OCR Text |
Show DP PARTNERS By ANNIE HINRICHSEN (CopyiiL'tn. lyu. by Associated Literaiy Press.) "Our partnership must mid." The girl sppke decisively. "1 don't see the reason," objected the man. "We have been wilting together very successfully for several weeks," Ehe explained. "But we have reached a point In our work where each one can do better alone. If we stay together to-gether our influence on each other will be a real detriment to success. My work will take on the quality of yours; yours will become like mine Our talents will develop if we work separately." In spite of the hurt in his eyes Graham Gra-ham Ford's lips twitched. "Perhaps 1 seem ungrateful," Nor ma Atwood went on. "I am really your protege rather than your partner. part-ner. I came to the city with the Intention In-tention of devoting my life to newspaper newspa-per and magarine work. All my articles ar-ticles and stories were refused. When I met you I was utterly discouraged 1 told you my difficulties. You read my stuff, showed me how to alter it into salable matter and Introduced me to editors Success came immedl-altiy. immedl-altiy. 1 am selling everything I write. We have been working together to-gether You write your things and I write mine. Every morning you come here to my fiat and we go over the stories and give each other advice and suggestions. We have called ourselves our-selves literary partners. "Yesterday the Arcade asked me to furnish tl; m a daily story. These stories and my work will take all my time and these morning hours together to-gether must he given up." Ford's brows drew together. "I un demand," he said briefly. "Y'ou offer two good reasons; you are bo successful success-ful that you haven't time for me, and we can do better work without the assistance as-sistance of each other." Two weeks later Norma Atwood went to the office of the Arcade. "Mr. Mills," she said to the managing man-aging editor, "you promised to pub lish a story of mine every day for an Indefinite period. This morning you sent back to me a bundle of my stories accompanied by a letter telling tell-ing me to write better ones if I slwSl "I Can Be a Partner " wished the Arcade to use them. I've come to ask you what is the matter with them." The editor was a direct man and a frank one. "They lack snap and point Your earlier stories were clever; these are flat Write as well as you did a few weeks ago and no story will be returned to you." I few days later another bundle of BtorieB was returned to her. One evening Graham Ford came to the little flat. It was his first visit since the dissolution of the partnership. partner-ship. "How are you getting along?" he asked abruptly. "I am very busy," she began bravely. brave-ly. "Are you selling much?" "Every writer has periods of failure." fail-ure." "What is the Arcade doing with your stuff?" "Sending it back to me." After a moment she added, "So is every other editor." "Brutes," he anathematised. "Let me see your stories." He went through them, cutting, transposing and adding whole paragraphs. para-graphs. "These are good stories," he commended. "Try them on those editors again. They will buy. You write well." She shook her head. "Norma, let's go back to our partnership. part-nership. Will you? I'm lonesome and unhappy. I can't write alone." "Every big magazine in the country la buying your work. You don't need me. You never needed me. But I" "I'm lonesome and miserable. I do need you. I want a literary partner and I want the other kind of partner, too. 1 want a wife, Norma. I love you, dear, and I can't go on without you." "You will have to. I shall neither marry you nor resume- our literary partnership." The next day she took the revised stories to the editor of the Arcade. He glanced over them. "Good stuff," he announced. "You've touched up these stories and put the real substance sub-stance Into them. I'll publish these and all others as good." f She gathered them up. "They are not for publication. I wanted to know something about them, and you have told me what I wished to know." Three months later, In response to a charmingly worded note, Graham Ford came to Norma's flat for dinner. The living-room had been refurnished refur-nished and was a harmony of dull woods and soft colors. Before the grate fire was a Email table set for two. Norma wore over her pretty, light gown a white apron. It was a well cooked dinner which the white-aproned hostess served. Graham Gra-ham Ford ate steadily and appreciate-ly appreciate-ly through the course. When the meal was finished they carried the table into the tiny kitchen. Graham looked about for the cook, but saw no one. Norma pushed an easy chair before the fire. He dropped into it and lighted light-ed a cigar. Norma, still wearing her apron, sat on a small chair drawn close to his. "Graham," she said In a low voice, "how do you like It my little flat and my dinner?" "It is a . domestic paradise," he sighed. "Would you like to have it all the- time? You can if you want to," she went on as he stared bewildered. bewil-dered. "I refused you a literary wife. Will you take a domestic one? Sit still while I tell you about It. I was so spoiled by my literary success that I thought I had real talent. I ended our partnership. After that I could not sell a story. The only merit my stories possessed was the revision you gave them. With it they sold; without it they were worthless. ( "After we separated I realized that that I loved you. When you asked me to marry you I wanted to I wanted want-ed to with all my heart. But I could not do It. I had nothing to give you, in return for all you were ready to give me. I refused you and and 1 went to school to learn to be a good home-maker I learned to cook, to arrange ar-range rooms, to shop economically. I've practiced here in my little flat, trying to become proficient enough to to make your home comfortable and happy. I'm a literary failure, but I am a good cook and now I can be a real partner a useful one if you " But the rest of the sentence was left unfinished as the girl and the big white apron were drawn into the easy chair. |