Barrie, J M - When A Man's Single

by When A Man's Single

  The only ornament Rob added to the room was the Christmas card in a frame. He placed this on his mantelpiece and looked at it frequently, but when he heard his landlady coming he slipped it back into his pocket. Yet he would have liked at times to have the courage to leave it there. Though he wanted to be a literary man he began his career in London with a little sense, for he wrote articles to editors instead of calling at the offices, and he had the good fortune to have no introductions. The only pressman who ever made anything by insisting on seeing the editor was one a Scotsman, no doubt who got him alone and threatened to break his head if he did not find an opening for him. The editor saw that this was the sort of man who had made up his mind to get on, and yielded.

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  During his first month in London, Rob wrote thirty articles, and took them to the different offices in or- der to save the postage. There were many othei men in the streets at night doing the same thing. He got fifteen articles back by return of post, and never saw the others again. But here was the stuff Rob was made of. The thirty having been rejected, he dined on bread-and-cheese, and began the thirty-first. It was accepted by the Minotaur, a weekly paper. Rob drew a sigh of exultation as he got his first proof in London, and remembered that he had written the article in two hours. The payment, he understood, would be two pounds at least, and at the rate of two articles a day, working six days a week, this would mean over six hundred a year. Rob had another look at the Christmas card, and thought it smiled. Every man is a fool now and then.

  Except to his landlady, who thought that he dined out, Rob had not spoken to a soul since he arrived in London. To celebrate his first proof he resolved to call on Rorrison. He had not done so earlier be- cause he thought that Rorrison would not be glad to gee him. Though he had kept his disappointments to himself, however, he felt that he must remark casually to some one that he was writing for the Minotaur.

  Rorrison had chambers at the top of one of the Inns of Court, and as he had sported his oak, Rob ought not to have knocked. He knew no better, how-

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  ever, and Rcrrison came grumbling to the door. He was a full-bodied man of middle age, with a no- ticeably heavy chin, and wore a long dressing-gown.

  " I'm Angus from Silchester," Rob explained.

  Rorrison's countenance fell. His occupation largely consisted in avoiding literary young men, who, he knew, were thirsting to take him aside and ask him to get them sub-editorships.

  "I'm glad to see you," he said gloomily; "come in."

  What Rob first noticed in the sitting-room was that it was all in shadow, except one corner, whose many colors dazzled the eye. Suspended over this part of the room on a gas-bracket was a great Japan- ese umbrella without a handle. This formed an awning for a large cane chair and a tobacco-table, which also held a lamp, and Rorrison had been loll- ing on the chair looking at a Gladstone bag on the hearth-rug until he felt that he was busy packing.

  " Mind the umbrella," he said to his visitor.

  The next moment a little black hole that had been widening in the Japanese paper just above the lamp cracked and broke, and a tongue of flame swept up the umbrella. Rob sprang forward in horror, but Rorrison only sighed.

  "That makes the third this week," he said, "but let it blaze. I used to think they would set the place on fire, but somehow they don't do it. Don't give the thing the satisfaction of seeming to notice it." 10

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  The umbrella had been frizzled in a second, and its particles were already trembling through the room like flakes of snow.

  " You have just been in time to find me," Rorrison said ; " I start to-morrow afternoon for Egypt in the special correspondent business."

  "I envy you," said Rob, and then told the man- ner of his coming to London.

  " It was a mad thing to do," said Rorrison, looking at him not without approval, " but the best journal- ists frequently begin in that way. I suppose you have been besieging the newspaper offices since you arrived. Any result?"

  " I had a proof from the Minotaur this evening," said Rob.

  Rorrison blew some rings of smoke into the air and ran his finger through them. Then he turned proudly to Rob, and saw that Rob was looking proudly at him.

  "Ah, what did you say?" said Rorrison.

  "The Minotaur has accepted one of my things," .aid Rob.

  Rorrison said "Hum," and then hesitated.

  "It is best that you should know the truth," he said at last. " No doubt you expect to be paid by the Minotaur, but I am afraid there is little hope of that unless you dun them. A friend of mine sent them something lately, and Roper (the editor, you know) wrote asking him for more. He sent two or

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  three other things, and then called at the office, ex- pecting to be paid."

  "Was he not?"

  "On the contrary," said Rorrison, "Roper asked him. for the loan of five pounds."

  Rob's face grew so long that even the hardened Rorrison tried to feel for him.

  " You need not let an experience that every one has to pass through dishearten you, " he said. " There are only about a dozen papers in London that are worth writing for, but I can give you a good account of them. Not only do they pay handsomely, but the majority are open to contributions from any one. Don't you believe what one reads about newspaper rings. Everything sent in is looked at, and if it is suitable any editor is glad to have it. Men fail to get a footing on the press because well, as a rule, because they are stupid."

  " I am glad to hear you say that," said Rob, "and yet I had thirty articles rejected before the Mino- taur accepted that one."

