Chapter I: Wish Incidentally to Thank You for Your Share in Making Life (1)

PLEASANT FOR ME. I have enjoyed your works immensely from time to
time on account of their decidedly original ideas. They are always
refreshingly out of the ordinary rut.

Yours truly,
A. F. V----."

There is one sentence in this letter which Edwards has put in capitals. If possible, he would have written it in letters of gold. In this little world, so crowded with sorrow and tragedy, what is it worth to have had a share in making life pleasant for a stranger? To Edwards it has been worth infinitely more than he received for "Fate and the Figure Seven."

Another letter carries an equally pleasant message:

"Livingstone, Montana, Sep. 16, 1903.

Mr. John Milton Edwards,
Care The Argosy, New York City.

Dear Sir:

Having read your former stories in _The Argosy_ on Arizona, and last
night having commenced 'The Grains of Gold,' I trust you will pardon
my expression of appreciation of said stories. I lived ten years in
Arizona as private secretary to several of the Federal Judges, and
also lived in Mexico, and am still familiar with conditions in that
section.

I have enjoyed most keenly your handling of thrilling scenes on
Arizona soil. It is an exasperation that they appear in serial form,
as I dislike the month's interval.

My only purpose in writing is to express my admiration of your plots
and local color, and I remain,

Sincerely yours,
Richard S. S----."

Edwards has always prided himself on keeping true to the actual conditions of the country which forms the screen against which his plot and characters are thrown. This is a gratifying tribute, therefore, from one who knows.

A letter which rather startled Edwards, suggesting as it did the Maricopa Indian incident which trailed upon the heels of "A Study in Red," is this:

"Colorado Springs, Colo., 2-25-'09.

Mr. John Milton Edwards,

Dear Sir: Through the kindness of the editor of the _Blue Book_
I received your address. I am very much interested in your story
entitled, 'Country Rock at Kish-Kish,' and know the greater part of
it to be true to life, but would like to know if it is ALL true. Did
Sager have a daughter? And where did Sager go when he left Arizona?
Or is that just a part of the story? I am very much interested in
that character, Sager. Can you tell me if he is still living, and
where? Any information that you may be able to give me will be more
than appreciated.

Thanking you in advance for the favor, I am,

Yours respectfully,
Mrs. James R. S----."

Edwards answered this letter--he answers promptly all such letters that come to him and esteems it a privilege--and received a reply. It appeared that Mrs. S-- was the grand-daughter of a man whom "Sager" had robbed of a large amount of money. "Country Rock at Kish-Kish" was built on a newspaper clipping twenty years old. This clipping Edwards forwarded to Mrs. S-- in the hope that it might help her in her quest for "Sager." The letter was returned as uncalled for. Should this ever fall under the eye of Mrs. S-- she will understand that Edwards did everything in his power to be of assistance to her.

Now and again a letter, which compliments an author indirectly, will chasten his mounting spirit with the reminder of a "slip:"

"Rochester, N. Y., Nov. 17, 1905.

Mr. John Milton Edwards:

Dear Sir:--Will you please tell me where I can get more of your
stories than in the _Argosy_; and also, in reference to your story
which concludes in December _Argosy_, how many large autos were in
use in New York in 1892?

Yours respectfully,
Howard Z----."

Carelessness in a writer is inexcusable. It is the one thing which a reader will not forgive, for it is very apt to spoil his pleasure in what would otherwise have been a good story. This is a sublimated form of the "gold-brick game," inasmuch as the reader pays his money for a magazine only to find that he has been "buncoed" by the table of contents. If there is a flaw in the factory's product, rest assured that it will be discovered and react to the disadvantage of everything else that comes from the same mill.

Many readers will be found whose interest in a writer's work is so keen that they are tempted to offer suggestions. Such suggestions are not to be lightly considered. Magazines are published to please their readers, and they are successful in a direct ratio with their ability to accomplish this end. Naturally, the old doggerel concerning "many men of many minds" will apply here, and a single suggestion that has not a wide appeal, or that fails to conform to the policy of the magazine, must be handled with great care.

"Cincinnati, Ohio, Oct. 31, 1905.

Mr. John Milton Edwards,
Care Frank A. Munsey Co.,
New York.

Dear Sir:

Because of the increasing interest in Socialism, would it not be a
good idea to write a story showing under what conditions we should
live in, say, the year 2,000, if the Socialists should come into
power?

You might begin your story with the United States under a Socialistic
form of government, and later on Socialize the rest of the world.

Your imaginative stories are the ones most eagerly sought in the
pages of _The Argosy_, and I think that a story such as I have
suggested would serve to increase your popularity among the readers
of fiction.

Sincerely yours,
J. H. S----."

It frequently happens that a comedian will get after a writer with a stuffed club or a slapstick. Some anonymous humorist, upon reading a story of Edwards' in _The Argosy_, labored and brought forth the following:

"November 19, 1904.

John Milton Edwards,
Care Frank A. Munsey Co.,
New York.

My dear John:--

I have read with much pleasure and delight the first six chapters of
your latest story, 'At Large in Terra Incognita,' as published in the
December number of _The Argosy_.

I cannot understand why you failed to send me the proof-sheets of
this story for correction, as you did with 'There and Back.' It
is evident so far as I have read the person who corrected your
proof-sheets was as ignorant as yourself.

