“He said your books are published more expensively than most books; that a great deal has been always expended for advertising; that it costs, for instance, $1,000 for one page of the ‘Adriatic,’ —— copies being printed; that they employ one man at a yearly salary of —— dollars to attend to having their books properly noticed in the papers; that all the machinery for a large sale is expensive; that they make forty per cent. discount to the trade—more on large orders; that Mr. Somebody makes estimates of the actual cost of books published, and submits them to him, and did so with yours, and so a fair price was fixed; that you have made more out of the books than the publishers, and that they could not and cannot afford to pay more than what has been allowed; and upon my suggestion that more had been allowed on ‘The Rights of Men,’ he said that was a thin book, and took but little paper, and so cost less. He says others will pay you much more for a single work in order to get you, but thinks the style, etc., would not be satisfactory, etc. In short, Mr. H. claims that in all respects, they have done their best as publishers and friends for your reputation and pecuniary interests in the long run.
“Mr. H. said he was sorry you did not call as he suggested, and talk about the matter; that he should never cease to be your friend—‘I wish you would tell her so;’ that in your letter you had almost charged him with dishonesty, which certainly you could not mean, etc. Upon my inquiry, he said they made less on the books at the present high prices, but he gave me no special estimates. He said he had arranged with other authors at a specified price per copy, but did not tell me what price. As the interview was at his request, I had no demands to make, and could do little but hear him. I told him I should write you to-day, placing the matter before you as he presented it; that I could not, without inquiry, say to you that I was or was not satisfied that all was right, but should be very glad to see your pleasant relations continue; and so it ended.”
This explanation was not satisfactory. If my books were published more expensively than most books, Mr. Hunt should have told me before. When the first one was to be published, he asked what style I should like, and suggested that of the “City Curate.” I preferred “Sir Thomas Browne.” He made no objection, nor even hinted that it was more expensive than the other. He wrote to me, “It will be a beauty, and look like ‘Sir Thomas Browne,’ in its red waistcoat.” And again: “I am glad you like the costume into which we put your first-born.” The following books were simply published in uniform style with the first, and nothing was ever said about it between us. As to the cost of advertising, why should it cost him more to advertise than it did other publishers, or more to advertise me than other writers? What, again, had I to do with the cost of the machinery for large sales, or with the rate of discount, unless they were gotten up and arranged solely or chiefly on my account? In that case I must indeed have been disastrous to my publishers, for I cannot think my sales have been exceptionably large. The reason alleged for the increased price allowed on “Rights of Men,” seemed trivial. True, it was but a thin book, and took but little paper, and so cost less. But it was not so thin a book as “Holidays,” on which they allowed me but ten cents, while on “Rights of Men,” accounted for after I had begun to look into the matter, they allowed fifteen cents. Yet both books were sold at the same retail price,—one dollar and fifty cents. “Rights of Men” was one hundred and forty-four pages thinner than “Winter Work,” one hundred and twenty-three pages thinner than “Cotton-picking,” ninety-eight pages thinner than “Old Miasmas.” Those books were sold at a retail price of two dollars, while this was one dollar and a half. On those books they allowed me seven and a half per cent., while on this they allowed me ten per cent.
But “Old Miasmas” is one hundred and fifty-one pages thinner than “City Lights;” “Cotton-picking” is one hundred and twenty-six pages thinner than “City Lights.” All three of the books are sold at the same retail price,—two dollars. And on all three I was allowed but seven and a half per cent. That is, while all goes smoothly, a thinness of one hundred and fifty-one pages is of no account. It neither makes the price of a book less to the buyer, nor the pay of a book greater to the author. But when ripples begin to rise, a thinness of ninety-eight pages makes the buyer's price less by fifty cents, and the author's pay greater by one-fourth. Thinness, thou art a jewel!
One thing more: as these books are published in uniform style, if they are published more expensively than most books, they must have been so published in the beginning. Therefore the relative pay of the author should then have been less. But the first contract is made out according to the usual custom, at ten per cent. on the retail price. When the author was unknown and the sale uncertain, he received ten per cent. After he became known, and the risk, one would suppose, must have been diminished, he went down to six and two-thirds per cent. Great is the mystery of publishing!
Thinking it possible that smallness of sales might have something to do with it, I wrote to Mr. Dane:—
“I can't tell a lie, pa. I wish I was satisfied, but I am not. If Mr. Hunt had said this to me in the first place, I dare say I should have been. The best light is this: that I asked him a question to which, for three months, he made no reply. You asked it, and he answered at once. This, however, is a slight matter. I can talk about it, and scold him for it, and, without ever forgiving him, live on in perfect good-humor. It is a surface matter, and if this is all it is nothing.
“But I cannot thoroughly feel that this is all, and I cannot be the same without feeling so. Mr. Jackson knew the style of the book, so did Mr. Campton, and they knew the expenses of printing; and if Mr. Hunt had so much regard for me as he thinks he had, why did he let me go on making myself wretched for weeks, when an hour's time would have set everything at rest? He who really regards me, will regard my whims as well as my wants. And this was not a whim, either; it was a sensible and natural question. Mr. Hunt is mistaken in supposing I did not mean what I seemed to mean. I did mean just that. If I had meant less, I should have felt less. I am not a simpleton to break my heart over a difference of opinion....
“I do not think it necessary to apply to any others than Marsh & Merriman, and Mr. Campton. If they think everything is as it should be, then be it resolved that it is. Enough testimony is as good as a feast. Why should others pay me more for a single work in order to get me? Can they afford to pay more than he? But there is no good in talking upon uncertainties. When we have found out any actual data, we can cipher on interminably. I trust you are pleased with the prospect. I do not think it is of any use to stop here, because inwardly I am no more content than I was when I began—not so much, in fact. I am at one of those places where it is easier to go forward than backward. Indeed, from this point it is impossible to go back to where I was when I started.
“Having slept over it, it occurs to me to say that I think you better see Mr. Campton and perhaps no one else.... I am afraid it will somehow get out.”