3 325 33fl 
 
 TKe Teller 
 
 Edward Noyes 
 Westcott 
 

THE TELLER 
 
From a photograph taken in 1897. 
 
THE TELLER 
 
 A Story 
 
 By :.': 
 
 Edward Noyes Westcott 
 
 Author of David Harum 
 
 WITH THE LETTERS OF 
 EDWARD NOYES WESTCOTT 
 
 Edited by Margaret Westcott Muzzey 
 
 AND AN ACCOUNT OF HIS LIFE 
 By Forbes Heermans 
 
 New York 
 
 D. Appleton and Company 
 1901 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1899, 1901 
 BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
 
 A II rights reserved 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE TELLER 3 
 
 THE LETTERS OF EDWARD NOYES WEST- 
 
 COTT 71 
 
 EDWARD NOYES WESTCOTT ... 99 
 
 449472 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 FACING 
 PAGE 
 
 Portrait of E. N. Westcott, taken in 
 
 1897 ...... Frontispiece 
 
 Portrait of E. N. Westcott, taken in 1875 . 7 1 
 The home of E. N. Westcott, Syracuse, N. Y. . 85 
 Portrait of E. N. Westcott, taken in 1889 . . 99 
 
 Vll 
 
THE TELLER 
 
THE TELLER 
 
 I 
 
 HALF-PAST nine o'clock of a hot, 
 muggy June night in the year 187-. 
 The teller was very tired. His legs 
 ached, his back ached, and his feet 
 ached, for, save for the noon hour and 
 time for a hurried meal at six o'clock, 
 he had been on them almost without 
 intermission since nine in the morning. 
 It might almost have been said that his 
 heart ached. At any rate he was very 
 low in his mind. He had just finished 
 going over for the second time every 
 entry and every footing of the day's 
 
 3 
 
A'*llT3he Teller 
 
 business -deposit slips, exchange slips, 
 credit journal, debit journal, discount 
 register, tickler and had for the third 
 time counted all the cash. There was 
 no doubt about it : it was five dollars 
 " short." 
 
 " That makes a hundred and ninety- 
 two dollars in the last six months," he 
 said ruefully to himself. " I must have 
 the matter out with the cashier to- 
 morrow." 
 
II 
 
 THE teller was of one of the best 
 families in Chesterton. The doctor 
 (the teller's father) had been not only 
 a popular and esteemed physician, but 
 a man of breeding and culture! His 
 wife was an educated gentlewoman. 
 During the doctor's life they had lived 
 handsomely, if not showily, and the 
 teller had been brought up as the son 
 of a man in all respects well-to-do in 
 the world. At the doctor's death, how- 
 ever, it was found that he had lived up 
 to his income : there were collectable 
 accounts enough to pay his outstanding 
 debts and but little more. The old 
 house where the teller was born was 
 
 5 
 
The Teller 
 
 sold for enough over the mortgage to 
 buy a small house in a less fashionable 
 quarter of the town. There was some 
 life-insurance, and the widow had a 
 small patrimony of her own, but it was 
 necessary for her son to give up his col- 
 lege career, in which he had spent a 
 year, and find some way of earning 
 money. He found a place in the 
 Franklin Bank, where, owing to favora- 
 ble circumstances and a diligent apti- 
 tude, his promotion had been rapid ; 
 and at the time of this writing he had 
 been the teller for some three years 
 out of between seven and eight of his 
 service. 
 
