the americanization of edward bok-第30部分

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n　he　would　get　the　benefit　of　hundreds　of　pencils　especially　sharpened　for　him。



XIII。　Publishing　Incidents　and　Anecdotes

One　evening　some　literary　men　were　dining　together　previous　to　going　to　a　private　house　where　a　number　of　authors　were　to　give　readings　from　their　books。　At　the　table　the　talk　turned　on　the　carelessness　with　which　the　public　reads　books。　Richard　Harding　Davis；　one　of　the　party；　contended　that　the　public　read　more　carefully　than　the　others　believed。　It　was　just　at　the　time　when　Du　Maurier's　Trilby　was　in　every　one's　hands。

〃Don't　you　believe　it；〃　said　one　of　the　diners。　〃I'll　warrant　you　could　take　a　portion　of　some　well…known　story　to…night　and　palm　it　off　on　most　of　your　listeners　as　new　stuff。〃

〃Done；〃　said　Davis。　〃Come　along；　and　I'll　prove　you　wrong。〃

The　reading　was　to　be　at　the　house　of　John　Kendrick　Bangs　at　Yonkers。　When　Davis's　〃turn〃　in　the　programme　came；　he　announced　that　he　would　read　a　portion　from　an　unpublished　story　written　by　himself。　Immediately　there　was　a　flutter　in　the　audience；　particularly　among　the　younger　element。

Pulling　a　roll　of　manuscript　out　of　his　pocket；　Davis　began：

〃It　was　a　fine；　sunny；　showery　day　in　April。　The　big　studio　window〃

He　got　no　farther。　Almost　the　entire　audience　broke　into　a　shout　of　laughter　and　applause。　Davis　had　read　thirteen　of　the　opening　words　of　Trilby。

All　publishing　houses　employ　〃readers〃　outside　of　those　in　their　own　offices　for　the　reading　of　manuscripts　on　special　subjects。　One　of　these　〃outside　readers〃　was　given　a　manuscript　for　criticism。　He　took　it　home　and　began　its　reading。　He　had　finished　only　a　hundred　pages　or　so　when；　by　a　curious　coincidence；　the　card　of　the　author　of　the　manuscript　was　brought　to　the　〃reader。〃　The　men　were　close　friends。

Hastily　gathering　up　the　manuscript；　the　critic　shoved　the　work　into　a　drawer　of　his　desk；　and　asked　that　his　friend　be　shown　in。

The　evening　was　passed　in　conversation；　as　the　visitor　rose　to　leave；　his　host；　rising　also　and　seating　himself　on　his　desk；　asked：

〃What　have　you　been　doing　lately？　Haven't　seen　much　of　you。〃

〃No；〃　said　the　friend。　〃It　may　interest　you　to　know　that　I　have　been　turning　to　literary　work；　and　have　just　completed　what　I　consider　to　be　an　important　book。〃

〃Really？〃　commented　the　〃reader。〃

〃Yes；〃　went　on　his　friend。　〃I　submitted　it　a　few　days　ago　to　one　of　the　big　publishing　houses。　But；　great　Scott；　you　can　never　tell　what　these　publishers　will　do　with　a　thing　of　that　sort。　They　give　their　manuscripts　to　all　kinds　of　fools　to　read。　I　suppose；　by　this　time；　some　idiot；　who　doesn't　know　a　thing　of　the　subject　about　which　I　have　written；　is　sitting　on　my　manuscript。〃

Mechanically；　the　〃reader〃　looked　at　the　desk　upon　which　he　was　sitting；　thought　of　the　manuscript　lying　in　the　drawer　directly　under　him；　and　said：

〃Yes；　that　may　be。　Quite　likely；　in　fact。〃

Of　no　novel　was　the　secret　of　the　authorship　ever　so　well　kept　as　was　that　of　The　Breadwinners；　which；　published　anonymously　in　1883；　was　the　talk　of　literary　circles　for　a　long　time；　and　speculation　as　to　its　authorship　was　renewed　in　the　newspapers　for　years　afterward。　Bok　wanted　very　much　to　find　out　the　author's　name　so　that　he　could　announce　it　in　his　literary　letter。　He　had　his　suspicions；　but　they　were　not　well　founded　until　an　amusing　little　incident　occurred　which　curiously　revealed　the　secret　to　him。

