Chapter LXXII

The first letter Ruth opened on her return, was a request from a Professor of some College for her autograph for himself and some friends; the second, an offer of marriage from a Southerner, who confessed to one hundred negroes, "but hoped that the strength and ardor of the attachment with which the perusal of her articles had inspired him, would be deemed sufficient atonement for this in her Northern eyes. The frozen North," he said, "had no claim on such a nature as hers; the sunny South, the land of magnolias and orange blossoms, the land of love, _should_ be her chosen home. Would she not smile on him? She should have a box at the opera, a carriage, and servants in livery, and the whole heart and soul of Victor Le Pont."

The next was more interesting. It was an offer to "Floy" from a publishing house, to collect her newspaper articles into a volume. They offered to give her so much on a copy, or $800 for the copyright. An answer was requested immediately. In the same mail came another letter of the same kind from a distant State, also offering to publish a volume of her articles.

"Well, well," soliloquized Ruth, "business is accumulating. I don't see but I shall have to make a book in spite of myself; and yet those articles were written under such disadvantages, would it be _wise_ in me to publish so soon? But Katy? and $800 copyright money?" Ruth glanced round her miserable, dark room, and at the little stereotyped bowl of bread and milk that stood waiting on the table for her supper and Nettie's; $800 _copyright money_! it _was_ a temptation; but supposing her book should prove a hit? and bring double, treble, fourfold that sum, to go into her publisher's pockets instead of hers? how provoking! Ruth straightened up, and putting on a very resolute air, said, "No, gentlemen, I will _not_ sell you my copyright; these autograph letters, and all the other letters of friendship, love, and business, I am constantly receiving from strangers, are so many proofs that I have won the public ear. No, I will not sell my copyright; I will rather deny myself a while longer, and accept the per-centage;" and so she sat down and wrote her publishers; but then caution whispered, what if her book should _not_ sell? "Oh, pshaw," said Ruth, "it _shall_!" and she brought her little fist down on the table till the old stone inkstand seemed to rattle out "_it shall!_"

"Ah, here is another letter, which I have overlooked," said Ruth.

"TO THE DISTINGUISHED AND POPULAR WRITER, 'FLOY':

"MADAM,--I trust you will excuse the liberty I take in writing you,
when you get through with my letter. I am thus confident of your
leniency, because it seems to me that my case is not only a
plain, but an interesting one. To come to the point, without any
circumlocutory delay, I am a young man with aspirations far above
my station in life. This declaration is perfectly true in some
senses, but not in every sense. My parents and my ancestors are and
were highly respectable people. My name, as you will see when you
come to my signature, is Reginald Danby. The Danby family, Madam,
was founded by Sir Reginald Danby, who was knighted for certain
gallant exploits on the field of Hastings, in the year 1066, by
William the Conqueror. Sir Reginald afterward married a Saxon dame,
named Edith, the daughter of a powerful land-owner; hence the Danby
family. All this is of very little consequence, and I only mention
it in a sort of incidental way, to show you that my declaration in
regard to the respectability of my family is true, and fortified by
unimpeachable historical evidence; and I will here remark, that you
will always find any assertion of mine as well sustained, by
copious and irrefragable proof.

"The respectability of our family being thus settled, I come back
to an explanation of what I mean by my 'having aspirations above my
station in life.' It is this: I am poor. My family, though once
wealthy, is now impoverished. The way this state of things came
about, was substantially as follows: My grandfather, who was a
strong-minded, thrifty gentleman, married into a poetical family.
His wife was the most poetical member of said family; much of her
poetry is still extant; it never was published, because in those
days publishers were not as enterprising as they are now. We value
these manuscripts very highly; still I should be willing to send
you some of them for perusal, in case you will return them and pay
the postage both ways, my limited means not permitting me to share
that pleasure with you. As I have intimated, my grandmother reveled
in poetry. She doated on Shakspeare, and about three months before
my father's birth, she went to a theatre to witness the performance
of 'The Midsummer Night's Dream.' She was enchanted! and, with
characteristic decision, resolved to commit the entire play
to memory. This resolution she executed with characteristic
pertinacity, notwithstanding frequent and annoying interruptions,
from various causes entirely beyond her control. She finished
committing this immortal poem to memory, the very night my father
was born. Time rolled on; my father, as he grew up, exhibited great
flightiness of character, and instability of purpose, the result,
undoubtedly, of his mother's committing 'The Midsummer Night's
Dream' to memory under the circumstances which I have detailed. My
father, owing to this unfortunate development of character, proved
inadequate to the management of his estate, or, indeed, of any
business whatever, and hence our present pecuniary embarrassments.
Before quitting this painful branch of my subject, it will
doubtless gratify you to have me state, that, inasmuch as my father
married a woman of phlegmatic temperament, and entirely unpoetical
mind, the balance of character has been happily restored to our
family, so there is no fear for me. I am thus particular in my
statements, because I have a high regard for truth, and for
veracity, for accuracy in the _minutest_ things; a phase of
character which may be accounted for from the fact, that I have
just gone through a severe and protracted course of mathematics.
These preliminaries being thus fairly before you, I now come to the
immediate topic of my letter, viz.: I wish to go through College; I
have not the means. I wish you to help me. You are probably rich; I
hope you are with all my heart. You must be able to command a high
salary, and a great deal of influence. I don't ask you to lend me
the money out of hand. What I propose is this: I will furnish you
the subject for a splendid and thrilling story, founded on facts
in the history of our family; the Danby family. In this book, my
grandmother's poetry would probably read to advantage; if so, it
would be a great saving, as her writings are voluminous. Your book
would be sure to have a large sale, and the profits would pay
my expenses at College, and perhaps leave a large surplus. This
surplus should be yours, and I would also agree to pay back the sum
used by me from my first earnings after graduation. I have thought
over this matter a great deal, and the foregoing strikes me as
the only way in which this thing can be done. If you can devise a
better plan, I will of course gladly adopt it. I am not at all
opinionated, but am always glad to listen to anything reasonable.
Please let me hear from you as soon as possible, and believe me
truly your friend and admirer,

"REGINALD DANBY."