A BIT OF LIBRARY.
“Yes. Came back to St. Louis, and went to work on the ‘Journal,’ I had previously tried to ‘enter journalism’ as I called it then. About the time I was twenty-one, I went to Stilson Hutchins, and told him who I was, and he said:
“‘All right. I’ll give you a chance, but we don’t pay much.’ Of course, I told him pay didn’t matter.
THE DINING-ROOM.
“‘Well!’ he said, ‘go down to the Olympia, and write up the play there to-night,’ I went down, and I brought most of my critical acumen to bear upon an actor by the name of Charley Pope, who was playing Mercutio for Mrs. D. P. Bowers. His wig didn’t fit, and all my best writing centred about that wig. I sent the critique in, blame fine as I thought, with illuminated initial letters, and all that. Oh, it was lovely! and the next morning I was deeply pained and disgusted to find it mutilated,—all that about the wig, the choicest part, was cut out. I thought I’d quit journalism forever. I don’t suppose Hutchins connects Eugene Field with the —— fool that wrote that critique. I don’t myself,” he added with a quick half-smile, lifting again the corner of his solemn mouth. It was like a ripple on a still pool.
“Well, when did you really get into the work?” his friend asked, for he seemed about to go off into another by-path.