 In magnitude of business the Frank- 
 lin Bank was the leading institution of 
 its kind in Chesterton. Among the 
 directors, and the largest stockholder, 
 was Mr. Alfred Samno. He was in a 
 6 
 
The Teller 
 
 large way a manufacturer of heavy 
 chemicals, so far as active business was 
 concerned, but he was a capitalist 
 besides, and interested in many enter- 
 prises. He was not a native of Ches- 
 terton, but had come there from a 
 smaller town some fifteen years earlier, 
 already a wealthy man. He was a 
 widower with two -children a boy, 
 Charles, now about seventeen, and a 
 daughter some five years older. Helen 
 Samno had been practically mistress of 
 her father's house ever since her gradu- 
 ation from school at Farmington, her 
 mother having been bedridden for a 
 year previous to her death. Her 
 brother, a boy of between eleven and 
 twelve at the time of her return, had 
 been the object of her anxious solici- 
 tude and most tender devotion, which 
 were increased if possible as he grew 
 7 
 
The Teller 
 
 older, because as the boy matured there 
 developed between father and son a 
 certain antagonism, exhibited by what 
 seemed to the boy unjust and relentless 
 criticism and repression on his father's 
 part, and to the father obdurate sullen- 
 ness on the part of the boy. The 
 Samno household was conducted upon 
 a liberal scale. The bills were paid 
 without demur or criticism, and the 
 daughter, in addition to a liberal allow- 
 ance for " pin-money," had practically 
 carte blanche for any outlay which 
 seemed proper to her. There was but 
 one restriction, and that was that she 
 should not let her brother have money. 
 The old man had gone barefooted him- 
 self till he could buy his own boots in 
 the summer, and not only could not see 
 why a young boy should want patent- 
 leather shoes, or different clothes for 
 8 
 
The Teller 
 
 evening wear, but, above all, when the 
 necessaries of life were amply at his 
 hand, why he should have money to 
 " throw away " on superfluities. Conse- 
 quently, requests for money were in- 
 variably met with a demand to know 
 what it was wanted for ; usually with a 
 refusal ; and when forthcoming the dole 
 was so small as to add another instance 
 to the boy's conviction of his father's 
 meanness. 
 
Ill 
 
 IT was the afternoon of a day 
 late in the autumn some nine months 
 earlier than the time mentioned at the 
 beginning of this narrative. There 
 came a rap on the door of Helen 
 Samno's room. "Why," she said, as 
 her brother came in and seated himself 
 before the fire, "why aren't you at 
 school ? Aren't you well ? " 
 
 " I'm all right," said the boy. " I'm 
 not going to school any more." 
 
 "What?" she exclaimed in great 
 surprise. " Who says so ? " 
 
 " I say so," was the reply ; "I've 
 been up to the office since dinner, and 
 had it out." 
 
 10 
 
The Teller 
 
 "Why, Charley!" said the sister. 
 "What did father say? what did you 
 say?" 
 
 " Well," replied Charley, " he asked 
 me why on earth I wasn't at school, and 
 I told him I'd made up my mind I 
 didn't want to go any longer. I said I 
 didn't want to go to college, and unless 
 I was going there there wasn't any use 
 of my going to school any longer ; and 
 that I was sick of it, and wanted to go 
 to work and earn some money." 
 
 "What did he say?" she asked 
 again. " Was he angry ? " 
 
 " Guess so," said the boy ; " he gen- 
 erally is when I have anything to say 
 to him ; but he didn't say much for a 
 minute, but sat with his lip pulled 
 down, the way he has. Pretty soon he 
 says, * Well, I've got along pretty well 
 without learning a lot of things that 
 ii 
 
The Teller 
 
 wouldn't have done me a cent's worth 
 of good, and I guess you can. What 
 do you want to do,' he says, ' put on 
 some overalls and go up to the yard ? ' 
 * No, sir,' I said, ' I guess I don't care 
 to go into the works at present, and 
 maybe I could work better for some- 
 body else anyway.' ' 
 
 " Charley ! " exclaimed the girl. 
 
 " I don't care," declared the boy. 
 " In the first place, I don't believe he'd 
 pay me a cent, and I get about all the 
 sulphuric acid and stuff I want at 
 home." 
 
 " Do you know what you want to 
 do ? " she asked. 
 
 " Yes," he said, " I know just what 
 I want to do, and what I'm going to 
 do, but I didn't tell the old man." 
 