Where you got the material for this story is not within my memory,
retrospective though it is, and I am sure you must have been on one
of your periodical drunks, otherwise the flights of fancy you have
taken would have been more rational and not so far removed beyond the
pale of the human intellect.

Now, my dear John, I beg of you to give up going on these habitual
tears, because you are not only ruining your constitution but your
reputation as a writer is having reflections cast upon it. I trust
you will not take this letter as a sermon but rather in a spirit of
friendly counsel.

I hope you will send me at once the remaining chapters of this great
'At Large in Terra Incognita.'

Your Nemesis,
Theo. Roosenfeldt,
Pres't Trust-Busters' Asso."

Readers have usually the courage of their convictions and not many anonymous letters find their way into the office of the Fiction Factory. Edwards remembers one other letter which was signed "Biff A. Hiram." At that time Edwards did not know Mr. Biff A. Hiram from Adam, but he has since made the gentleman's acquaintance, and discovered how wide is his circle of friends.

If praise from a reader has a tendency to exalt, then how much more of the flattering unction may a writer lay to his soul when approval comes from a brother or sister of the pen? With such a letter, this brief symposium from the Factory files may be brought to a close.

"Mr. John Milton Edwards,

Dear Sir:--

Allow me to congratulate you upon your success with the novelette in
a recent issue of the _Blue Book_. It is to my mind the BEST short
story of its kind I have EVER read. As I try to write short stories I
see its merits doubly. The modelling is splendid. Will you pardon my
display of interest?

Very truly yours,
K. B----."

=Rules for Authors.=

Dr. Edward Everett Hale, author of "The Man without a Country," and
other notable books, gives a few rules which are of interest to the
author and the journalist. Dr. Hale's success in the literary world
makes these rules, gleaned from the field of experience, especially
valuable to young writers:

1. Know what you want to say.

2. Say it.

3. Use your own language.

4. Leave out all fine phrases.

5. A short word is better than a long one.

6. The fewer words, other things being equal, the better.

7. Cut it to pieces--which means revise, revise, revise.

XVI.

GROWING
PROSPERITY

The years 1902 and 1903 were busier years than ever for the Fiction Factory. Nineteen-two is to be remembered particularly for opening a new departure in the story line in _The Argosy_, and for placing the first book with the G. W. Dillingham Company. Nineteen-three claims distinction for seeing the book brought out and for boosting the Factory returns beyond the three-thousand-dollar mark. But it must not be inferred that the book had very much to do with this. Edwards' royalties for the year were less than $100.

In September, 1902, Edwards made one of his customary "prospecting" trips to New York. If there was anything in omens his stay in the city promised dire things. On the second day after his arrival he went to Coney Island with a friend. Together they called on the seventh son of a seventh son and had their palms read. The dispenser of occult knowledge assured Edwards that the future was _very_ bright, that Tuesday was his lucky day and that Spring was the best time for him to consummate his business undertakings. That day, as it happened, was Tuesday. In the teeth of this promising augury, and within ten minutes after leaving the palmist's booth, some Coney Island "dip" shattered Edwards' confidence in Tuesday by annexing his wallet. The wallet, as it happened, contained all the money Edwards had brought from home, with the exception of a little loose change.

This was the second time Edwards had been all but stranded in the Metropolis, and this time the stranding was more complete. When he cast up accounts that evening he found himself with a cash balance of $1.63. Fortunately Mrs. Edwards was not along. He had left her at home with the understanding that she was to come on later. When a writer has come within hailing distance of the bread line there remains but one thing to do, and that is to start the Factory going with day and night shifts.

Edwards called on Mr. White, of _The Argosy_, and outlined a serial story. He was told to go ahead with it. For five days Edwards hardly stirred from his room. At the end of that time he had completed "The Desperado's Understudy," and had sold it to Mr. White for $250, spot cash.

After completing this serial, Edwards outlined to Mr. White a novelette which would furnish _The Argosy_ with something new in the fiction line. The plot was based on a musical extravaganza which he had written, several years before, in collaboration with Mr. Eugene Kaeuffer, at one time connected with _The Bostonians_. Nothing had ever come of this ambitious effort, although book and musical score were completed and offered to Mr. McDonald of _The Bostonians_ and to Mr. Thomas Q. Seabrooke. Mr. White liked the idea of the story immensely and gave Edwards _carte blanche_ to go ahead with it.

This story, "Ninety, North," paved the way for other fantastic yarns which made a decided hit in _The Argosy_ and so pointed Edwards along a fresh line of endeavor which proved as congenial as it was profitable.

Several months before he visited New York Edwards had sold to The McClure Syndicate, a juvenile serial which may be referred to here as "The Campaign at Topeka." For this he had been offered $200, which offer he promptly accepted. He had not received a check, however, and was at a loss to understand the reason. To this day the reason remains obscure, although later events pointed to a misunderstanding of some kind regarding the story between the Syndicate and one of its readers. Before Edwards left New York he was paid the $200. More than a year afterward he was informed that the serial had been sold to the Century Company for _St. Nicholas_, and that after publication in that magazine it was to be brought out in book form.

It was Mr. T. C. McClure who put Edwards in touch with the Dillingham Company and referred him to them as prospective publishers, in cloth, of the successful Syndicate story, "A Tale of Two Towns." Edwards submitted galley proofs of the serial to Mr. Cook of the Dillingham Company, and ultimately signed a contract to have the book published on the usual royalty basis of ten per cent.

