The Ladies’ Magazine.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXVII, Issue 2394, 8 January 1909, Page 12 (Supplement)

The Ladies’ Magazine.

“TEN SHILLINGS A YARD.”'

(By Andrew Harlestonein Hamlet Blair poured himself out another cup of coffee, ho always regarded it as a good pick-me-up. And ho wanted one as he reviewed his morning’s letters, for they were enough to depress the soul of an ordinary man, let alone a ininof' poet’s. And no one could challenge his light to belong to the ranks-of that minority. Yet this was what that confounded publisher’s letter suggested, lie read it once more: Dear Sir, —We regret to inform you that we have not sold a single copy of your poems “Love’s Lodestar,” and as we find it inconvenient to store so many unsaleable publications, wc shall, pending counter-instructions from you, offer the entire edition for sale at a somewhat reduced rate, it is with much difficulty buyers can bo found for poetry at present, so we imagine you will readily agree to our availing ourselves of a favorable chance of selling. Faithfully yours, CiAFFEK and DOBBS. And to this pass the Muse hail come ! The least conceited mail would have felt the irony of the situation; and Hamlet Blair was—well, by no means destitute of vanity. What bard is without his share? But yet an-, other letter rankled, and it must be confessed it was a somewhat bitter billet doux that morning’s post had brought him from the lady of his affections. He looked again at the dainty sheet with its rather obtrusive gold crest. “The Towers, Twickenham, Junel. “My Darling Hamlet, —It is too dreadful the news I have to break to you, and I tremble to think how your sensitive poet’s soul will feel it. Think of it, my father declares our engagement must be broken off at once, because you have no prospects; ho says —oil, darling, I shrink from writing it —that you have not made a name in ihe world, and that if you were famous, it would be a different affair. I told him I should never, never, love anyone else.” But the rejected lover read no further ; it was bad enough* to be “chucked” by the public; it was worse still to be thrown over by the girl he adored, who, moreover, had inspired his finest .sonnets. As he flung the letter down, his postscript on the outer sheet caught his"eye. “Pray come and see me as soon as you can, to talk over this horrid affair; father is frantically busy having his new library fitted up, and so you won’t see much of him. but I will be in the garden to-morrow afternoon to give you some tea under the trees; perhaps you will be able to write a poem about it.—Your Broken-hearted Pussie.” The poet groaned. Dear little soul,“she was still faithful to him then, in spite of her father’s prejudice in favor of- "a name.” Mr. Theophiius "Wiggins had himself made, not a name, but a successful “corner” in soap, which is just as good for practical purposes when you balance advantages. Besides, lie, too. bad acquired fame of a kind, the kind which placarded his achievements on every advertisement hoarding as the discoverer of “the" world’s greatest soap.”- When you have only written unsuccessful sonnets,, it is a bit depressing to be reminda-i of your inferiority in this w.ay.

Pussie was as good as her word. She had tea for her poet under the trees, and poured it out “with her own fair hands/’ as the romancers say, only they really were very pretty ones. Moreover, the charming pink slimmer gown, with its “froufrous” of lace and knots of ribbon, was in itself enough to inspire an ode. Hamlet Blair played regretfully with his Dresden teacup as he gazed on his idol with the eyes of the lover and the poet. “So you really think he means what he says, Pussie, darling?” “Oh, certainly, dear, I know it; he’s so determined; it’s determination, as he often says, that has made his fortune. Yes, it is, really.” “Well, two people can play at that game. As it happens, lam determined, too, determined to win you for my sweet little wife at all costs.” Hamlet -Blair set down' the fresh cup of tea his hostess had just handed him, untasted., and frowned gloomily at the tempting tea-cakes she offered him, though they might have appealed'to the most epicurean. “Oh, Hamlet, don’t let it spoil your teal” cried Pussie, whose blue eyes were already'beginning to fill with tears. - . ' “Spoil my tea—spoil my life, you mean. As if it did not mean spoiling my whole career, to Jose you. As if I could write anything without you. Where would ‘Love’s Lodestar’ have been without you?” But just then the poet remembered his publisher’s letter, and where the book actually was. And he hadn’t -ydt answered that confounded letter!. . “Of course, "you are a great poet,. 1 went on Pussie soothingly,, “and I told father vso, and he said—he said ’’ but poor Pussie could get no further with her revelation, and burst into helpless tears,

