORSHIP."





End of Project Gutenberg's The Fiction Factory, by John Milton Edwards