“Take that stuff up to the editorial department,” said the business manager shortly.
“I have been up there already,” said the ordinary-looking man, “and they sent me down here. This will fill about a column. I want to talk with you about the price. The last verse runs this way:
“Then it is that weakening languors
Thicken in our veins the blood
And we must ward off these dangers
Ere we find our names are ‘Mud.’ ”
“The reading matter that follows is, as you see, typewritten, and easily read. Now, I—”
“D——n it,” said the business manager. “Don’t you come in here reading your old spring poems to me. I’ve been bored already today with a lot of ink and paper drummers. Why don’t you go to work instead of fooling away your time on rot like that?”
“I didn’t mean to bother you,” said the other man, rolling up his manuscript. “Is there another paper in the city?”
“Yes, there’s a few. Have you got a family?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then why in thunder don’t you get into some decent business, instead of going around writing confounded trash and reading it to busy people? Ain’t you got any manhood about you?”
“Excuse me for troubling you,” said the ordinary-looking man, as he walked toward the door. “I tell you how it is. I cleared over $80,000 last year on these little things I write. I am placing my spring and summer ads for the Sarsaparilla firm of which I am a member. I had decided to place about $1,000 in advertising in this town. I will see the other papers you spoke of. Good morning!”