"Bring a glass of water--Mr. Vallance has fainted."
XII
THE PLUTONIAN FIRE
There are a few editor men with whom I am privileged to come in
contact. It has not been long since it was their habit to come in
contact with me. There is a difference.
They tell me that with a large number of the manuscripts that are
submitted to them come advices (in the way of a boost) from the
author asseverating that the incidents in the story are true. The
destination of such contributions depends wholly upon the question of
the enclosure of stamps. Some are returned, the rest are thrown on
the floor in a corner on top of a pair of gum shoes, an overturned
statuette of the Winged Victory, and a pile of old magazines
containing a picture of the editor in the act of reading the latest
copy of _Le Petit Journal_, right side up--you can tell by the
illustrations. It is only a legend that there are waste baskets in
editors' offices.
Thus is truth held in disrepute. But in time truth and science and
nature will adapt themselves to art. Things will happen logically,
and the villain be discomfited instead of being elected to the board
of directors. But in the meantime fiction must not only be divorced
from fact, but must pay alimony and be awarded custody of the press
despatches.
This preamble is to warn you off the grade crossing of a true story.
Being that, it shall be told simply, with conjunctions substituted
for adjectives wherever possible, and whatever evidences of style may
appear in it shall be due to the linotype man.
Pages:
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97