There was laughter and chatting whilst Maud poured out the beverage. Then Whelpdale pursued his narrative.
‘I reached Chicago with not quite five dollars in my pockets, and, with a courage which I now marvel at, I paid immediately four dollars and a half for a week’s board and lodging. “Well,” I said to myself, “for a week I am safe. If I earn nothing in that time, at least I shall owe nothing when I have to turn out into the streets.” It was a rather dirty little boarding-house, in Wabash Avenue, and occupied, as I soon found, almost entirely by actors. There was no fireplace in my bedroom, and if there had been I couldn’t have afforded a fire. But that mattered little; what I had to do was to set forth and discover some way of making money. Don’t suppose that I was in a desperate state of mind; how it was, I don’t quite know, but I felt decidedly cheerful. It was pleasant to be in this new region of the earth, and I went about the town like a tourist who has abundant resources.’
He sipped his coffee.
‘I saw nothing for it but to apply at the office of some newspaper, and as I happened to light upon the biggest of them first of all, I put on a bold face, marched in, asked if I could see the editor. There was no difficulty whatever about this; I was told to ascend by means of the “elevator” to an upper storey, and there I walked into a comfortable little room where a youngish man sat smoking a cigar at a table covered with print and manuscript. I introduced myself, stated my business. “Can you give me work of any kind on your paper?” “Well, what experience have you had?” “None whatever.” The editor smiled. “I’m very much afraid you would be no use to us. But what do you think you could do?” Well now, there was but one thing that by any possibility I could do. I asked him: “Do you publish any fiction—short stories?” “Yes, we’re always glad of a short story, if it’s good.” This was a big daily paper; they have weekly supplements of all conceivable kinds of matter. “Well,” I said, “if I write a story of English life, will you consider it?” “With pleasure.” I left him, and went out as if my existence were henceforth provided for.’
He laughed heartily, and was joined by his hearers.
‘It was a great thing to be permitted to write a story, but then—what story? I went down to the shore of Lake Michigan; walked there for half an hour in an icy wind. Then I looked for a stationer’s shop, and laid out a few of my remaining cents in the purchase of pen, ink, and paper—my stock of all these things was at an end when I left New York. Then back to the boarding-house. Impossible to write in my bedroom, the temperature was below zero; there was no choice but to sit down in the common room, a place like the smoke-room of a poor commercial hotel in England. A dozen men were gathered about the fire, smoking, talking, quarrelling. Favourable conditions, you see, for literary effort. But the story had to be written, and write it I did, sitting there at the end of a deal table; I finished it in less than a couple of days, a good long story, enough to fill three columns of the huge paper. I stand amazed at my power of concentration as often as I think of it!’
‘And was it accepted?’ asked Dora.
‘You shall hear. I took my manuscript to the editor, and he told me to come and see him again next morning. I didn’t forget the appointment. As I entered he smiled in a very promising way, and said, “I think your story will do. I’ll put it into the Saturday supplement. Call on Saturday morning and I’ll remunerate you.” How well I remember that word “remunerate”! I have had an affection for the word ever since. And remunerate me he did; scribbled something on a scrap of paper, which I presented to the cashier. The sum was eighteen dollars. Behold me saved!’
He sipped his coffee again.
‘I have never come across an English editor who treated me with anything like that consideration and general kindliness. How the man had time, in his position, to see me so often, and do things in such a human way, I can’t understand. Imagine anyone trying the same at the office of a London newspaper! To begin with, one couldn’t see the editor at all. I shall always think with profound gratitude of that man with the peaked brown beard and pleasant smile.’