"I am to understand, then, that the magazine is supported altogether
by gratuitous contributions?" said Beulah, unable to repress a
smile.
"Why, you see, authorship has become a sort of luxury," was the
hesitating reply.
"I think the last number of your magazine contained, among other
articles in the 'Editor's Drawer,' an earnest appeal to Southern
authors to come to the rescue of Southern periodicals?"
"True, madam. Southern intellect seems steeped in a lethargy from
which we are most faithfully endeavoring to arouse it."
"The article to which I allude also animadverted severely upon the
practice of Southern authors patronizing Northern publishing
establishments?"
"Most certainly it treated the subject stringently." He moved
uneasily.
"I believe the subscription is the same as that of the Northern
periodicals?"
A very cold bow was the only answer.
"I happen to know that Northern magazines are not composed of
gratuitous contributions; and it is no mystery why Southern authors
are driven to Northern publishers. Southern periodicals are mediums
only for those of elegant leisure, who can afford to write without
remuneration. With the same subscription price, you cannot pay for
your articles. It is no marvel that, under such circumstances, we
have no Southern literature. Unluckily, I belong to the numerous
class who have to look away from home for remuneration. Sir, I will
not trouble you with my manuscript." Rising, she held out her hand
for it; but the keen eyes had fallen upon a paragraph which seemed
to interest the editor, and, knitting his brows, he said
reluctantly: "We have not been in the habit of paying for our articles; but I
will look over this, and perhaps you can make it worth our while to
pay you. The fact is, madam, we have more trash sent us than we can
find room for; but if you can contribute anything of weight, why, it
will make a difference, of course. I did not recognize you at first,
but I now remember that I heard your valedictory to the graduating
class of the public schools. If we should conclude to pay you for
regular contributions, we wish nothing said about it."
"Very well. If you like the manuscript, and decide to pay me, you
can address me a note through the post office. Should I write for
the magazine I particularly desire not to be known." She lowered her
veil, and most politely he bowed her out.
She was accustomed to spend a portion of each Saturday in practicing
duets with Georgia Asbury, and thither she now directed her steps.
Unluckily, the parlor was full of visitors, and, without seeing any
of the family, she walked back into the music room. Here she felt
perfectly at home, and, closing the door, forgot everything but her
music. Taking no heed of the lapse of time, she played piece after
piece, until startled by the clear tones of the doctor's voice. She
looked up, and saw him standing in the door which opened into the
library, taking off his greatcoat.