" Reads popular novels.
It was given to us to see the launching throes of a nouveau novelist.
We noticed day after day a well-built young man come in to gaze at the
fiction table, a sturdy, spirited, comely chap. A fine snap to his eye
we particularly noticed, and admired. He seemed to derive much
satisfaction from this occupation and to be in an excellent frame of
mind. And then, it struck us, he grew of troubled mien. He asked us
one day how "Predestined" was selling. So we had the psychology of the
situation. He asked, on another, if we had sold a copy of
"Predestined" yet. A few days following he inquired, "How long does it
take before a book gets started?" Dejected was his mien. It took
"Predestined" some time. Then it went very well. We sold a
joyous-looking Stephen French Whitman, an embodiment of gusto--there
was a positive crackle to his fine black eyes--a pile of books
concerning themselves with Europe, and did not see him again for some
time. Then he flashed upon us a handsome new moustache.
Our acquaintance with Mrs. Wharton was--merely formal. "Oh, very
pleased," exclaimed an equiline lady, patrician unmistakable, of
aristocratic features which we recognised from the portraits of
magazines, "I'll take this.
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