And Max, you're
an angel brother-in-law. But how can I stay on here and
keep my self-respect?" I took Max's big hand in mine and
gathered courage from it.
"But you have been working," wailed Norah, "every
morning. And I thought the book was coming on
beautifully. And I'm sure it will be a wonderful book,
Dawn dear. You are so clever."
"Oh, the book--it is too uncertain. Perhaps it will
go, but perhaps it won't. And then--what? It will be
months before the book is properly polished off. And
then I may peddle it around for more months. No; I can't
afford to trifle with uncertainties. Every newspaper man
or woman writes a book. It's like having the measles.
There is not a newspaper man living who does not believe,
in his heart, that if he could only take a month or two
away from the telegraph desk or the police run, he could
write the book of the year, not to speak of the great
American Play. Why, just look at me! I've only been
writing`seriously for a few weeks, and already the best
magazines in the country are refusing my manuscripts daily."
"Don't joke," said Norah, coming over to me, "I can't
stand it."
"Why not? Much better than weeping, isn't it? And
anyway, I'm no subject for tears any more.
Pages:
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81