 "Don't say 'the old man,' dear," 
 protested Helen ; " I don't like to hear 
 12 
 
The Teller 
 
 you. I don't think you are quite just 
 to your father," she added. 
 
 " Do you think he is just to me ?" 
 said the boy. 
 
 " I don't think you always quite un- 
 derstand each other," she said with a lit- 
 tle sigh. " But tell me about it." 
 
 " No, I should say not," he ex- 
 claimed. "Well," he said, "I'd heard 
 there was a vacancy, or going to be, 
 in the bank, and I went and applied 
 for it I didn't want the old I didn't 
 want father to have anything to do 
 with it and I'm going to work in the 
 morning," he concluded with a little air 
 of triumph, which his sister forbore to 
 disturb by suggesting that perhaps his 
 being his father's son had made some 
 difference in his reception. She got 
 up and sat on the arm of his chair and 
 put her arm about his neck. There was 
 13 
 
The Teller 
 
 a little foreboding at her heart. It 
 seemed as if a new epoch was opening 
 in her brother's life. 
 
 "What do you think, sis?" said 
 the boy, leaning his head upon her 
 shoulder. 
 
 She touched his hair with her lips, 
 and then laid her cheek upon it. " It 
 isn't just what I would like for you, 
 dear," she said, gazing thoughtfully into 
 the fire, "and not what I had hoped for 
 you, but " (recalling what the boy had 
 said, and aware of her father's preju- 
 dices) " perhaps it is the best thing, for 
 a while at least. There will be plenty 
 of time for you to change your mind." 
 
 They sat for a moment or two in 
 silence. The boy nestled his head a lit- 
 tle closer. " Sis," he said, " if everybody 
 was like you, I guess there wouldn't be 
 very much trouble in the world." 
 
The Teller 
 
 The clasp of her arm tightened a bit. 
 "I'm afraid I know myself better than 
 you do, dear," she said. " It is easy to 
 love the people we love," and a tiny 
 moist spot dampened his hair. 
 
IV 
 
 Miss SAMNO "went out" very little 
 for the two years after her return from 
 school. It may be said, in passing, that 
 there were a good many people of those 
 who constituted the most exclusive 
 " set " in Chesterton who did not know 
 the Samnos, using the word "know," so 
 far as Miss Samno was concerned, in its 
 literal sense. Her father and mother 
 had no social leanings or accomplish- 
 ments, and the young woman, at the 
 time when she might naturally have 
 made some appearance in society, had 
 been secluded by her duties and care for 
 her mother and a year of deep mourn- 
 ing. It was something over two years 
 16 
 
The Teller 
 
 previous to the event noted in the last 
 chapter that the teller first met her. 
 The occasion was one of a series of 
 subscription parties given annually by 
 the young men of Chesterton. Our 
 friend the teller was one of the com- 
 mittee. To him came an acquaintance 
 Hildred by name, and known to his 
 friends as Tom and Tommy. "Say," 
 said Tom, " I want to introduce you to 
 a young woman I've brought here to- 
 night, and I want you to dance with 
 her and help fill up her card." 
 
 "With pleasure," said the teller; 
 4 'but, of course, I'm rather on general 
 duty to-night, you know. Who is your 
 friend?" 
 
 "Miss Helen Samno," said Tom, 
 " and this is her first large party, and I 
 want her to have a good time." 
 
 " Samno ? " said the teller. 
 17 
 
The Teller 
 
 "Yes," said Tommy, "daughter of 
 old Samno, who's one of your di- 
 rectors." 
 
 " I didn't know he had a daughter," 
 remarked the teller. 
 