For Harte & Perkins, during the year, the Factory ground out nickel novels, juvenile serials, one sketch for the trade paper and a few detective stories. On Nov. 28, after he had returned home from New York, he was notified:

"Much as I regret to inform you of it, by a recent purchase of
copyright stories we are placed in a position where we will not
require any further material for any of our five-cent libraries for
some time to come, so we must discontinue orders to you for all this
material."

Edwards, in a way, had become hardened to messages of this kind. _The Argosy_ was an anchor to windward, and he resolved to give his attention to serials for Mr. White. In December, 1902, and January and February, 1903, he wrote and forwarded "Ninety, North," a second fantastic story called "There and Back," and the Arizona serial "Grains of Gold." All three of these stories were sold at once, bringing in $700. In a letter dated Oct. 14, 1903, Mr. White had this to say about "There and Back:"

"Thanks for letting me see the enclosed letter regarding 'Ninety,
North.' I am equally pleased with yourself at its significance. I am
wondering whether you have heard much about your story 'There and
Back?' My impression is that that has been one of the most popular
stories you have ever written for _The Argosy_. When I see you I will
tell you an odd little circumstance that occurred in connection with
its run in the magazine."

The circumstances referred to by Mr. White took place in Paris. One of _The Argosy's_ readers happened to be in a café, looking over proofs of a forthcoming installment of "There and Back" while at her luncheon, when she heard the story being discussed, in complimentary terms, by a number of Frenchmen at an adjoining table. Strange indeed that Frenchmen should be interested in an American story, and stranger still that _The Argosy's_ reader should be reading an installment of the very same story while men in that foreign café were discussing it!

The first installment of "There and Back," Mr. White informed Edwards, had increased _The Argosy's_ circulation _seven thousand copies_.[H]

On March 2 Harte & Perkins requested Edwards to continue work on the old Five-Cent Library. By taking up this work again he would be diminishing the Factory's serial output, but he reflected that his fertility in the matter of serials would soon have Mr. White over-supplied. Therefore Edwards decided to go on with the nickel weeklies.

In March, as Mr. MacLean of _The Popular Magazine_ once put it, Edwards "came out in cloth," the Dillingham Company issuing "A Tale of Two Towns" on St. Patrick's Day.

What are the feelings of an author when he opens his first book for the first time? If you, dear reader, are yet to "get out in cloth" for the first time, then some day you will know. But, if you value your peace of mind, do not build too gorgeous an air castle on the foundation of this printed thing. Printed things are at the mercy of the reviewers and, in a larger sense, of the great reading public. The reviewers, in nearly every instance, were kind with "A Tale of Two Towns." In many quarters it was praised fulsomely, but the book did not strike that fickle sentiment called popular fancy. In six months, Mr. Cook, of the Dillingham Company, wrote Edwards that "A Tale of Two Towns" was "a dead duck." In the December settlement, however, the remains yielded royalties of $96.60. For two or three years the royalties trailed along, and finally the edition was wound up with a payment of $1.50. _Sic transit gloria!_

During January, 1903, a theatrical gentleman requested Edwards to dramatize a book which Messrs. Street & Smith had issued in paper covers. "You can change the title," the gentleman suggested, "and slightly change the incidents. In that way it won't be necessary to write Street & Smith for permission or, indeed, to let them know anything about it." Edwards knew, however, that nothing will so surely wreck a writer's prospects as playing fast and loose with editors and publishers. He refused to consider the theatrical gentleman's proposition. Instead, he forwarded his _Argosy_ story, "The Desperado's Understudy," upon which Mr. White had given him dramatic rights, and offered to make a stage version of it. The offer was accepted and a play was built up from the story. The theatrical gentleman was pleased and said he would give $1,500 for the dramatization. Then, alas! the theatrical gentleman's company went on the rocks at the Alhambra Theatre, in Chicago, and Edwards had repeated his former playwriting experience.

The two years' work figured out in this wise:

1902:
23 Five-Cent Libraries @ $40 each $ 920.00
8 detective stories @ $40 each 320.00
4 juvenile serials @ $100 each 400.00
1 sketch for trade paper 10.00
"The Desperado's Understudy," 250.00
"The Campaign at Topeka," 200.00
Short stories 67.00
--------
Total $2167.00

1903:
42 Five-Cent Libraries @ $40 each $1680.00
2 detective stories @ $40 each 80.00
"Ninety, North," 150.00
"There and Back," 250.00
"A Sensational Affair," short story, 15.00
"Grains of Gold," 300.00
"Fate's Gamblers,"[I] 100.00
"The Morning Star Race," short story, 15.00
"A Game for Two," 200.00
Royalties on book, "A Tale of Two Towns," 96.60
"The Point of Honor," 150.00
--------
Total $3036.60

As several gentlemen in these times, by the wonderful force of genius
only, without the least assistance of learning, perhaps without being
able to read, have made a considerable figure in the republic of
letters; the modern critics, I am told, have lately begun to assert,
that all kind of learning is entirely useless to a writer, and
indeed, no other than a kind of fetters on the natural sprightliness
and activity of the imagination, which is thus weighed down, and
prevented from soaring to those high flights which otherwise it would
be able to reach.

This doctrine, I am afraid, is at present carried much too far; for
why should writing differ so much from other arts? The nimbleness of
a dancing-master is not at all prejudiced by being taught to move;
nor doth any mechanic, I believe, excercise his tools the worse by
having learnt to use them.--_Fielding_, "Tom Jones."

