That Fortune

h to live without the aid of the beckoning Helen may enter there. But a side entrance is the destiny of most aspirants, even t

through the sewer, but he seldom gains the respect of the public whom he interests, any more than an ex

s satirical novel-the satire of a young man is apt to be very bitter-but it was as ti

s one who knew the nether world completely but was not of it. He would have said of himself that he knew it profoundly, that he frequented it for "material," but that his home was in another sphere. The impression was that he belonged among those brilliant guerrillas of both sexes, in the border-land of art and society, who lived daintily and talked about life with unconventional

entious scruples. He had stood well in college, during three years in Europe he had picked up two or three languages, dissipated his remaining small fortune, acquired expensive tastes, and knowledge, both esoteric and exoteric, that was valuable to him in his present occupation. Returning home fully equipped for a modern literary career, and finding after some bitter experience that his accomplishments were not taken or paid for at their real value by the caterers for intellectu

the best talent in the market and can afford to pay for it; even clergymen like to appear in its columns-they say it's a providential chance to reach the masses

dent and vivid in language-to suit, had given him hopes. He was salaried, but under orders for special service, and was always in th

e facility of this accomplished journalist, and as their acquaintance im

e original statement. It calls both news. You have to watch out and see what the people want, and give it to 'em. It is something like the purveying of the manufacturers and th

ot submit to is the lack of a daily surprise. Keep that in your mind and you can make a popular

was surprising how many you could find ready made, if you were on the watch. I got into the habit of locating them in the interior of Pennsylvania as the safest place, though Jersey seemed equally probable to the public. Did I never get caught? That made it all the more lively and interesting. Denials, affidavits, elaborate explanations, two sides to any question; if it was

was for every Tuesday morning. Not more than half a column. These always got copied by the country press solid. It is really surprising how many bright things you c

the age of science. Same with animals, astronomy-anything. I

e abuses, and get all the sentimentalists on your side. The paper gets sympathy for its fearlessness in serving th

wspaper should call himself a "realist." The "story," it need hardly be explained, is newspaper slang for any incident, true or invented, that is worked up for dramatic effect. To state the plain facts as they occurred, or might have occurred, and as they could actually be seen by a competent observer, would not make a story. The writer must put in color, and idealize the scene and the people engaged in it, he must invent dramatic circumstances and positions and language, so as

the career of several bright young men and women on the press-that indulgence in it would result in such intellectual dishonesty as to destroy the power of producing fiction that should be true to

and everybody will ask, 'Who is this daring, clever Olin Brad?' Then I can get readers for anything I choose to write. Look at Champ Lawson. He can't write correct English, he never will, he uses picturesque words in a connection that makes you doubt if he knows what they mean. But he

s of the studios and of journalism. It was a very interesting conclave. Its declared motto was, 'We don't read, we write.' And the members were on a constant strain to say something brilliant, epigrammatic, original. The person who produced the most outre sentiment was called 'strong.' The women especially liked no writing that was not 'strong.' The strongest man in the company, and adored by the women, was the poet-a

s caricature of his friends, "you don't make a

didn't make allowance for the eccentric

"you don't understand your world. You go y

id up the personals and minor criticisms for the current prints. He was evidently out of view. No magazine pap

nversation Mr. Brad was in

ial turned up?

d of a novel of American life. Only it wouldn't keep. You look in

's incredulous expres

oing to be deceived this time, sure

im-the operator,

hing at Rome. A great swell. It's about his daughter, Evel

it's no

s been brought up like the Kohinoor, never out of somebody's sight. She has never been alone one minute since she was born. Had three nurses, and it was the business of on

at

e got the thing down to a dot. Wouldn't I like to interview her, though, get her story, how the world loo

s are enough,

all it is worth. You'll see. I kept it one day to try and get a photograph. We've got the house and Mavick