the voice of the city-第18章

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well…known　and　popular　sentiment　is　not　properly　a

matter　for　publication；　but　something　to　be　privately

handled　by　the　alienists　and　florists。　　But　the　editors

had　told　him　that　they　wanted　love　stories；　because

they　said　the　women　read　them。



Now；　the　editors　are　wrong　about　that；　of　course。

Women　do　not　read　the　love　stories　in　the　magazines。

They　read　the　poker…game　stories　and　the　recipes

for　cucumber　lotion。　　The　love　stories　are　read　by

fat　cigar　drummers　and　little　ten…year…old　girls。　　I

am　not　criticising　the　judgment　of　editors。　　They

are　mostly　very　fine　men；　but　a　man　can　be　but　one

man；　with　individual　opinions　and　tastes。　　I　knew

two　associate　editors　of　a　magazine　who　were　won…

derfully　alike　in　almost　everything。　　And　yet　one

of　them　was　very　fond　of　Flaubert；　while　the　other

preferred　gin。



Pettit　brought　me　his　returned　manuscripts；　and

we　looked　them　over　together　to　find　out　why　they

were　not　accepted。　　They　seemed　to　me　pretty　fair

stories；　written　in　a　good　style；　and　ended；　as　they

should；　at　the　bottom　of　the　last　page。



They　were　well　constructed　and　the　events　were

marshalled　in　orderly　and　logical　sequence。　　But　I

thought　I　detected　a　lack　of　living　substance　　it

was　much　as　if　I　gazed　at　a　symmetrical　array　of

presentable　clamshells　from　which　the　succulent　and

vital　inhabitants　had　been　removed。　　I　intimated　that

the　author　might　do　well　to　get　better　acquainted　with

his　theme。



〃You　sold　a　story　last　week；〃　said　Pettit；　〃about

a　gun　fight　in　an　Arizona　mining　town　in　which　the

hero　drew　his　Colt's　。45　and　shot　seven　bandits　as

fast　as　they　came　in　the　door。　　Now；　if　a　six…shooter

could　　〃



〃Oh；　well；〃　said　I；　〃that's　different。　　Arizona　is

a　long　way　from　New　York。　I　could　have　a　man

stabbed　with　a　lariat　or　chased　by　a　pair　of　chap…

arreras　if　I　wanted　to；　and　it　wouldn't　be　noticed

until　the　usual　error…sharp　from　around　McAdams

Junction　isolates　the　erratum　and　writes　in　to　the　pa…

pers　about　it。　　But　you　are　up　against　another

proposition。　　This　thing　they　call　love　is　as　common

around　New　York　as　it　is　in　Sheboygan　during　the

young　onion　season。　　It　may　be　mixed　here　with　a

little　commercialism　　they　read　Byron；　but　they

look　up　Bradstreet's；　too；　while　they're　among　the

B's；　and　Brigham　also　if　they　have　time　　but　it's

pretty　much　the　same　old　internal　disturbance　every…

where。　　You　can　fool　an　editor　with　a　fake　picture　of

a　cowboy　mounting　a　pony　with　his　left　hand　on　the

saddle　horn；　but　you　can't　put　him　up　a　tree　with　a

love　story。　　So；　you've　got　to　fall　in　love　and　then

write　the　real　thing。〃



Pettit　did。　　I　never　knew　whether　he　was　taking

my　advice　or　whether　be　fell　an　accidental　victim。



There　was　a　girl　be　had　met　at　one　of　these　studio

contrivances　…　a　glorious；　impudent；　lucid；　open…

minded　girl　with　hair　the　color　of　Culmbacher；　and　a

good…natured　way　of　despising　you。　　She　was　a　New

York　girl。



Well　（as　the　narrative　style　permits　us　to　say　in…

frequently）；　Pettit　went　to　pieces。　　All　those　pains；

those　lover's　doubts；　those　heart…burnings　and

tremors　of　which　be　had　written　so　unconvincingly

were　his。　　Talk　about　Shylock's　pound　of　flesh！

Twenty…five　pounds　Cupid　got　from　Pettit。　　Which

is　the　usurer？



One　night　Pettit　came　to　my　room　exalted。　　Pale

and　haggard　but　exalted。　　She　had　given　him　a

jonquil。



〃Old　Hoss；〃　said　he；　with　a　new　smile　flickering

around　his　mouth；　〃I　believe　I　could　write　that　story

to…night　　the　one；　you　know；　that　is　to　win　out。



〃I　can　feel　it。　　I　don't　know　whether　it　will　come　out

or　not；　but　I　can　feel　it。〃

I　pushed　him　out　of　my　door。　　〃Go　to　your　room

and　write　it；〃　I　ordered。　　〃Else　I　can　see　your　fin…

ish。　　I　told　you　this　must　come　first。　　Write　it　to…

night　and　put　it　under　my　door　when　it　is　done。　　Put

it　under　my　door　to…night　when　it　is　finished　