FOOTNOTES:

[H] "There and Back" went through the Fiction Factory in twelve days.

[I] This story sold through Kellogg Newspaper Company, Chicago. The two short stories sold to the late lamented _Wayside Tales_, Detroit, Mich.

XVII.

ETHICS OF THE
NICKEL NOVEL

Is the nickel novel easy to write? The writer who has never attempted one is quite apt to think that it is. There are hundreds of writers, the Would-be-Goods, making less than a thousand a year, who would throw up their hands in horror at the very thought of debasing their art by contriving at "sensational" five-cent fiction. So far from "debasing their art," as a matter of fact they could not lift it to the _high plane_ of the nickel novel if they tried. Of these Would-be-Goods more anon--to use an expression of the ante-bellum romancers. Suffice to state, in this place, writers of recognized standing, and even ministers, have written--and some now are writing--these quick-moving stories. There's a knack about it, and the knack is not easy to acquire. No less a person than Mr. Richard Duffy, formerly editor of _Ainslee's_ and later of the _Cavalier_, a man of rare gifts as a writer, once told Edwards that the nickel novel was beyond his powers.

So far as Edwards is concerned, he gave the best that was in him to the half-dime "dreadfuls," and he made nothing dreadful of them after all. He has written hundreds, and there is not a line in any one of them which he would not gladly have his own son read. In fact, his ethical standard, to which every story must measure up, was expressed in this mental question as he worked: "If I had a boy would I willingly put this before him?" If the answer was No, the incident, the paragraph, the sentence or the word was eliminated. In 1910 Edwards wrote his last nickel novel, turning his back deliberately on three thousand dollars a year (they were paying him $60 each for them then), not because they were "debasing his art" but because he could make more money at other writing--for when one is forty-four he must get on as fast as he can.

The libraries, as they were written by Edwards, were typed on paper 8-1/2" by 13", the marginal stops so placed that a typewritten line approximated the same line when printed. Eighty of these sheets completed a story, and five pages were regularly allowed to each chapter. Thus there were always sixteen chapters in every story.

First it is necessary to submit titles, and scenes for illustration. Selecting an appropriate title is an art in itself. Alliteration is all right, if used sparingly, and novel effects that do not defy the canons of good taste should be sought after. The title, too, should go hand in hand with the picture that illustrates the story. This picture, by the way, has demands of its own. In the better class of nickel novels firearms and other deadly weapons are tabooed. The picture must be unusual and it must be exciting, but its suggested morality must be high.

The ideas for illustrations all go to the artist days or even weeks in advance of the stories themselves. It is the writer's business to lay out this prospective work intelligently, so that he may weave around it a group of logical stories.

Usually the novels are written in sets of three; that is, throughout such a series the same principal characters are used, and three different groups of incidents are covered. In this way, while each story is complete in itself, it is possible to combine the series and preserve the effect of a single story from beginning to end. These sets are so combined, as a matter of fact, and sold for ten cents.

Each chapter closes with a "curtain." In other words, the chapter works the action up to an interesting point, similar to a serial "leave-off," and drops a quick curtain. Skill is important here. The publishers of this class of fiction will not endure inconsistency for a moment. The stories appeal to a clientele keen to detect the improbable and to treat it with contempt.

Good, snappy dialogue is favored, but it must be dialogue that moves the story along. An apt retort has no excuse in the yarn unless it really belongs there. A multitude of incidents--none of them hackneyed--is a prime requisite. Complexity of plot invites censure--and usually secures it. The plot must be simple, but it must be striking.

One author failed because he had his hero-detective strain his massive intellect through 20,000 words merely to recover $100 that had been purloined from an old lady's handbag. If the author had made it a million dollars stolen from a lady like Mrs. Hetty Green, probably his labor would have been crowned with success. These five-cent heroes are in no sense small potatoes. They may court perils galore and rub elbows with death, now and then, for nothing at all, but certainly never for the mere bagatelle of $100.

The hero does not drink. He does not swear. Very often he will not smoke. He is a chivalrous gentleman, ever a friend of the weak and deserving. He accomplishes all this with a ready good nature that has nothing of the goody-good in its make-up. The hero does not smoke because, being an athlete, he must keep in constant training in order to master his many difficulties. For the same reason he will not drink. As for swearing, it is a useless pastime and very common; besides, it betrays excitement, and the hero is never excited.

The old-style yellow-back hero was given to massacres. He slew his enemies valiantly by brigades. Not so the modern hero of the five-cent novel. Rarely, in the stories, does any one cross the divide. And whenever the villain is hurt, he is quite apt to recover, thank the hero for hurting him--and become his sworn friend.

The story must be _clean_, and while it must necessarily be exciting, it must yet leave the reader's mind with a net profit in all the manly virtues. Is this easy?

Please note this extract from a letter written by Harte & Perkins Dec. 25, 1902--it covers a point whose humor, Edwards thought, drew the sting of dishonesty:

"Your last story, No. 285, opened well, had plenty of good incidents
and was interesting, but there are several points in which it might
have been improved.

Your description of Two Spot's scheme of posing Dutchy as a petrified
boy is amusing, but the plan was dishonest and a piece of trickery.
It was all right, perhaps, to let the boys go ahead without the
knowledge of the Hero, but when he learned of it he should have put
a stop to the plan immediately. It was all right to have him laugh
at it, but at the same time he should have spoken severely to the
boys about it and ordered them to return the money they had received
through their trick. He did not do this in your story and it was
necessary for me to alter it considerably in the first part on that
account.

