a sappho of green springs-第2章

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pleasant　and　both　familiar　to　the　editor。　　They　belonged　to　Jack

Hamlin；　by　vocation　a　gambler；　by　taste　a　musician；　on　his　way　from

his　apartments　on　the　upper　floor；　where　he　had　just　risen；　to　drop

into　his　friend's　editorial　room　and　glance　over　the　exchanges；　as

was　his　habit　before　breakfast。



The　door　opened　lightly。　　The　editor　was　conscious　of　a　faint　odor

of　scented　soap；　a　sensation　of　freshness　and　cleanliness；　the

impression　of　a　soft　hand　like　a　woman's　on　his　shoulder　and；　like

a　woman's；　momentarily　and　playfully　caressing；　the　passage　of　a

graceful　shadow　across　his　desk；　and　the　next　moment　Jack　Hamlin

was　ostentatiously　dusting　a　chair　with　an　open　newspaper

preparatory　to　sitting　down。



〃You　ought　to　ship　that　office…boy　of　yours；　if　he　can't　keep

things　cleaner；〃　he　said；　suspending　his　melody　to　eye　grimly　the

dust　which　Mr。　Bowers　had　shaken　from　his　departing　feet。



The　editor　did　not　look　up　until　he　had　finished　revising　a

difficult　paragraph。　　By　that　time　Mr。　Hamlin　had　comfortably

settled　himself　on　a　cane　sofa；　and；　possibly　out　of　deference　to

his　surroundings；　had　subdued　his　song　to　a　peculiarly　low；　soft；

and　heartbreaking　whistle　as　he　unfolded　a　newspaper。　　Clean　and

faultless　in　his　appearance；　he　had　the　rare　gift　of　being　able　to

get　up　at　two　in　the　afternoon　with　much　of　the　dewy　freshness　and

all　of　the　moral　superiority　of　an　early　riser。



〃You　ought　to　have　been　here　just　now；　Jack；〃　said　the　editor。



〃Not　a　row；　old　man；　eh？〃　inquired　Jack；　with　a　faint　accession　of

interest。



〃No；〃　said　the　editor；　smiling。　　Then　he　related　the　incidents　of

the　previous　interview；　with　a　certain　humorous　exaggeration　which

was　part　of　his　nature。　　But　Jack　did　not　smile。



〃You　ought　to　have　booted　him　out　of　the　ranch　on　sight；〃　he　said。

〃What　right　had　he　to　come　here　prying　into　a　lady's　affairs？at

least　a　lady　as　far　as　HE　knows。　　Of　course　she's　some　old　blowzy

with　frumpled　hair　trying　to　rope　in　a　greenhorn　with　a　string　of

words　and　phrases；〃　concluded　Jack；　carelessly；　who　had　an　equally

cynical　distrust　of　the　sex　and　of　literature。



〃That's　about　what　I　told　him；〃　said　the　editor。



〃That's　just　what　you　SHOULDN'T　have　told　him；〃　returned　Jack。

〃You　ought　to　have　stuck　up　for　that　woman　as　if　she'd　been　your

own　mother。　　Lord！　you　fellows　don't　know　how　to　run　a　magazine。

You　ought　to　let　ME　sit　on　that　chair　and　tackle　your　customers。〃



〃What　would　you　have　done；　Jack？〃　asked　the　editor；　much　amused　to

find　that　his　hitherto　invincible　hero　was　not　above　the　ordinary

human　weakness　of　offering　advice　as　to　editorial　conduct。



〃Done？〃　reflected　Jack。　　〃Well；　first；　sonny；　I　shouldn't　keep　a

revolver　in　a　drawer　that　I　had　to　OPEN　to　get　at。〃



〃But　what　would　you　have　said？〃



〃I　should　simply　have　asked　him　what　was　the　price　of　lumber　at

Mendocino；〃　said　Jack；　sweetly；　〃and　when　he　told　me；　I　should　have

said　that　the　samples　he　was　offering　out　of　his　own　head　wouldn't

suit。　　You　see；　you　don't　want　any　trifling　in　such　matters。　　You

write　well　enough；　my　boy；〃　continued　he；　turning　over　his　paper；

〃but　what　you're　lacking　in　is　editorial　dignity。　　But　go　on　with

your　work。　　Don't　mind　me。〃



Thus　admonished；　the　editor　again　bent　over　his　desk；　and　his

friend　softly　took　up　his　suspended　song。　　The　editor　had　not

proceeded　far　in　his　corrections　when　Jack's　voice　again　broke　the

silence。



〃Where　are　those　dd　verses；　anyway？〃



Without　looking　up；　the　editor　waved　his　pencil　towards　an　uncut

copy　of　the　〃Excelsior　Magazine〃　lying　on　the　table。



〃You　don't　suppose　I'm　going　to　READ　them；　do　you？〃　said　Jack；

aggrievedly。　　〃Why　don't　you　say　what　they're　about？　　That's　your

business　as　editor。〃



But　that　functionary；　now　wholly　lost　and　wandering　in　the　non…

sequitur　of　an　involved　passage　in　the　proof　before　him；　only　waved

an　impatient　remonstrance　with　his　pencil　and　knit　his　brows。