 " Well, you bet he's got a daughter," 
 said Tom. " You come and find out." 
 The other laughed at Tom's obvious en- 
 thusiasm, being quite unable to imagine 
 that any daughter of the man in ques- 
 tion would be likely to justify it, but he 
 found himself startled almost out of his 
 good manners when he was presented to 
 
 the girl. If this were a novel now 
 
 I can only relate that he instantly ar- 
 rived at the conviction that she was 
 the most beautiful girl he had ever seen; 
 he later decided that she was the most 
 charming; and it hardly seems neces- 
 sary to add that his responsibilities as a 
 committee-man were only remembered 
 18 
 
The Teller 
 
 as he recalled their neglect. He went 
 home in a very humble frame of pro- 
 found exaltation, in love for the first 
 and last time in his life. (I know it is 
 so, because I have his word for it.) 
 
 Our friend met Miss Helen fre- 
 quently that winter, and there came 
 about the sort of friendship so called, 
 which has love on one side of it, some- 
 times on both. In the two years which 
 followed there was rarely a week, ex- 
 cept sometimes when she was away in 
 the summer, when he did not spend 
 some hours in the Samno house, and at 
 the end of the time he was more in love 
 than ever. In the earlier stages of his 
 disorder he often questioned himself as 
 to what the outcome could possibly be, 
 realizing that neither his circumstances 
 nor prospects were such as to justify 
 him in committing himself to an avowal 
 
 19 
 
The Teller 
 
 which would call for response. But as 
 time went on and his feeling for the 
 girl strengthened he put questions to 
 one side and drifted. Of her feeling 
 for him he did not know. She treated 
 him, for the most part, with a frank 
 friendliness which gave him no encour- 
 agement to feel that she did more than 
 to like him perhaps rather better than 
 most of the men who came to her 
 house, and yet once or twice some sub- 
 tle thing suggested that perhaps she 
 cared for him in a different way. He 
 longed to know, and yet he feared to 
 know. The present was so good that 
 he would keep the future out of his 
 mind. 
 
 20 
 
V 
 
 THE advent of a new clerk in the 
 Franklin Bank was not an event of suf- 
 ficient magnitude to make much stir 
 behind the counter. - The teller shook 
 hands smilingly, hoping that the new 
 boy would like his work, and then went 
 on with his preparations for the day's 
 business, leaving Helen's brother to the 
 ministrations of the young gentleman 
 whose place the novice was to fill, and 
 who was to stay for a day or two, to 
 post the latter in his duties. In his 
 visits at the Samno house our friend 
 had from the first occasionally come in 
 contact with Master Charley, but at the 
 outset his advances toward friendliness 
 21 
 
The Teller 
 
 had been met with so little response, 
 and that of a sort of sulky shyness, that 
 he had come to treat the boy with no 
 more attention than politeness required, 
 and to regard him as rather a sullen 
 young cub, whose occasional presence 
 in the drawing-room for a while was a 
 thing to be endured with patience. He 
 had no suspicion that the boy was jeal- 
 ous of him, and regarded him as the 
 most possibly dangerous rival in the re- 
 gard of his sister, whose devotion he 
 returned to a passionate degree. Con- 
 versation used to languish when Master 
 Charles was about, and our friend was 
 sometimes made as nearly angry with 
 Miss Helen as it was possible for him 
 to be by what seemed to him rather an 
 ostentatious effort to keep the young 
 fellow in the room. All topics were in- 
 teresting to the teller which Miss Samno 
 22 
 
The Teller 
 
 cared to discuss, but the one which the 
 least excited his sympathy was her 
 brother. During the months that fol- 
 lowed, however, he had to reply to 
 many questions regarding the boy's 
 progress in his work, his diligence, his 
 popularity in the office, et c&tera, and 
 he was glad to reply to her queries in a 
 way to give her satisfaction, though it 
 was a trifle embarrassing at times, as it 
 might have been supposed that it was 
 the young woman's impression that 
 most of the teller's solicitude during 
 business hours was for the clerk and the 
 proper outcome of his efforts, and that 
 his particular functions were of an im- 
 portance transcending all others in the 
 office. This made it a little difficult 
 for the teller, particularly as he surmised 
 that Charley got pretty well questioned 
 as to matters and things in general, and 
 23 
 
The Teller 
 
 he did not wish statements to conflict. 
 But he was able to assure her that her 
 brother not only seemed interested, but 
 showed rather unusual aptitude for his 
 duties. 
 