The Hero is supposed to be the soul of honor, and in your story he is
posed as a party to a deception practised on the citizens of Ouray,
by which they were defrauded of the money they paid for admission
to see the supposed "petrified boy." Such conduct on his part would
soon lose for him the admiration of the readers of the weekly, as
it places him on a moral level, almost, with the robbers whom he is
bringing to justice."

Consider that, you Would-be-Goods, who are not above putting worse things in your "high-class" work. And can you say "I am holier than thou" to the conscientious writer who turns out his 20,000 or 25,000 words a week along these ethical lines? Handsome is as handsome does!

Somebody is going to write these stories. There is a demand for them. The writer who can set hand to such fiction, who meets his moral responsibilities unflinchingly, is doing a splendid work for Young America.

And yet, as stated in a previous chapter, there are nickel novels _and_ nickel novels--some to read and some to put in the stove unread. High-minded publishers, however, are not furnishing the careful head of the family with material for his kitchen fire.

It costs you nothing to think, but it costs infinitely to write. I
therefore preach to you eternally that art of writing which Boileau
has so well known and so well taught, that respect for the language,
that connection and sequence of ideas, that air of ease with which
he conducts his readers, that naturalness which is the true fruit of
art, and that appearance of facility which is due to toil alone. A
word out of place spoils the most beautiful thought.--_Voltaire to
Helvetius_, a young author.

XVIII

KEEPING
EVERLASTINGLY AT IT

Edwards had not visited New York in 1903, but he landed there on Friday, Jan. 1, 1904,--literally storming in on a train that was seven hours late on account of the weather. A cab hurried him and his wife to the place in Forty-fourth street where the pleasant landlady used to hold forth, but they found, alas! that the old stamping ground was in the hands of strangers. It was like being turned away from home.

Where should they go? Edwards remembered that, on one of his previous visits to New York, Mr. Perkins had recommended the St. George Hotel, over in Brooklyn. The St. George was within a few blocks of the south end of the bridge and the offices of Harte & Perkins were in William street, close to the north end. So Edwards and his wife went to the Brooklyn hotel and there established their headquarters.

On Jan. 2 Edwards called on the patrons of his Factory. The result was not particularly encouraging. Harte & Perkins instructed him to stop work on the Five-Cent Library, but said that in about two months they would have a new library for him to take care of.

Edwards had brought with him to the city his dramatic version of "The Tangle in Butte," the play which had come so near turning $5,000 into the Factory's strong-box. It was Edwards' hope that he might be able to dispose of the play, but the hope went glimmering when he learned that there were 10,000 actors stranded in New York, and that things theatrical were generally in a bad way.

During 1903 Edwards had corresponded with Mr. H. H. Lewis, editor of _The Popular Magazine_, a recent venture of Messrs. Street & Smith's. He had submitted manuscripts to Mr. Lewis but they had not proved to be in line with _The Popular's_ requirements. It is difficult, through correspondence, to discover just what an editor wants. The only way to get at such a thing properly is by personal interview. If the would-be contributor does not then get the editor's needs clearly in mind it is his own fault.

Edwards called on Mr. Lewis and had a pleasant chat with him. The assistant editor was Mr. A. D. Hall, a capable gentleman who had been with Messrs. Street & Smith for many years, and with whom Edwards was well acquainted.

At that time Louis Joseph Vance was writing for _The Popular Magazine_, among others, and Edwards met him in Mr. Lewis' office. As Edwards was leaving, after outlining a novelette and receiving a commission to write it, he paused with one hand on the door-knob.

"I'll turn in the story, Mr. Lewis," said he, "and I hope you'll like it and buy it."

"Of course he'll like it and buy it," called out Vance. "You're going to write it for him, aren't you?"

"Why, yes," returned Edwards, "but--"

"You're not a peddler," interrupted Vance, "to write stuff and go hawking it about from office to office. We're writers, and when we know what a man wants _we deliver the goods_."

This was before the days of "The Brass Bowl" and "_Terence O'Rourke_," but already Vance had found himself and was striking the key-note of confidence. _Confidence_--that's the word. Back it up with fair ability and the writer will go far.

From _The Popular's_ editorial rooms Edwards went up Fifth avenue for a call on the editor of _The Argosy_. Much to his disappointment Mr. White was out of town for New Year's and would not return until the following week.

The story which Edwards had presented to Mr. Lewis in its oral and tabloid form was one that had been written in 1903 and turned down by Mr. White. Before offering the manuscript to _The Popular_, Edwards intended to rewrite it and strengthen it.

A typewriter was ordered sent over to the St. George Hotel, and on Jan. 3 the rewriting of the novelette was begun. The story was called "The Highwayman's Waterloo," or something to that effect. On the following day twenty-four pages of the manuscript were submitted to Mr. Lewis, won his approval, and the rewriting proceeded.

Two chapters of a serial were also offered to Mr. White for examination. The story was called "The Skirts of Chance," and had been begun before Edwards left home.

During 1902 and '03 Edwards had worked, at odd times, on what he designed to be a "high-class" juvenile story. It was 60,000 words in length, when completed in the Summer of 1903, and in September he had submitted it to Dodd, Mead & Company. Not having heard from the story, on this January day that saw him passing out fragments of manuscripts to _The Popular_ and _The Argosy_ he went on farther up Fifth avenue and dropped in to ask D., M. & Co., how "Danny W.," was fareing at the hands of their readers. He was told that five readers had examined the story and that it was then in the hands of the sixth! Some of the readers--and this came to him privately--had turned in a favorable report. Because of this, the author of "Danny W.," went back to Brooklyn considerably elated. It would be an honor indeed to have the book break through such a formidable brigade of readers and get into the catalogue of the good old house of Dodd, Mead & Company.

