The World Of Chance. William Dean HowellsЧитать онлайн книгу.
it and gave it to Ray. " There! You can get some idea from that of what we're going to do. Take it with you. It's manifolded, and you can keep this copy. Drop in again when you're passing."
They shook hands, but they did not part there. Mr. Brandreth followed Ray out into the store, and asked him if he would not like some advance copies of their new books; he guessed some of them were ready. He directed a clerk to put them up, and then he said, " I'd like to introduce you to one of our authors. Mr. Kane! " he called out to what Ray felt to be the gentleman's expectant back, and Mr. Kane promptly turned about from his bookshelf and met their advance half-way. "I want to make you acquainted with Mr. Ray."
" Fortune," said Mr. Kane, with evident relish of his own voice and diction, "had already made us friends, in the common interest we took in a mistaken fellow-man whom we saw stealing a bag to travel with instead of a road to travel on. Before you came in, we were street intimates of five minutes' standing, and we entered your temple of the Muses together. But I am very glad to know my dear friend by name." He gave Ray the pressure of a soft, cool hand. " My name is doubtless familiar to you, Mr. Ray. We spell it a little differently since that unfortunate affair with Abel; but it is unquestionably the same name, and we are of that ancient family. Am I right," he said, continuing to press the young man's hand, but glancing at Mr. Brandreth for correction, with ironical deference, "in supposing that Mr. Ray is one of us? I was sure," he said, letting Ray's hand go, with a final pressure, " that it must be so from the first moment! The signs of the high freemasonry of letters are unmistakable! "
" Mr. Ray," said Mr. Brandreth, " is going to cast his lot with us here in New York. He is from Midland, and he is still connected with one of the papers there."
" Then he is a man to be cherished and avoided," said Mr. Kane. " But don't tell me that he has no tenderer, no more sacred tie to literature than a meretricious newspaper connection! "
Ray laughed, and said from his pleased vanity, " Mr. Brandreth has kindly consented to look at a manuscript of mine."
" Poems? " Mr. Kane suggested.
" No, a novel," the author answered, bashfully.
" The great American one, of course? "
" We are going to see," said the young publisher gaily.
" Well, that is good. It is pleasant to have the old literary tradition renewed in all the freshness of its prime, and to have young Genius coming up to New York from the provinces with a manuscript under its arm, just as it used to come up to London, and I've no doubt to Memphis and to Nineveh, for that matter; the indented tiles must have been a little more cumbrous than the papyrus, and Were probably conveyed in an ox-cart. And when you offered him your novel, Mr. Ray, did Mr. Brandreth say that the book trade was rather dull, just now? "
"Something of that kind," Ray admitted, with a laugh; and Mr. Brandreth laughed too.
" I'm glad of that," said Mr. Kane. " It would not have been perfect without that. They always say that I've no doubt the publishers of Memphis and Nineveh said it in their day. It is the publishers' way with authors. It makes the author realize the immense advantage of getting a publisher on any terms at such a disastrous moment, and he leaves the publisher to fix the terms. It is quite right. You are launched, my dear friend, and all you have to do is to let yourself go. You will probably turn out an ocean greyhound; we expect no less when we are launched. In that case, allow an old water-logged derelict to hail you, and wish you a prosperous voyage to the Happy Isles." Mr. Kane smiled blandly, and gave Ray a bow that had the quality of a blessing.
" Oh, that book of yours is going to do well yet, Mr. Kane," said Mr. Brandreth, consolingly. " I believe there's going to be a change in the public taste, and good literature is going to have its turn again."
" Let us hope so," said Mr. Kane, devoutly. " We will pray that the general reader may be turned from the error of his ways, and eschew fiction and cleave to moral reflections. But not till our dear friend's novel has made its success! " He inclined himself again towards Ray. " Though, perhaps," he suggested, "it is a novel with a purpose? "
" I'm afraid hardly " — Ray began; but Mr. Brandreth interposed.
" It is a psychological romance — the next thing on the cards, I believe! "
" Indeed! " said Mr. Kane. " Do you speak by the card, now, as a confidant of fate; or is this the exuberant optimism of a fond young father? Mr. Ray, I am afraid you have taken our friend when he is all molten and fluid with happiness, and have abused his kindness for the whole race to your single advantage! "
" No, no! Nothing of the kind, I assure you! " said Mr. Brandreth, joyously. "Everything is on a strict business basis with me, always. But I wish you could see that little fellow, Mr. Kane. Of course it sounds preposterous to say it of a child only eight days old, but I believe he begins to notice already."
" You must get him to notice your books. Do get him to notice mine! He is beginning young, but perhaps not too young for a critic," said Mr. Kane, and he abruptly took his leave, as one does when he thinks he has made a good point, and Mr. Brandreth laughed the laugh of a man who magnanimously joins in the mirth made at his expense.
Ray stayed a moment after Mr. Kane went out, and Brandreth said, "There is one of the most puzzling characters in New York. If he could put himself into a book, it would make his fortune. He's a queer genius. Nobody knows how he lives; but I fancy he has a little money of his own; his book doesn't sell fifty copies in a year. What did he mean by that about the travelling-bag? "
Ray explained, and Mr. Brandreth said: "Just like him! He must have spotted you in an instant. He has nothing to do, and he spends most of his time wandering about. He says New York is his book, and he reads it over and over. If he could only work up that idea, he could make a book that everybody would want. But he never will. He's one of those men whose talk makes you think he could write anything; but his book is awfully dry — perfectly crumby. Ever see it? Hard Sayings f Well, goodbye! I wish I could ask you up to my house; but you see how it is! "
" Oh, yes! I see," said Ray. " You're only too good as it is, Mr. Brandreth."
X.
Ray's voice broke a little as he said this; but he hoped Mr. Brandreth did not notice, and he made haste to get out into the crowded street, and be alone with his emotions. He was quite giddy with the turn that Fortune's wheel had taken, and he Walked a long way up town before he recovered his balance. He had never dreamt of such prompt consideration as Mr. Brandreth had promised to give his novel. He had expected to carry it round from publisher to publisher, and to wait weeks, and perhaps whole months, for their decision. Most of them he imagined refusing to look at it at all; and he had prepared himself for rebuffs. He could not help thinking that Mr. Brandreth's different behavior was an effect of his goodness of heart, and of his present happiness. Of course he was a little ridiculous about that baby of his; Ray supposed that was natural, but he decided that if he should ever be a father he would not gush about it to the first person he met He did not like Mr. Brandreth's interrupting him with the account of those amateur theatricals when he was outlining the plot of his story; but that was excusable, and it showed that he was really interested. If it had not been for the accidental fact that Mr. Brandreth had taken the part of Romeo in those theatricals, he might not have caught on to the notion of A Modern Romeo at all. The question whether he was not rather silly himself to enter so fully into his plot, helped him to condone Mr. Brandreth's weakness, which was not incompatible with shrewd business sense. All that Mr. Brandreth had said of the state of the trade and its new conditions was sound; he was probably no fool where his interest was concerned. Ray resented for him the cruelty of Mr. Kane in turning the baby's precocity into the sort of joke he had made of it; but he admired his manner of saying things, too. He would work up very well in a story; but he ought to be made pathetic as well as ironical; he must be made to have had an early unhappy love-affair; the girl either to have died, or to have heartlessly jilted him. He could be the hero's friend at some important moment; Ray did not determine just at what moment; but the hero should be about to wreck his happiness, somehow,