 Miss Samno was more at ease in 
 her mind than she had been for a long 
 time. Since her brother had had inter- 
 esting and remunerative occupation the 
 sullen look in his face seemed to be 
 giving way to a happier expression; but 
 her serenity was much disturbed by an 
 incident which took place when he had 
 been in the bank between two and three 
 months. Something had happened to 
 annoy the elder Samno. During the 
 first part of dinner he was not only 
 silent, but from the expression of his 
 face it was plain that he was in a very 
 irritable frame of mind. 
 
 Presently he said to his son, " What 
 24 
 
The Teller 
 
 are you doing with your salary in the 
 bank spending it ? " 
 
 " I have bought some things for 
 myself," said the boy, " some trousers 
 and neckties, and so on." 
 
 "How about the balance of it?" 
 asked his father. " How much have 
 you drawn ? " 
 
 " Forty dollars," said the lad. 
 
 " What have you done with the rest 
 of it ? " demanded the old man. 
 
 " I have spent it for things," said the 
 boy. 
 
 "What is your salary?" asked the 
 father. 
 
 " Two hundred and fifty dollars," re- 
 plied the boy. 
 
 " Very well," said the old man. " I 
 
 conclude that you are intending to get 
 
 rid of it for one thing and another as 
 
 fast as you earn it. I consider that 
 
 3 25 
 
The Teller 
 
 fifty dollars a year is quite as much 
 money as you ought to spend over and 
 above your board, which costs you 
 nothing, and I shall instruct the cashier 
 not to allow you to draw more than 
 that amount ; the balance," he added, 
 " I will take charge of for you." 
 
 The boy's face turned purple. He 
 got up and left the table and the room 
 without a word. Helen rose also. Her 
 father looked up at her. For the first 
 time in her life she faced him with her 
 face flaming with anger, but she also 
 left the room without speaking. 
 
 26 
 
VI 
 
 TROUBLE for the teller began in De- 
 cember. One night his cash was short 
 for five dollars, and his efforts to dis- 
 cover the error were unavailing. A few 
 nights after another shortage occurred 
 of the same amount. For a few days 
 there was no further trouble, and then 
 another deficiency occurred. And so 
 it went on until the result was as related 
 in the first chapter. "Yes," said the 
 teller that night, " I must have this 
 thing out with the cashier in the morn- 
 ing. It can't go any further." But the 
 cashier was late the next morning. There 
 was no available interval in the morn- 
 ing's work, and no opportunity to make 
 27 
 
The Teller 
 
 the intended disclosure. While the teller 
 was counting up his cash after the close, 
 he heard the cashier's bell, and a moment 
 after a clerk said to him, " Mr. Nollis 
 wants to speak to you." 
 
 " I stayed down this noon," he said 
 to the teller, turning his chair and 
 resting his arm upon his desk, " and 
 it occurred to me to look over the 
 cash items. There was one on your 
 book for a hundred and ninety -two 
 dollars which I did not find. What 
 is it?" 
 
 The teller's face flushed, and his 
 hand shook a little as he produced a 
 slip with a list of figures and dates. 
 " I intended to speak to you about 
 it this very day," he said. 
 
 " What is this ? " said the cashier, as 
 he ran his eye down the column to the 
 footing " shortages in the cash?" he 
 28 
 
The Teller 
 
 asked, laying his hand flat down upon 
 the paper. 
 
 -Yes, sir." 
 
 " H'm," said the cashier, looking at 
 the slip again, " going back to Decem- 
 ber." 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 -Why haven't I been told of this 
 before ? " he demanded, looking sharply 
 up over his glasses. 
 