The "highwayman" novelette was finished and submitted in its complete form on Jan. 6. On the same day Mr. White informed Edwards that he was well pleased with the two chapters of "The Skirts of Chance" and told him to proceed with it.

Fortune was on the upward trend for Edwards, and he was sent for by Dodd, Mead & Company, on Jan. 15, and informed that they would either bring out "Danny W.," on a royalty or pay a cash price for the book rights. Edwards, remembering his disastrous publishing experience with "A Tale of Two Towns," accepted $200 in cash.

Mr. Lewis bought the novelette for $125, and Harte & Perkins, on the same day, gave Edwards a new library to do--35,000 words in each story at $50.

Complete manuscript of "The Skirts of Chance" was submitted to Mr. White on Jan. 22, and on Jan. 27 Edwards received $300 for it.

By Feb. 8 Edwards had written and sold to Mr. Lewis another novelette entitled, "The Duke's Understudy," for which he received $140.

On Feb. 9 he and his wife returned to Michigan. Edwards had been in New York forty days and had gathered in $965. He left New York with orders for _Argosy_ serials and with the new library, "Sea and Shore," to be turned in at the rate of one story every two months.

In May he was requested to go on with the Old Five-Cent Library. These stories were forwarded regularly one each week, until November, when orders were again discontinued.

In September, "Danny W.," appeared. As with "A Tale of Two Towns," the reviewers were more than kind to "Danny W.," and there is just a possibility that they killed him with kindness. The idea obtains, in supposedly well-informed circles, that the only way for reviewers to help a book is to damn it utterly. Be this as it may, although illustrated in color and put out in the best style of the book-maker's art, "Danny W.," did not prove much of a success. A California paper bought serial rights on the story for $50, and thus the book netted the author, all told, the modest sum of $250.

During this year, also, The A. N. Kellogg Newspaper Company sold serial rights on "Fate's Gamblers" for $30, took 50 per cent. as a commission and presented Edwards with what was left.

A short story, "The Camp Coyote," was sold to Mr. Titherington, for _Munsey's_; and Edwards had opened a new market in Street & Smith's magazines. Thus was brought to a close a fairly prosperous year.

In 1905 the returns slid backward a little. During this year, and the year preceding, some stories which had failed with Mr. White were received with favor by Mr. Kerr, of _The Chicago Ledger_--at the _Ledger_ price, ranging from $30 upward to $75.

The _Woman's Home Companion_, to which Edwards had vainly tried to sell serial rights on "Danny W.," accepted a two-part story entitled, "The Redskin and the Paper-Talk," and paid $200 for it. This is the story of which a chapter was lost in the composing room, and Edwards received an honorarium of $5 for having a carbon duplicate of the few missing pages.

In 1905, also, The American Press Association did business with Edwards to the amount of $30. Another market for the Edwards' product--worth mentioning even though the amount of business done was not large.

The returns for the two years were as follows:

1904:
"The Highwayman's Waterloo," $ 125.00
"Danny W.," 200.00
"Danny W.," serial rights 50.00
"The Skirts of Chance," 300.00
"The Duke's Understudy," 140.00
"At Large in Terra Incognita," 175.00
"The Man from the Stone Age," short story 25.00
"The Honorable Jim," 250.00
"Fate's Gamblers," serial rights 15.00
"A Deal with Destiny," 150.00
"The Enchanted Ranch," 75.00
"The Camp Coyote," 40.00
"Under the Ban," 75.00
"A Master of Graft," 225.00
26 Five-Cent Libraries @ $40 each 1040.00
4 Sea and Shore Libraries @ 50 each 200.00
--------
Total $3085.00

1905:
"Cornering Boreas," short story $ 30.00
"The Redskin and the Paper-talk," 200.00
"The Redskin and the Paper-talk," additional pay't 5.00
"Mountebank's Dilemma," short story 25.00
"Helping Columbus," 350.00
"The Edge of the Sword," 200.00
"Yellow Clique," 100.00
"A Mississippi Snarl," 200.00
"The Black Box," 200.00
"A Wireless Wooing," short story 15.00
"The Freelance," 50.00
"The Luck of Bill Lattimer," 30.00
"Machine-made Road-agent," short story 15.00
"The Man from Mars," 275.00
10 Sea and Shore stories @ $50 each 500.00
--------
Total $2195.00

Good, philosophical Ras Wilson once said to a new reporter, "Young
man, write as you feel, but try to feel right. Be good humored toward
every one and everything. Believe that other folks are just as good
as you are, for they are. Give 'em your best and bear in mind that
God has sent them, in his wisdom, all the trouble they need, and it
is for you to scatter gladness and decent, helpful things as you
go. Don't be particular about how the stuff will look in print, but
let'er go. Some one will understand. That is better than to write so
dash bing high, or so tarnashun deep, that no one understands. Let'er
go."

