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Page 43 text:
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IEIIEIIlmlllllllmllHum!IE!Imuh!:gumIIIlullllIllIlullllIIImmllIIIllllllllllllmulIIIlllllllIllIIIIllllIIIllllllllIlllllllllllllglllglllgllg be Grey Elaine Two men sat in the inner oflice of the American Publishing Association. The one at the desk was of promiscuous proportions, and dressed in as good a manner as possible for a person of his stature. When he talked he did so with confidence, like one who had had years of experience in his particular kind of business. For A. Jason Fund- lison was regarded as the authority on popular iiction, in fact, on most literary work. The other, Allen Dwight, a would-be author, was the direct antithesis of his older companion. A young man in his early twenties, he was tall, handsome, and unlike most of those who followed his profession, a young giant. Fundlison was absorbed in reading the document he held in his hands. It was very lengthy, containing about two hundred neatly typewritten pages. As he read, his face remained motionless, no sign of interest or annoyance showed on it. Dwight across the desk from him sat eagerly and expectantly awaiting his friend to speak. Finished, Fundlison placed the paper on his desk, leaned back in his chair and squarely facing the other, spoke in his usually drawling tone. Allen, I'm afraid your story won't do. I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but you know we must be careful what we take to publish. A story to be a success must have the ability of appealing to the public and that is what your story lacks. Dwight had half sensed this ever since the publisher had started to read his story, so he was somewhat prepared for the blow. Nevertheless he was greatly disappointed at the failure of his story, and this sudden setback dampened his usual lively spirit. He shrugged his shoulders, Well I guess that's the way with us writers, hit or miss. Guess I'm not cut out for one. A sigh escaped his lips as he rose. Fundlison came to his feet and walking around the desk, placed his hands on Dwight's shoulders. Buck up, Allen, plenty chance yet for you to be a successful writer. Go to it with a vim and vigor and you're bound to win. Dwight's face brightened perceptibly at this encouragement. The publisher seeing that his words had struck home, continued, My boy you have the ability to write, and if you hit it right your book will go over. Now as soon as possible I want you to write a story with a plot that will catch and hold the attention of the reader. When you have finished it bring it here to me and I will publish it. Allen needed only these words of cheer and advice. You're right, Fundlison, I'll not be a quitter and if I don't write a story that's a whopper, something will be radically wrongf' That's the way to look at it, said the publisher, have the idea that you're going to make good, and you are bound to win out. The change that had come over Dwight was remarkable. Thanks to you, Fund- lison, or I would have given up long ago. He looked at his watch. It's four-thirty now so I had better be going if I want to start that story tonight. Thought I might do a little work on it this evening after dinner. Good idea, Allen. Good-night and good luck to you. Thanks, Fundlison. Good-night. PF ik H1 Bk ak Eight o'clock found Allen in his room at the boarding house. At last ready to begin his story he sat down to think out the plot. For the next few minutes many of the recent events that happened passed through his mind. He again recalled his interview with Fundlison. I must write a good story, he said to himself, if I want to make a name for myself, and besides I need the money. He smiled. That is the most important. Say I must get down to work, he told himself. Different ideas suggested themselves, but not suiting him were discarded almost as soon as they were thought of. His thoughts again left the trend of the story. Jean 42
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Page 44 text:
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1926 The Marathon lllllllllIlllllllIlllllllIllllIlllllllIlllllllIllllllllllllIlllllllIlllllllIllIlllllllllIllIllIllllIIllllllIllllllllllllIlllllllIlullllIllllIlllllllIlllllllIllllllllllllllllullll Howell's the girl he loved, was uppermost in his mind. I must win out if only for her sake, muttered Allen, 'tshe's a peach of a girl. But the story- He was interrupted by a faint knock at the door. Startled, he jumped to his feet, and listened. Again came the summons, but a trifle louder this time. Allen tiptoed across the room. Whose's there? he demanded. It's me, Jack, came the voice from the hall. With a sigh of relief Allen opened the door, and motioned his friend in. WheW, Jack, you scared me, guess I'm nervous this eveningf' Jack Watson motioned his friend to lower his voice. Not so loud, Al. Lock the door and come here. I have something to show you, he whispered. Somewhat surprised at his friend's actions Dwight complied, and then took a seat near the other. 'tWhat is it? For a reply Watson drew forth an article from his pocket, and passed it to his friend. It was a glove, a man's glove Allen noticed on examining it, grey in color and intended for the left hand. Outside of this he could see nothing unusual about it. What of it? he demanded. Nothing out of the ordinary about that glove, Jack.'l No not on the outside, but look in here. He turned it inside out. The lining was of a light color, and on it near the top could be seen some roughly drawn lines, and here and there some writing. Looks like a plan of a building, or something to that effect, said Allen. t'That's exactly what it is, Al, said his friend, and to make matters worse it's a plan of the ground floor of the Last National Bank. Dwight emitted a low whistle. Whew, looks like an attempt to rob the place. Say, tha.t's Jean's father's bank. We ought to warn them. Shall we notify the police or what . No, we don't want those blockheads in on this. They would do more harm than good. This is my chance to solve a hard case and I'm going to take it. I have a plan and I want you to help me. Will you, old friend? Well, it's not exactly in my line, but I'm with you. Let's hear what you have to say now. Well, it's this way, began Watson, this glove, no doubt, was dropped by the principal in this intended crime. He likely rooms in this house so he will be back soon to look for it. I suggest that we put the glove back where I found it, and we two hide behind the screen at the end of the hall. When he returns we can see who it is, trail him to the bank, and catch him in the act. How about it? Great idea. We had better start right away. I'm ready. Good, so am I. Let's go. . Five minutes later they had taken up their position at the end of the hall, and waited. A half hour passed, and Allen began to think that their watch would be in vain when his friend nudged him. At this moment his ears caught the sound of some- one coming up the stairs. A moment later a figure appeared. It was a man. He walked quietly up the passageway, examining every foot of it. As he passed the dim light burning at the middle of the hall it's feeble rays fell on his face. Jack got a good look at him, and was startled by his discovery. It's the new boarder, he whispered to his friend. Allen nodded. In the meantime the visitor had found what he was after, and as quietly and quickly disappeared down the stairs. Motioning his friend to follow Watson started for the stairs. As they passed the place where the glove had lain, he noticed it was gone. They hurried below and reached the street just in time to see the man disappear- ing around the corner. There he goes, Jack, said Al, just turned the corner. Yes, We must keep close to him, but will have to be careful. I was just thinking we had better let a cop in on this after all. We need at least another witness and he can help in case it gets a little rough for us. We will probably pick one up at the next corner. 43
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