  " Yes, and you will have another thirty rejected if they are of the same kind. You beginners seem able to write nothing but your views on politics, and your reflections on art, and your theories of life, which you sometimes even think original. Editors won't have that, because their readers don't want it. Every paper has its regular staff of leader-writers, and what is wanted from the outside is freshness. An

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  editor tosses aside your column and a half about evo- lution, but is glad to have a paragraph saying that you saw Herbert Spencer the day before yesterday gazing solemnly for ten minutes in at a milliner's window. Fleet Street at this moment is simply run- ning with men who want to air their views about things in general."

  " I suppose so," said Rob dolefully.

  " Yes, and each thinks himself as original as he is profound, though they have only to meet to dis- cover that they repeat each other. The pity of it is, that all of them could get on to some extent if they would send in what is wanted. There is copy in every man you meet, and, as a journalist on this stair says, when you do meet him you feel inclined to tear it out of him and use it yourself."

  "What sort of copy?" asked Rob.

  " They should write of the things they have seen. Newspaper readers have an insatiable appetite for knowing how that part of the world lives with which they are not familiar. They want to know how the Norwegians cook their dinners and build their houses and ask each other in marriage."

  " But I have never been out of Britain."

  " Neither was Shakespeare. There are thousands of articles in Scotland yet. You must know a good deal about the Scottish weavers well, there are arti- cles in them. Describe the daily life of a gillie : 'The Gillie at Home' is a promising title. Were you ever

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  snowed-np in your saw-mill? Whether you were or not, there is a seasonable subject for January. 'Yule in a Scottish Village' also sounds well, and there is a safe article in a Highland gathering."

  " These must have been done before, though," said Rob.

  "Of course they have," answered Rorrison; "but do them in your own way : the public has no mem- ory, and besides, new publics are always spring- ing up."

  " I am glad I came to see you," said Rob, brighten- ing considerably; " I never thought of these things
."

  " Of course you need not confine yourself to them. Write on politics if you will, but don't merely say what you yourself think; rather tell, for instance, what is the political situation in the country parts known to you. That should be more interesting and valuable than your individual views. But I may tell you that, if you have the journalistic faculty, you will always be on the lookout for possible articles. The man on this stair I have mentioned to you would have had an article out of you before he had talked with you as long as I have done. You must have heard of Noble Simms?"

  "Yes, I know his novel," said Rob; "I should like immensely to meet him."

  "I must leave you an introduction to him," said Rorrison; "he wakens most people up, though you would scarcely think it to look at him. You see thi*

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  pipe here? Simms saw me mending it with sealing- wax one day, and two days afterward there was an article about it in the Scalping Knife. When 1 went off for my holidays last summer I asked him to look in here occasionally and turn a new cheese which had been sent me from the country. Of course he forgot to do it, but I denounced him on my return for not keeping his solemn promise, so he revenged him- self by publishing an article entitled 'Rorrison's Oil- Painting.' In this it was explained that just before Rorrison went off for a holiday he got a present of an oil-painting. Remembering when he had got to Paris that the painting, which had come to him wet from the easel, had been left lying on his table, he telegraphed to the writer to have it put away out of reach of dust and the cat. The writer promised to do so, but when Rorrison returned he found the picture lying just where he left it. He rushed off to his friend's room to upbraid him, and did it so effect- ually that the friend says in his article: 'I will never do a good turn for Rorrison again !'"

  "But why," asked Rob, "did he turn the cheese into an oil-painting?"

  " Ah, there you have the journalistic instinct again . You see a cheese is too plebeian a thing to form the subject of an article in the Scalping Knife, so Simms made a painting of it. He has had my Chinese um- brella from several points of view in three different papers. When I play on his piano I put scraps of

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  paper on the notes to guide me, and he made his three guineas out of that. Once I challenged him to write an article on a straw that was sticking to the sill of my window, and it was one of the most inter- esting things he ever did. Then there was the box of old clothes and other odds and ends that he prom- ised to store for me when I changed my rooms. He sold the lot to a hawker for a pair of flower-pots, and wrote an article on the transaction. Subsequently he had another article on the flower-pots ; and when I appeared to claim my belongings he got a third article out of that."

  " I suppose he reads a great deal?" said Rob.

  "He seldom opens a book," answered Rorrison; " indeed, when he requires to consult a work of refer- ence he goes to the Strand and does his r eading at a bookstall. I don't think he was ever in the British Museum."

  Rob laughed.

  " At the same time," he said, " I don't think Mr. Noble Simms could get any copy out of me."

  Just then some one shuffled into the passage, and the door opened.

  CHAPTER IX.

  MR. NOBLE SIMMS.

  THE new-comer was a young man with an impas- sive face and weary eyes, who, as he slouched in, described a parabola in the air with one of his feet, which was his way of keeping a burned slipper on. Rorrison introduced him to Rob as Mr. Noble Simms, after which Simms took himself into a corner of the room, like a man who has paid for his seat in a rail- way compartment and refuses to be drawn into con- versation. He would have been a handsome man had he had a little more interest in himself.