Jack；　with　a　sigh；　took　up　the　magazine。



A　long　silence　followed；　broken　only　by　the　hurried　rustling　of

sheets　of　copy　and　an　occasional　exasperated　start　from　the　editor。

The　sun　was　already　beginning　to　slant　a　dusty　beam　across　his

desk；　Jack's　whistling　had　long　since　ceased。　　Presently；　with　an

exclamation　of　relief；　the　editor　laid　aside　the　last　proof…sheet

and　looked　up。



Jack　Hamlin　had　closed　the　magazine；　but　with　one　hand　thrown　over

the　back　of　the　sofa　he　was　still　holding　it；　his　slim　forefinger

between　its　leaves　to　keep　the　place；　and　his　handsome　profile　and

dark　lashes　lifted　towards　the　window。　　The　editor；　smiling　at　this

unwonted　abstraction；　said　quietly；



〃Well；　what　do　you　think　of　them？〃



Jack　rose；　laid　the　magazine　down；　settled　his　white　waistcoat　with

both　hands；　and　lounged　towards　his　friend　with　audacious　but

slightly　veiled　and　shining　eyes。　　〃They　sort　of　sing　themselves　to

you；〃　he　said；　quietly；　leaning　beside　the　editor's　desk；　and

looking　down　upon　him。　　After　a　pause　he　said；　〃Then　you　don't　know

what　she's　like？〃



〃That's　what　Mr。　Bowers　asked　me；〃　remarked　the　editor。



〃Dn　Bowers！〃



〃I　suppose　you　also　wish　me　to　write　and　ask　for　permission　to　give

you　her　address？〃　said　the　editor；　with　great　gravity。



〃No；〃　said　Jack；　coolly。　　〃I　propose　to　give　it　to　YOU　within　a

week；　and　you　will　pay　me　with　a　breakfast。　　I　should　like　to　have

it　said　that　I　was　once　a　paid　contributor　to　literature。　　If　I

don't　give　it　to　you；　I'll　stand　you　a　dinner；　that's　all。〃



〃Done！〃　said　the　editor。　　〃And　you　know　nothing　of　her　now？〃



〃No；〃　said　Jack；　promptly。　　〃Nor　you？〃



〃No　more　than　I　have　told　you。〃



〃That'll　do。　　So　long！〃　　And　Jack；　carefully　adjusting　his　glossy

hat　over　his　curls　at　an　ominously　wicked　angle；　sauntered　lightly

from　the　room。　　The　editor；　glancing　after　his　handsome　figure　and

hearing　him　take　up　his　pretermitted　whistle　as　he　passed　out；

began　to　think　that　the　contingent　dinner　was　by　no　means　an

inevitable　prospect。



Howbeit；　he　plunged　once　more　into　his　monotonous　duties。　　But　the

freshness　of　the　day　seemed　to　have　departed　with　Jack；　and　the

later　interruptions　of　foreman　and　publisher　were　of　a　more

practical　character。　　It　was　not　until　the　post　arrived　that　the

superscription　on　one　of　the　letters　caught　his　eye；　and　revived

his　former　interest。　　It　was　the　same　hand　as　that　of　his　unknown

contributor's　manuscriptill…formed　and　boyish。　　He　opened　the

envelope。　　It　contained　another　poem　with　the　same　signature；　but

also　a　notemuch　longer　than　the　brief　lines　that　accompanied　the

first　contributionwas　scrawled　upon　a　separate　piece　of　paper。

This　the　editor　opened　first；　and　read　the　following；　with　an

amazement　that　for　the　moment　dominated　all　other　sense：





MR。　EDITOR；I　see　you　have　got　my　poetry　in。　　But　I　don't　see　the

spondulix　that　oughter　follow。　　Perhaps　you　don't　know　where　to

send　it。　　Then　I'll　tell　you。　　Send　the　money　to　Lock　Box　47；　Green

Springs　P。　O。；　per　Wells　Fargo's　Express；　and　I'll　get　it　there；　on

account　of　my　parents　not　knowing。　　We're　very　high…toned；　and　they

would　think　it's　low　making　poetry　for　papers。　　Send　amount　usually

paid　for　poetry　in　your　papers。　　Or　may　be　you　think　I　make　poetry

for　nothing？　　That's　where　you　slip　up！



　　　　　　　　　　Yours　truly；　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　WHITE　VIOLET。



P。　S。If　you　don't　pay　for　poetry；　send　this　back。　　It's　as　good

as　what　you　did　put　in；　and　is　just　as　hard　to　make。　　You　hear　me？

that's　meall　the　time。



　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　WHITE　VIOLET。





The　editor　turned　quickly　to　the　new　contribution　for　some

corroboration　of　what　he　felt　must　be　an　extraordinary　blunder。

But　no！　　The　few　lines　that　he　hurriedly　read　breathed　the　same

atmosphere　of　intellectual　repose；　gentleness；　and　imagination　as

the　first　contribution。　　And　yet　they　were　in　the　same　handwriting

as　the　singular　missi