Bok　was　waiting　to　see　one　of　the　members　of　a　publishing　firm　when　a　well…known　English　publisher；　visiting　in　America；　was　being　escorted　out　of　the　office；　the　conversation　continuing　as　the　two　gentlemen　walked　through　the　outer　rooms。　〃My　chief　reason；〃　said　the　English　publisher；　as　he　stopped　at　the　end　of　the　outer　office　where　Bok　was　sitting；　〃for　hesitating　at　all　about　taking　an　English　set　of　plates　of　the　novel　you　speak　of　is　because　it　is　of　anonymous　authorship；　a　custom　of　writing　which　has　grown　out　of　all　decent　proportions　in　your　country　since　the　issue　of　that　stupid　book；　The　Breadwinners。〃

As　these　last　words　were　spoken；　a　man　seated　at　a　desk　directly　behind　the　speaker　looked　up；　smiled；　and　resumed　reading　a　document　which　he　had　dropped　in　to　sign。　A　smile　also　spread　over　the　countenance　of　the　American　publisher　as　he　furtively　glanced　over　the　shoulder　of　the　English　visitor　and　caught　the　eye　of　the　smiling　man　at　the　desk。

Bok　saw　the　little　comedy；　realized　at　once　that　he　had　discovered　the　author　of　The　Breadwinners；　and　stated　to　the　publisher　that　he　intended　to　use　the　incident　in　his　literary　letter。　But　it　proved　to　be　one　of　those　heart…rending　instances　of　a　delicious　morsel　of　news　that　must　be　withheld　from　the　journalist's　use。　The　publisher　acknowledged　that　Bok　had　happened　upon　the　true　authorship；　but　placed　him　upon　his　honor　to　make　no　use　of　the　incident。　And　Bok　learned　again　the　vital　journalistic　lesson　that　there　are　a　great　many　things　in　the　world　that　the　journalist　knows　and　yet　cannot　write　about。　He　would　have　been　years　in　advance　of　the　announcement　finally　made　that　John　Hay　wrote　the　novel。

At　another　time；　while　waiting；　Bok　had　an　experience　which；　while　interesting；　was　saddening　instead　of　amusing。　He　was　sitting　in　Mark　Twain's　sitting…room　in　his　home　in　Hartford　waiting　for　the　humorist　to　return　from　a　walk。　Suddenly　sounds　of　devotional　singing　came　in　through　the　open　window　from　the　direction　of　the　outer　conservatory。　The　singing　was　low；　yet　the　sad　tremor　in　the　voice　seemed　to　give　it　special　carrying　power。

〃You　have　quite　a　devotional　servant；〃　Bok　said　to　a　maid　who　was　dusting　the　room。

〃Oh；　that　is　not　a　servant　who　is　singing；　sir；〃　was　the　answer。　〃You　can　step　to　this　window　and　see　for　yourself。〃

Bok　did　so；　and　there；　sitting　alone　on　one　of　the　rustic　benches　in　the　flower…house；　was　a　small；　elderly　woman。　Keeping　time　with　the　first　finger　of　her　right　hand；　as　if　with　a　baton；　she　was　slightly　swaying　her　frail　body　as　she　sang；　softly　yet　sweetly；　Charles　Wesley's　hymn；　〃Jesus；　Lover　of　My　Soul；〃　and　Sarah　Flower　Adams's　〃Nearer；　My　God；　to　Thee。〃

But　the　singer　was　not　a　servant。　It　was　Harriet　Beecher　Stowe！

On　another　visit　to　Hartford；　shortly　afterward；　Bok　was　just　turning　into　Forrest　Street　when　a　little　old　woman　came　shambling　along　toward　him；　unconscious；　apparently；　of　people　or　surroundings。　In　her　hand　she　carried　a　small　tree…switch。　Bok　did　not　notice　her　until　just　as　he　had　passed　her　he　heard　her　calling　to　him：　〃Young　man；　young　man。〃　Bok　retraced　his　steps；　and　then　the　old　lady　said：　〃Young　man；　you　have　been　leaning　against　something　white；〃　and　taking　her　tree…switch　she　whipped　some　wall　dust　from　the　sleeve　of　Bok's　coat。　It　was　not　until　that　moment　that　Bok　recognized　in　his　self…appointed　〃brush〃　no　less　a　personage　than　Harriet　Beecher　Stowe。

〃This　is　Mrs。　Stowe；　is　it　not？〃　he　asked；　after　tendering　his　thanks　to　her。

Those　blue　eyes　looked　strangely　into　his　as　she　answered：

〃That　is　my　name；　young　man。　I　live　on　this　street。　Are　you　going　to　have　me　arrested　for　stopping　you？〃　with　which　she　gathered　up　her　skirts　and　quickly　ran　away；　looking　furtively　over　her　shoulder　at　the　amazed　young　man；　sorrowfu