OCR Text |
Show She was an Author and a Canvasser. Can-vasser. sue stoie soiuy into tne sanctum, and with a winning glance handel the city editor her first book, remarking remark-ing that she would write another and better one as soon as she had suld out this edition. It had been compared to "Mark Twain's Innocents Abroad;" but " do I look like an innocent?" in-nocent?" she inquired, with a fascinating fasci-nating smile. The city colaborateur reckoned she did not. Then Bhe remarked re-marked that editors in California said it was " as good as the Danbury News Man's Book, but I think it's, better. Don'tyou?" with another fascinating smile. The city editor said "Yes, it's shorter." It was only four bits, and the poetry at the end "Owed to a hash house," was said to be worth double the mjuey; and then she moved her chair c'oaer to the young man, and smiled another an-other of those angelic smiles. She did not come for pufis, but if there was anything in the book worth reproducing re-producing the Herald was welcome to it ; and then she always showed her book to editors, because they needed it in their business, and besides paying for it, they always gave her a notice which helped to sell books to others. She said she was a widow of sixteen years; the journalistic journal-istic functionary said he would not believe her. He thought sne was a darling creature of eighteen summers, or some'ers thereabouts. She Baid, "I'm old enough to be jour mother." He said he din't know about such things, but he was an orphan and she might be his moLherifdhe wanted to. She Baid Bhe looked like Tennie Claflin, and the city editor took her little hand in bis and murmured, "You do; you do." But she said ahe wasn't Tennie. The young man gazed affectionately into her soft expressive ex-pressive eyes, and whispered mourn fully, "You're not, no you're not Tennie Claflin." She had just begun to open her short-ran;e short-ran;e howitzer of talk, preparatory to a regular sieiie, when the young man said, "Hold, my dear. Don't do it. I'm young and tender. I'm a long way from home, with no father to protect me, nor mother to smooth the wrinkles in my pLIIew caso; and besides, the summer is hero, the fruit is ripe, and I'm weak a poo- weak . boy." Then he shelled out th ob-jent ob-jent of her visit; he cheerfully pushed over that 50-cent stamp, an. I trailed serenely in the half open countenance before him. But it had started, and ehe couldn't check it suddenly without with-out incurring the danger of an explosion. ex-plosion. She said she had married young, and wns soon left an unprotected unpro-tected widow. Her friends told her that she had talent; she knew she had talents, among which was that of book-niakiDg; and "selitwj to, madame," the young Faberist replied. She commenced again, and the young man, looking aghast, said, "Yes, that's an excellent book. I'll take another. How many have yon got. I'll take " but she had hitched up her pinned. back ultirts and departed for Iredh fields and conquests. The book has been deposited in s choice niche of our library, |