* * * * *

There was once a poor man hounded to death by creditors. Ruin and
suicide vied for his surrender. But he was a man of the twentieth
century, and flippantly but with unbounded faith he collected a few
odd pennies and hied him to a newspaper office. Stopping scarcely to
frame his sentence he inserted a "want" advertisement, stating his
circumstances and declaring he would commit suicide unless aid was
proffered. Within twenty-four hours he had $250; before another sun
his employer advanced as much more. Carefully advising the newspaper
to discontinue the advertisement, he paid off his creditors--and
lived happily ever afterward! No, this is not a fairy tale. The
time was a few weeks ago, the city Chicago and the newspaper, _The
Tribune_. The moral is, that originality in writing, coupled with a
fresh idea, brings a check.

XIX.

LOVE YOUR WORK
FOR THE
WORK'S SAKE

The sentiment which Edwards has tried to carry through every paragraph and line of this book is this, that "Writing is its own reward." His meaning is, that to the writer the joy of the work is something infinitely higher, finer and more satisfying than its pecuniary value to the editor who buys it. Material success, of course, is a necessity, unless--happy condition!--the writer has a private income on which to draw for meeting the sordid demands of life. But this also is true: A writer even of modest talent will have material success in a direct ratio with the joy he finds in his work!--Because, brother of the pen, when one takes pleasure in an effort, then that effort attracts merit inevitably. If any writing is a merciless grind the result will show it--and the editor will see it, and reject.

There are times, however, when doubt shakes the firmest confidence. A writer will have moods into which will creep a distrust of the work upon which he is at that moment engaged. If necessity spurs him on and he cannot rise above his misgivings, the story will testify to the lack of faith, doubts will increase as defects multiply and the story will be ruined. THE WRITER MUST HAVE FAITH IN HIS WORK QUITE APART FROM THE MONEY HE EXPECTS TO RECEIVE FOR IT. If he has this faith he reaches toward a spiritual success beside which the highest material success is paltry indeed.

When a writer sits down to a story let him blind his eyes to the financial returns, even though they may be sorely needed. Let him forget that his wares are to be offered for sale, and consider them as being wrought for his own diversion. Let him say to himself, "I shall make this the best story I have ever written; I shall weave my soul into its warp and whether it sells or not I shall be satisfied to know that I have put upon paper the BEST that is in me." If he will do this, he will achieve a spiritual success and--as surely as day follows night--a material success beyond his fondest dreams. BUT he must keep his eye single to the TRUE success and must have no commerce in thought with what may come to him materially.

To some, all this may appear too idealistic, too transcendental. There are natures so worldly, perhaps even among writers, as to scoff at the idea of spiritual success. They are overshadowed by the Material, and when the Spiritual, which is the true source of their power, is no longer the "still, small voice" of their inspiration, they will be bankrupt materially as well.

A writer cannot hide himself in his work. His individuality is written into it, and he may be read between the lines for what he is. A creation reflects the creator, and that the work may be good the writer should have spiritual ideals and do his utmost to live up to them. Let him have a purpose, be it never so humble, to benefit in some way his fellow-man, and let him hew steadily to the line. Love your work for the work's sake and material benefits "will be added unto you."

Years ago Edwards found an article in a newspaper that appealed to him powerfully. He clipped it out, preserved it and has made it of great help in his writing. It is a wonderful "Doubt-destroyer." In the hope that it may be an inspiration to others, he reproduces it here:

STANDARDS OF SUCCESS.

At a time when material success is so generally regarded as the
chief goal of human effort it is interesting to find a man in
Professor Hadley's position presenting arguments for a broader
view of the question. In his baccalaureate sermon the president of
Yale offered the graduates some advice which at least they should
find stimulating. He does not discredit or discourage the ambition
for practical success but he makes it plain that in his view there
is danger in measuring success in life "by the concrete results
with which men can credit themselves." "We should value life," he
declares, "as a field of action." We should care for the doing of
things quite as much as for the results. Tried by this standard,
aspiration and effort are to be more highly prized than achievement
itself. The man who sincerely strives for a great object has
succeeded, whether or not the object is attained or its attainment
brings any tangible reward.

It is no novelty, of course, to hear a college president upholding
ideal standards and rejecting utilitarian views of success, but few
of the educators have cared to follow their theories, as President
Hadley does, to their logical conclusion. Probably a majority of
them would applaud Nansen's courage in attempting to reach the north
pole but would question the utility of the attempt. President Hadley
admires Nansen simply "because he succeeded in getting so much nearer
the pole than anybody before him ever did," and thinks it is one
of the most discouraging testimonies to the false standards of the
nineteenth century that Nansen feels compelled to justify himself on
the basis of the scientific results of his expedition. Furthermore,
a man who tries to get to the pole is engaged in a glorious play,
"which justifies more risk and more expenditure of life than would be
warranted for a few miserable entomological specimens, however remote
from the place where they had previously been found."

The young man of to-day has no lack of exhortations to lead the life
of strenuous effort. It is as well that he should be taught also that
the reward for this effort will be barren if the whole object sought
be material benefit to himself. Life is something to be used. Whether
or not it has been successfully used depends not on the results so
much as on the object sought and the earnestness of the seeking. It
is somewhat novel to find an American college president expounding
this philosophy to his students, but the philosophy is, on the whole,
helpful. It will spur to effort in crises where the desire for more
material success fails to provide a sufficient incentive.

A certain New York author is fond of his own work, and Robert W.
Chambers is responsible for the story that he called at one of the
libraries to find out how his latest book was going. He hoped to have
his vanity tickled a little.

"Is ---- in?" he said to the librarian, naming his book.