don't　keep　it　until　to…morrow。〃



I　was　reading　my　bully　old　pal　Montaigne　at　two

o'clock　when　I　beard　the　sheets　rustle　under　my　door。

I　gathered　them　up　and　read　the　story。



The　hissing　of　geese；　the　languishing　cooing　of

doves；　the　braying　of　donkeys；　the　chatter　of　irre…

sponsible　sparrows　…　these　were　in　my　mind's　ear　as

I　read。　　〃Suffering　Sappho！〃　I　exclaimed　to　myself。

〃Is　this　the　divine　fire　that　is　supposed　to　ignite

genius　and　make　it　practicable　and　wage…earning？〃



The　story　was　sentimental　drivel；　full　of　whim…

pering　softheartedness　and　gushing　egoism。　　All

the　art　that　Pettit　had　acquired　was　gone。　　A　pe…

rusal　of　its　buttery　phrases　would　have　made　a　cynic

of　a　sighing　chambermaid。



In　the　morning　Pettit　came　to　my　room。　　I　read

him　his　doom　mercilessly。　　He　laughed　idiotically。



〃All　right；　Old　Hoss；〃　he　said；　cheerily；　〃make

cigar…lighters　of　it。　　What's　the　difference？　　I'm

going　to　take　her　to　lunch　at　Claremont　to…day。〃



There　was　about　a　month　of　it。　　And　then　Pettit

came　to　me　bearing　an　invisible　mitten；　with　the　forti…

tude　of　a　dish…rag。　　He　talked　of　the　grave　and

South　America　and　prussic　acid；　and　I　lost　an　after…

noon　getting　him　straight。　　I　took　him　out　and　saw

that　large　and　curative　doses　of　whiskey　were　ad…

ministered　to　him。　　I　warned　you　this　was　a　true

story　　'ware　your　white　ribbons　if　only　follow　this

tale。　　For　two　weeks　I　fed　him　whiskey　and　Omar；

and　read　to　him　regularly　every　evening　the　column

in　the　evening　paper　that　reveals　the　secrets　of　fe…

male　beauty。　I　recommend　the　treatment。



After　Pettit　was　cured　be　wrote　more　stories。　He

recovered　his　old…time　facility　and　did　work　just

short　of　good　enough。　　Then　the　curtain　rose　on

the　third　act。



A　little；　dark…eyed；　silent　girl　from　New　Hamp…

shire；　who　was　studying　applied　design；　fell　deeply

in　love　with　him。　　She　was　the　intense　sort；　but　ex…

ternally　glace；　such　as　New　England　sometimes　fools

us　with。　　Pettit　liked　her　mildly；　and　took　her　about

a　good　deal。　　She　worshipped　him；　and　now　and　then

ignored　him。



There　came　a　climax　when　she　tried　to　jump　out

of　a　window；　and　he　had　to　save　her　by　some　perfunc…

tary；　unmeant　wooing。　　Even　I　was　shaken　by　the

depths　of　the　absorbing　affection　she　showed。　　Home；

friends；　traditions；　creeds　went　up　like　thistle…down

in　the　scale　against　her　love。　　It　was　really　discom…

posing。



One　night　again　Pettit　sauntered　in；　yawning。　　As

he　had　told　me　before；　he　said　he　felt　that　he　could

do　a　great　story；　and　as　before　I　hunted　him　to　his

room　and　saw　him　open　his　inkstand。　　At　one　o'clock

the　sheets　of　paper　slid　under　my　door。



I　read　that　story；　and　I　jumped　up；　late　as　it　was；

with　a　whoop　of　joy。　　Old　Pettit　had　done　it。　　Just

as　though　it　lay　there；　red　and　bleeding；　a　woman's

heart　was　written　into　the　lines。　　You　couldn't　see

the　joining；　but　art；　exquisite　art；　and　pulsing　na…

ture　had　been　combined　into　a　love　story　that　took

you　by　the　throat　like　the　quinsy。　　I　broke　into

Pettit's　room　and　beat　him　on　the　back　and　called

him　name　　names　high　up　in　the　galaxy　of　the　im…

mortals　that　we　admired。　　And　Pettit　yawned　and

begged　to　be　allowed　to　sleep。



On　the　morrow；　I　dragged　him　to　an　editor。　　The

great　man　read；　and；　rising；　gave　Pettit　his　hand。

That　was　a　decoration；　a　wreath　of　bay；　and　a　guar…

antee　of　rent。



And　then　old　Pettit　smiled　slowly。　　I　call　him　Gen…

tleman　Pettit　now　to　myself。　　It's　a　miserable　name

to　give　a　man；　but　it　sounds　better　than　it　looks　in

print。



〃I　see；〃　said　old　Pettit；　as　he　took　up　his　story

and　began　tearing　it　into　small　strips。　　〃I　see　the

game　now。　　You　can't　write　with　ink；　and　you　can't

write　with　your　own　heart's　blood；　but　you　can　write

with　the　heart's　blood　of　some　one　else。　　You　have

to　be　a　cad　before　you　can　be　an　artist。　　Well；　I　am

for　old　Alabam　and　the　Major's　store。　　Have　you

got　a　light；　Old　Hoss？〃



I　went　with　Pettit　to　the　depot　and　died　hard。