The Wit and Humor of America Volume III Part 13

"Well," he said, "I'll tell you. This girl of mine reads pretty trashy stuff, and she knows about all the cheap novels there are. She dotes on 'The d.u.c.h.ess,' and puts her last dime into Braddon. She knows them all by heart. Have you ever read 'Lady Audley's Secret'?"

"I see," I said. "One is a sequel to the other."

"No," said Mr. Gilkowsky. "One is the other. Some one has flim-flammed you and sold you a typewritten copy of 'Lady Audley's Secret' as a new novel."

V

When I told Perkins he merely remarked that he thought every publishing house ought to have some one in it who knew something about books, apart from the advertising end, although that was, of course, the most important. He said we might go ahead and publish "Lady Audley's Secret"

under the t.i.tle of "The Crimson Cord," as such things had been done before, but the best thing to do would be to charge Rosa Belle Vincent's thousand dollars to Profit and Loss and hustle for another novel--something reliable and not shop-worn.

Perkins had been studying the literature market a little and he advised me to get something from Indiana this time, so I telegraphed an advertis.e.m.e.nt to the Indianapolis papers and two days later we had ninety-eight historical novels by Indiana authors from which to choose.

Several were of the right length, and we chose one and sent it to Mr.

Gilkowsky with a request that he read it to his sweetheart. She had never read it before.

We sent a detective to Dillville, Indiana, where the author lived, and the report we received was most satisfactory.

The author was a sober, industrious young man, just out of the high school, and bore a first-cla.s.s reputation for honesty. He had never been in Virginia, where the scene of his story was laid, and they had no library in Dillville, and our detective a.s.sured us that the young man was in every way fitted to write a historical novel.

"The Crimson Cord" made an immense success. You can guess how it boomed when I say that although it was published at a dollar and a half, it was sold by every department store for fifty-four cents, away below cost, just like sugar, or Vandeventer's Baby Food, or Q & Z Corsets, or any other staple. We sold our first edition of five million copies inside of three months, and got out another edition of two million, and a specially ill.u.s.trated holiday edition and an _edition de luxe_, and "The Crimson Cord" is still selling in paper-covered cheap edition.

With the royalties received from the aftermath and the profit on the book itself, we made--well, Perkins has a country place at Lakewood, and I have my cottage at Newport.

[Footnote 1: Copyright, 1904, by Leslie's Magazine.]

THE RHYME OF THE CHIVALROUS SHARK[2]

BY WALLACE IRWIN

Most chivalrous fish of the ocean, To ladies forbearing and mild, Though his record be dark, is the man-eating shark Who will eat neither woman nor child.

He dines upon seamen and skippers, And tourists his hunger a.s.suage, And a fresh cabin boy will inspire him with joy If he's past the maturity age.

A doctor, a lawyer, a preacher, He'll gobble one any fine day, But the ladies, G.o.d bless 'em, he'll only address 'em Politely and go on his way.

I can readily cite you an instance Where a lovely young lady of Breem, Who was tender and sweet and delicious to eat, Fell into the bay with a scream.

She struggled and flounced in the water And signaled in vain for her bark, And she'd surely been drowned if she hadn't been found By a chivalrous man-eating shark.

He bowed in a manner most polished, Thus soothing her impulses wild; "Don't be frightened," he said, "I've been properly bred And will eat neither woman nor child."

Then he proffered his fin and she took it-- Such a gallantry none can dispute-- While the pa.s.sengers cheered as the vessel they neared And a broadside was fired in salute.

And they soon stood alongside the vessel, When a life-saving dingey was lowered With the pick of the crew, and her relatives, too, And the mate and the skipper aboard.

So they took her aboard in a jiffy, And the shark stood attention the while, Then he raised on his flipper and ate up the skipper And went on his way with a smile.

And this shows that the prince of the ocean, To ladies forbearing and mild, Though his record be dark, is the man-eating shark Who will eat neither woman nor child.

[Footnote 2: From "Nautical Lays of a Landsman," by Wallace Irwin.

Copyright, 1904, by Dodd, Mead & Co.]

THE PLAINT OF JONAH

BY ROBERT J. BURDETTE

Why should I live, when every day The wicked prospers in his way, And daily adds unto his h.o.a.rd, While cutworms smite the good man's gourd?

When I would rest beneath its shade Comes the shrill-voiced book-selling maid, And smites me with her tireless breath-- Then am I angry unto death.

When I would slumber in my booth, Who comes with accents loud and smooth, And talks from dawn to midnight late?

The honest labor candidate.

Who pounds mine ear with noisy talk, Whose brazen gall no ire can balk And wearies me of life's short span?

The accident insurance man.

And when, all other torments flown, I think to call one hour mine own, Who takes my leisure by the throat?

The villain taking up a vote.

A DOS'T O' BLUES

BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY

I' got no patience with blues at all!

And I ust to kindo talk Aginst 'em, and claim, 'tel along last Fall, They was none in the fambly stock; But a nephew of mine, from Eelinoy, That visited us last year, He kindo convinct me differunt While he was a-stayin' here.

Frum ever'-which way that blues is from, They'd tackle him ever' ways; They'd come to him in the night, and come On Sundays, and rainy days; They'd tackle him in corn-plantin' time, And in harvest, and airly Fall, But a dose't of blues in the wintertime, He 'lowed, was the worst of all!

Said all diseases that ever he had-- The mumps, er the rheumatiz-- Er ever'-other-day-aigger's bad Purt' nigh as anything is!-- Er a cyarbuncle, say, on the back of his neck, Er a felon on his thumb,-- But you keep the blues away from him, And all o' the rest could come!

And he'd moan, "They's nary a leaf below!

Ner a spear o' gra.s.s in sight!

And the whole wood-pile's clean under snow!

And the days is dark as night!

You can't go out--ner you can't stay in-- Lay down--stand up--ner set!"

And a tetch o' regular tyfoid-blues Would double him jest clean shet!