“I cannot entertain paying you such a sum for copyright,” he wrote; “you are entirely unknown as a juvenile writer, and your tale is very short. I can only offer you fifteen pounds for that; but should the book succeed as I expect, the royalties will total up no inconsiderable sum each year.”
“Fifteen pounds!” repeated Dolly in a disappointed tone. Last night she and Phyl had lain awake spending the two hundred pounds in most magnificent fashion; a trip to Stevenson’s Samoa for their mother, themselves, and Alf, being the choicest item on the list.
“Never mind,” said Freddie kindly, “I can do without the cricket things now, Dolly—Alf’ll get them for me; won’t you, Alf?” and he fondled his millionaire brother’s hand with the most respectful affection.
Dolly’s eyes went skimming along over the page to the agent’s disquisition on “Covers.” Russian leather and white parchment with rough edges were [315] ]impossible, it seemed. Mr. Ledman wrote at length, and with eloquence, of the beauties of gilt edges, and the chaste and elegant appearance of some appropriate floral emblem on a bright red, blue, or green ground. He said he proposed to include it in the well-known “Bluebell Series,” of which they had sold one million copies.
But Dolly was not entirely vanquished. She had carried with her for three long days the dear vision of sage-green Russian leather, severely plain and artistic, and the crude colouring of her shelf of “Bluebell Series” made her shudder. The voyage to the Happy Isles she relinquished with a sigh, and wrote that she accepted the offer of fifteen pounds and a royalty. But she added a most agitated couple of pages whereon she made known her undying hatred of covers of the “Bluebell” description.
The kindly agent soothed her in his next reply; she should not be in the “Bluebell Series,” he promised, and she should have the most artistic covers compatible with the fact that the book was for young readers. So she took heart again, and speedily forgot Vailima and the skies she might have seen, rough-edged parchment and everything in the world but the fact that flying forward, forward through the shouting seas was a ship, bearing in its breast that precious parcel of her very own writing, that London magic would turn into a book, a book, a book!
[316]
]Richard Clay & Sons, Limited,
BRUNSWICK STREET, STAMFORD STREET, S.E.,
AND BUNGAY, SUFFOLK.
[A1]
]Works by Ethel Turner
(MRS. H. R. CURLEWIS).
Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, bevelled boards, gilt edges, 3s. 6d.