  " I thought you told me you were going out to- night," said Rorrison.

  "I meant to go," Simms answered, "but when I rang for my boots the housekeeper thought I asked for water, and brought it, so, rather than explain matters to her, I drank the water and remained in- doors."

  " I read your book lately, Mr. Simms," Rob said, after he had helped himself to tobacco from Simms' pouch " Try my tobacco " being the Press form of salutation.

  "You did not buy the second volume, did you?" 152

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  asked Simms, with a show of interest, and Rob had to admit that he got the novel from a library.

  " Excuse my asking you," Simms continued, in his painfully low voice ; " I had a special reason. You see I happened to know that, besides what went to the libraries, there were in all six copies of my book sold. My admirer bought two, and I myself bought three and two-thirds, so that only one volume re- mains to be accounted for. I like to think that the purchaser was a lady."

  " But how did it come about," inquired Rob, while Rorrison smoked on imperturbably, "that the vol- umes were on sale singly?"

  " That was to tempt a public," said Simms gravely, "who would not take kindly to the three volumes together. It is a long story, though."

  Here he paused, as if anxious to escape out of the conversation.

  " No blarney, Simms, " expostulated Rorrison. " I forgot to tell you, Angus, that this man always means (when he happens to have a meaning) the reverse of what he says."

  "Don't mind Rorrison," said Simms to Rob. "It was in this way : My great work of fiction did fairly well at the libraries, owing to a mistake Mudie made* about the name. He ordered a number of copies under the impression that the book was by the popu- lar novelist, Simmons, and when the mistake was found out he was too honorable to draw back. The

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  surplus copies, however, would not sell at all. My publisher offered them as Saturday evening presents to his young men, but they always left them on their desks ; so next he tried the second-hand book-shops, in the hope that people from the country would buy the three volumes because they looked so cheap at two shillings. However, even the label 'Published at 31s. 6d. : offered for 2s.,' was barren of results. I used to stand in an alley near one of these book- shops, and watch the people handling my novel."

  "But no one made an offer for it?"

  " Not at two shillings, but when it came down to one-and-sixpence an elderly man with spectacles very nearly bought it. He was undecided between it and a Trigonometry, but in the end he went off with the Trigonometry. Then a young lady in gray and pink seemed interested in it. I watched her reading the bit about Lord John entering the drawing-room suddenty and finding Henry on his knees, and once I distinctly saw her smile."

  " She might have bought the novel if only to see how it ended."

  " Ah, I have always been of opinion that she would have done so, had she not most unfortunately, in her eagerness to learn wnat Henry said when he and Eleanor went into the conservatory, knocked a row of books over with her elbow. That frightened her, and she took to flight."

  "Most unfortunate," said Rob solemnly, though

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  he was already beginning to understand Simms as Simms was on the surface.

  " I had a still greater disappointment," continued the author, "a few days afterward. By this time the book was marked 'Very Amusing, Is., worth Is. 6d. ;' and when I saw a pale-looking young man, who had been examining it, enter the shop, I thought the novel was as good as sold. My excitement was intense when a shopman came out for the three vol- umes and carried them inside, but I was puzzled on seeing the young gentleman depart, apparently with- out having made a purchase. Consider my feelings when the shopman replaced the three volumes on his shelf with the new label, '92-i pp., Sd. ; worth Is.'"

  " Surely it found a purchaser now?"

  "Alas! no. The only man who seemed to be attracted by it at eightpence turned out to be the author of 'John Mordaunt's Christmas Box' ('Thrill- ing! Published at 6s. ; offered at Is. 3d.'), who was hanging about in the interests of his own work."

  "Did it come down to 'Sixpence, worth nine- pence' ?"

  " No; when I returned to the spot next day I found volu
mes one and three in the '2d. any vol.' box, and I carried them away myself. What became of vol- ume two I have never been able to discover. I rum- maged the box for it in vain."

  " As a matter of fact, Angus," remarked Rorrison, "the novel is now in its third edition."

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  "I always understood that it had done well," said Rob.

  "The fourth time I asked for it at Mudie's," said Simms, the latter half of whose sentences were some- times scarcely audible, " I inquired how it was doing, and was told that it had been already asked for three times. Curiously enough there is a general impres- sion that it has been a great success, and for that I have to thank one man."

  " The admirer of whom you spoke?"

  " Yes, my admirer, as I love to call him. I first heard of him as a business gentleman living at Shep- herd's Bush, who spoke with rapture of my novel to any chance acquaintances he made on the tops of 'buses. Then my aunt told me that a young lady knew a stout man living at Shepherd's Bush who could talk of nothing but my book ; and on inquiry at my publisher's I learned that a gentleman answer- ing to this description had bought two copies. 1 heard of my admirer from different quarters for the next month, until a great longing rose in me to see him, to clasp his hand, to ask what part of the book he liked best at the least to walk up and down past his windows, feeling that two men who appre- ciated each other were only separated by a pane of glass."