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The day book. (Chicago, Ill.) 1911-1917, May 12, 1913, Image 14

Image and text provided by University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign Library, Urbana, IL

Persistent link: http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn83045487/1913-05-12/ed-1/seq-14/

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appearing room, kept,neafly, how
ever, for all its sparse furnishment
They looked at one another. Then a
smile crossed his face.
"There is not another word for me
to say, and no excuse-in the world for
me to linger," he said in his quaint,
impetuous way, "yet I feel as if we
need to say something to one anoth
er. I am sure it is because we are
both, what shall I say writers?
Further than that, it is because we
are both discouraged?"
"Oh, never that!" declared Mar
garet Ainslee, brightening up. "Of
course it is uphill work, but it "may
not be always so. I have some en
couragement. I have some hopes of
steady employment. If I could get
some series or department work, I
could fill in occasional sketches and
make quite a modest competence."
Dawson sighed. He could not help
it. It was a forlorn life, his hack
writing. Still, hefelt he must not
darken the sublime faith of this fair,
struggling girl, who insisted on see
ing a golden haze on the distant hori
zon. He told her of the wants of various
publications as he had gathered
them. There was an especial detnand
for Turkish and Mexican sketches
just now. At the end of an hour's
chat he left Miss Ainslee better post
ed than she had ever been as to the
uncertain field of literature, and was
brighter himself for such sweet com
panionship. Dawson did not see his little friend
during the next month. He had no
excuse for calling upon her, although
he would have liked to do so. One
day he received a letter from a local
magazine, asking him to call.
"You are Mr. Dawson, the writer
ofjthis series of stories based on the
Mexican revolution?" questioned the
editor, moving a heap of manuscript
Dawson bowed assentingly. His
heart beat high with hope. It was
not to be daunted this time, it seem
ed, for the man of fate added:
"We. are very much pleased with
them, and. have concluded to accept1
them. The number is just right We
will make it fifty dollars apiece." l
Fifty dollars apiece six hundred
dollars in all! Dawson's head swam
He could not speak. The splendors'
of sudden wealth dazzled and dumb-
ed him.
"Your manuscript arrived just inJ
time," went on the editor. "We had
another series offered us from let
me see," and its speaker examined
another roll of manuscript. "Ah, yes;
a Miss Margaret Ainslee. Her stories
are exquisite little gems, but yours
are somewhat stronger in masculine
color, and "
The editor paused, staring in some
wonderment at Dawson. Before the
eyes of the latter there rose a sudden ,
pleading picture of a patient, hopeful .
little woman, waiting on a decision
that meant bread of none for her. He
was a man, strong to-meet the buf
fets of an unkind fate, but she it
seemed as though those remembered
gentle eyes others aroused in him all
the nobility of hjs nature.
"I am sorry," he said simply, "butl
have decided to use the sketches
elsewhere."
After that, when the old dreams of
fame and fortune came to Dawson,
he would cldse his eyes and fancy a
bright, happy face glowing over a
first substantial check from a pub
lisher. One afternoon le was on his way
home, when a breathless voice call
ing his name halted Him. He turned
to face Margaret Ainslee, radiant in
new attire, her beautiful face aglow
with contentment and peace.
"I have run a whole block to over
take you," she said. "You are to turn
right around and go with me," and
there was a ring of joy mingled with
tears In her dear voice.
"I am to go with you where?"
questioned Dawson, smiling and'1'
glad.
J'To the editor "of the magazine rt
upon whom you imposed such an
open fraud. Oh, Mr. Dawson, you dfd-
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