"It never was out," was the reply.

* * * * *

What is a great love of books? It is something like a personal
introduction to the great and good men of all past times. Books, it
is true, are silent as you see them on your shelves; but, silent as
they are, when I enter a library I feel almost as if the dead were
present, and I know if I put questions to these books they will
answer me with all the faithfulness and fullness which has been left
in them by the great men who have left the books with us.--_John
Bright._

* * * * *

The spring poet has been much exploited in the comic papers. The
would-be novelist has been plastered with signs and tokens until
one could not fail to recognize him in the dark. But the ordinary,
commonplace, experienced writer has been so shamefully neglected that
few realize his virtues. The editor recognizes his manuscript as far
off as he can see it, and seizes upon it with joy. The manuscript is
typewritten and punctuated. It bears the author's name and address
at the top of the first page. It is signed with the author's name
at the end. It is NOT tied with a blue ribbon. No, the blue ribbon
habit is not a myth. It really exists in every form from pale baby
to navy No. 4 and in every shape from a hard knot to an elaborate
rosette--_Munsey's._

XX.

THE LENGTHENING
LIST OF PATRONS

During the year 1906 the patrons of the Fiction Factory steadily increased in number. _The Blue Book_, _The Red Book_, _The Railroad Man's_, _The All-Story_, _The People's_--all these magazines bought of the Factory's products, some of them very liberally. The old patrons, also, were retained, Harte & Perkins taking a supply of nickel novels and a Stella Edwards' serial for _The Guest_.

Edwards' introduction to _The Blue Book_ came so late in the year that the business falls properly within the affairs of 1907. The first step, however, was taken on Aug. 13, 1906, and was in the form of the following letter:

"My dear Mr. Edwards:

Why don't you send me, with a view to publication in _The Blue Book_,
as we have renamed our old _Monthly Story Magazine_, one or more of
those weird and fantastic novelettes of yours? If you have anything
ready, let me see it. I can at least assure you of a prompt decision
and equally prompt payment if the story goes. Anything you may have
up to 6,000 words I shall be very glad to see for _The Red Book_.

Yours very truly,
"Karl Edwin Harriman."

Here was a pleasant surprise for Edwards. He had met Mr. Harriman the year before in Battle Creek, Michigan. At that time Mr. Harriman was busily engaged hiding his talents under a bushel known as _The Pilgrim Magazine_. When the Red Book Corporation of Chicago, kicked the basket to one side, grabbed Mr. Harriman out from under it and made off with him, the aspect of the heavens promised great things for literature in the Middle West. And this promise, by the way, is being splendidly fulfilled.

When you take down your "Who's Who" to look up some personage sufficiently notorious to have a place between its red covers, if you find at the end of his name the words, "editor, author," you may be sure that there is no cloud on the title that gives him a place in the book. You will know at once that he must have been a good author or he would never have been promoted from the ranks; and having been a good author he is certainly a better editor than if the case were otherwise, for he knows both ends of the publishing trade.

Having been through the mill himself, Mr Harriman has a fellow-feeling for his contributors. He knows what it is to take a lay figure for a plot, clothe it in suitable language, cap it with a climax and put it on exhibition with a card: "Here's a Peach! Grab me quick for $9.99." Harriman's "peaches" never came back. The author of "Ann Arbor Tales," "The Girl and the Deal," and others has been successful right from the start.

No request for material received at the Edwards' Factory ever fails of a prompt and hearty response. A short story and a novelette were at once put on the stocks. They were constructed slowly, for Edwards could give them attention only during odd moments taken from his regular work. The short story was finished and submitted long in advance of the novelette. This letter, dated Sept. 18, will show its success:

"My Dear Old Man: Why don't you run on here and see me, now and
again. Oh, yes, New York's a lot better, but we're doing things
here, too. About 'Cast Away by Contract,' it's very funny--such a
ridiculously absurd idea that it's quite irresistible. How will $75
be for it? O. K.? It's really all I can afford to pay for a story
of its sort, and I do want you in the book. Let me hear as soon as
possible and I will give it out to the artist.

Very truly yours,
"K. H."

And so began the business with Mr. Harriman. He still, at this writing (1911), has a running account on the Factory's books and is held in highest esteem by the proprietor.

A letter, written May 13, 1905, (a year dealt with in a previous chapter), is reproduced here as having a weighty bearing on the events of 1906. It was Edwards' first letter from a gentleman who had recently allied himself with the Munsey publications. As a publisher Mr. F. A. Munsey is conceded to be a star of the first magnitude, but this genius is manifest in nothing so much as in his ability to surround himself with men capable of pushing his ideas to their highest achievement. Such a man had been added to his editorial staff in the person of Mr. R. H. Davis. Mr. Davis, like Mr. Bryan, hails originally from Nebraska. Although he differs somewhat from Mr. Bryan in political views, he has the same powers as a spellbinder. He's Western, all through, is "Bob" Davis, bluff, hearty and equally endowed with stories, snap and sincerity.

"Dear Sir:

We would like to have a few pictures of those writers who have
contributed considerably to our various magazines. It is obvious that
this refers to you. Therefore, if you will send us a portrait it will
be greatly appreciated.

Very truly yours,
"R. H. Davis."

Mr. Davis got the picture; also a serial or two and some short stories for new publications issued by the Munsey Company of which he was editor. Late in 1905 he called for a railroad serial, and he wanted a particularly good one.