It 'took some Jiithj time to dry thorn ; besides, what lover would wish to hasten that process? But lie was anxious to know what it was that Mr. Wiggins had really said, and persuaded Pussie to tell him, after -a good deal of hesitation. ‘‘However can I tell you? ’ she murmured, between her sobs; “well, he put it so unkindly., X don’t /’know kow to.” ■'.Nonsense, darling, we must all face the bitter truth some time dr other.” and the poet thought of his publisher’s ‘letter once more. “He said,” sobbed • Piissie, “he would never let me marry a man who wrote poetry that—that —nobody read, and that if he could ever see your works in demand, lie shouldn’t mind. And lie said—oh, dear me, how can I ever tell it you?—that if you had invented a new soap, he could have seen the sense of Jt,. bub that to be a- minor poet was worse than being nothing at all.” And Pussie’s revelations being, out, slut abandoned herself to a fresh flood of tears only cheeked by the appearance of Mr. Wiggins himself, -as he jauntily strode across the lawn up to the tea-table. The soap-king’s jolly, rubicund taco clouded as he glanced at the lovers; Pussie’s red eyes told their own. tale. He threw the cigar he was smoking aside, and nodded to his guest. “How do, Blair? How’s the poetry?”— Hamlet winced, this was adding insult to injury—“By the way, you should have been with me this afternoon. Fitting up the new library in fine style. Had Dobbs the bookseller here from town. Knows bis business, too. Going to fix the 1 whole thing up, choose the books and all.” And the owner of “The Towers” passed bis cup to be re-filled. Pussie.poured out some tea in silence, and Hamlet Blair fidgeted nervously with his hat. “I’m sorry, sir, I must be going i I have to go and send a wire,” he said, for there was that wretched letter to answer. “Aha, Blair, that reminds me, I want a word with you,” and the soap_ magnate rose to escort his guest to the drive. The poet shook hands with Pir.sie, not daring to meet her gaze, and turned reluctantly away fit might be the last time be was ever destined to look on that fair lace. Mr. Wiggins lit another cigar. “Look here. Blair,” lie said, when they were out of earshot of Pussie, “you understand. I can’t have this sort of tiling going on any longer between you and Pussie. When my daughter marries, I want her to choose a man who lias made a name in the world—at his own trade, at any rate. "Whether it'.s pork or poetry, it’s all the same to-me. Now. as a pork merchant you might have been famous by this ; as it is, no one knows you, and no one seems to read you.” The neglected poet . repressed a strong desire to swear. “Now take it once tor all. "When I see your books in active circulation. I'll consent to this engagement, not before. I can’t find anyone who has road your stuff so far, except Pussie. So no more minor poems for me. Do something substantial to show before you oomc here again.” Ami the master of “The Towers” took a chilly leave of his would-be son-in-law. A quarter of an hour later Hamlet was iu the telegraph office. “Do as volt like,” was the laconic message that Messrs. Gaffer and Dobbs received that evening. And they acted on instructions.

Mr. Dobbs contemplated his work with undisguised satisfaction, as lie regarded the weli-fiiied bookshelves in the ncwly-f-i«mcd -library. at “The Towers.” “Guaranteed complete, sir,” he was explaining to- its master proudly. “Complete in every respect. I told you I’d do ’em .at tho cheapest rate,, and if you don’t call ten shillings a yard cheap for that upper shelf, all I can say is, you are hard to please. And all of ’em wellknown authors; Maybe, some of the sets are not quite complete, but it doesn’t show in the least, and your library presents a thoroughly up-to-date appearance, stocked with the newest works. After all, you don’t buy your .books to read, so why shouldn’t we fit you out"with some to look at? Of course, it would cost a fortune to fill these dozens of shelves with rare books. Our plan of supplying them by the yard works wonderfully for ‘fill-ups/ and all these books are readable, even granted they are ‘throw-outs.’ Good covers, and all that sort of thing.” And Mr. Dobbs looked admiringly at the rows of miscellaneous volumes overhead. “I hope you’ve thrown in some poetry,” suggested the sdap-king timidly. Ho felt shy of .airing his literary taste before an expert. “My daughterli’kes poetry.” “Poetry, I should just think .so! Why, here are the complete "works of the rising poet, Hamlet Blair; she can’t ask anything better than his verses, they are the latest out.” And the purveyor of books pointed to a long line of volumes in delicately artistic bindings (Hamlet had bargained for them to be bound in a style worthv of their contents, as lie told, him-; self). / - /

“Why, bless my soul, so there are. J So you do look upon Mr. Blair as a rising man, then? I had an idea his books didn’t; go. And you really think he will make a name.?” , “Make ,a name Why, of course; lie has done so already ! I shouldn’t have given his works a place in ‘The Towers’ library if not,” exclaimed Mr Dobbs in ail injured tone. He did not explain "that the poems only ran into three volumes, and that no less than a yard and a half of books at the top of the shelf were all copies of “Love’s Lodestar,” but they were too high up for anyone to find it out, and they made an excellent show. It was a question of filling the shelves, not of choosing books, after all; and it was not the first library they had stocked for on this new principle. - | “H’m,” pondered the owner of the library' to himself, “queer thing that, about Blair. I’ve made a wrong shot, after all. Perhaps lie’ll he Poet Laureate before lie dies. Dobbs Wouldn’t have included them if they hadn’t been popular; he bargained - for popular books when ho contracted, and I really forget how many yards ho said. Why, there’s Pussie; looks -as if she had been crying her eyes out.” That was exactly what that young lady had been doing, but at her father's re-quest she came in to inspect the new library.

“There’s one author represented you know, at any rate,” said Wiggins, soothingly, as he pointed out where Hamlet Blair’s dainty volumes stood out in tlieir delicate bindings over the others.

“Oil, papa,” cried Pussie, “why you have got”—she faltered at. the name— ‘ ‘Love’s Lodestar.”

“Yes, Dobbs says he is quite a rising man,” admitted her father, “and he ought to know. And, Pussie, dear, perhaps I was a bit hard on him this afternoon. "When his books are reckoned the thing for. up-to-date library shelves they must be read. And Dobbs is doing it finely, ten to thirty shillings a yard! But you had better write and ask Blair to dinner to-mor-row to see tiie new library, and how his books look.” And that letter was soon posted !