“Yes, but this case was particularly sad,” Penelope asserted. “The young man was all alone. He hadn’t a relative in the world. He had fought his way up and had just completed his law studies, but had not, as yet, succeeded in obtaining any practice. He was in distress and Mr. Maxwell thinks, as I do, that he was so encouraged when his poem was accepted that he came to the city with the purpose of asking employment of the editor, but being greeted so coldly and roughly, I think he could not tell the object of his visit. On his return to Buffalo, as a last hope, he wrote some poetry which was colored with his own despondent feelings, and when they were all returned to him it was the last straw—he went out and shot himself.”
“But what else could Mr. Maxwell have done, Penelope,” Richard asked, in a business way. “He could not accept work, and pay for it, that was not suitable for his periodical. I don’t see how he could reproach himself in that case.”
“I do and so does he,” she replied stoutly. “It wouldn’t have taken any more time to be kind to that man than it took to be unkind to him, and when he rejected the poetry, instead of sending back that brutal printed notice he could have had his stenographer write a line, saying the poetry, though meritorious, was not suitable for his journal. That would, at least, have eased the disappointment.”
“But editors haven’t time for such things, Penelope.”
“Then let them take time. I tell you it takes less time to be kind than to be unkind,” she maintained, nodding her head positively.
“If they were not short, bores would occupy all their time,” he persisted.
“Richard, we will not argue the case,” she said loftily, as a woman always does when she feels she is being worsted. “You can’t make me think anything will excuse a man for being brutal and unkind.”
Richard had his own opinion on the subject, but he was wise enough to refrain from trying to make Penelope have a similar one.
“I am going away,” she said, presently, finding that Dick was not averse to dropping the discussion. “Auntie has accepted an invitation to go to Washington for a few days to visit Mrs. Senator ——, and I am to go along. I rather dread it, but auntie says they won’t know as much about the Park mystery there, and I won’t be worried with reporters.”
“I hope not,” replied Dick, beginning already to feel the ghastly emptiness which pervaded the city for him when Penelope was not in it. As long as he knew Penelope was in the city, even if he did not see her, he had a certain happiness of nearness, but when she was away he felt as desolate as Adam must have done before Eve came.