 -Well, sir," said the teller, "it has 
 been a question with me of the time 
 when to speak to you. I have been 
 at my wit's end over the matter. All 
 the time the shortages have been fol- 
 lowing each other there have been in- 
 tervals of a week sometimes, and I 
 would fancy that whatever was wrong 
 had perhaps come to an end, and " 
 
 The cashier shook his head. " It 
 should have been reported to me," he 
 29 
 
The Teller 
 
 said, " the moment you determined that 
 there was something beyond mere error 
 at work." 
 
 " But," urged the teller, " it took me 
 a long time to come to that suspicion, 
 and even now " 
 
 The cashier stopped him with an 
 interposing gesture. "The fact should 
 have been reported to me," he said. 
 "You would at least have relieved your- 
 self of the responsibility which you 
 have chosen I don't understand why 
 to assume. As it is," he added, " I must 
 ask you to make the shortage good, and 
 in future I shall expect to be notified at 
 once of anything out of the common." 
 
 "Very well, sir," said the teller, 
 clinching his hands very tight. " See- 
 ing that I am to stand the loss, need 
 the matter be mentioned outside of 
 ourselves ? " 
 
 30 
 
The Teller 
 
 The cashier looked sharply at him 
 for the second time. " I don't know," 
 he said, and for a while he tapped 
 the blotting-pad softly with his glasses. 
 "I think," he said at last, " that I 
 must speak of it to the president, 
 but I will mention your wish that it 
 be kept quiet, though," he added, " I 
 do not at the moment see why it 
 should be." 
 
 "There are a number of reasons," 
 declared the teller, " one of which is 
 that to let it get out will be to give 
 warning. Do you think that I took 
 the money ? " he asked impulsively after 
 a moment. 
 
 " No," said the cashier rather coldly, 
 " I do not. But for reasons of your 
 own you have kept the fact from me 
 that some one in the office has been pil- 
 fering, and I am bound to let Mr. Hal- 
 Si 
 
The Teller 
 
 cott know all the facts, that he may take 
 such measures as he sees fit." 
 
 " I should have told you this very 
 day," urged the teller. 
 
 " Yes," said the cashier dryly, put- 
 ting on his glasses and taking up a pen, 
 " but you didn't, you know, until I had 
 found out something was wrong my- 
 self." The teller saw a great light. 
 
 The next day he kept a sheet of 
 ledger-paper on his counter, and set 
 down in the right-hand column every 
 amount of actual cash received, enter- 
 ing in the other column every cash pay- 
 ment. The sum of the right-hand col- 
 umn added to the amount of cash with 
 which he began in the morning less the 
 total of the left-hand column would 
 show him at any hour of the day what 
 money he should have on hand ; and by 
 keeping the currency well counted up 
 32 
 
The Teller 
 
 and strapped, except the loose cash in 
 the drawer, he could balance his cash at 
 almost any time in the day when he had 
 a few minutes of time.* 
 
 Things went on smoothly for a 
 time, and no one seemed to notice 
 that the teller was doing anything 
 out of the common. He accounted 
 plausibly for bringing his luncheon 
 instead of going out for it. It was 
 the custom for all the employees ex- 
 cept the teller and one clerk to go 
 to their noon meal at twelve o'clock, 
 returning at one. 
 
 It was between these hours some 
 ten days later. There were no custom- 
 ers in the office. The morning's busi- 
 ness had been light. Charley Samno 
 
 * I believe that this is now the general practice, 
 but at the time of which I anvwriting it had not been 
 done in the banks of Chesterton. 
 
 33 
 
The Teller 
 
 was at a desk around a corner from the 
 teller's counter, making entries in the 
 foreign register. The teller counted his 
 cash and found it right. He went out 
 into the front room and sat down for a 
 few minutes with the New York paper. 
 A man came in with a check for a hun- 
 dred dollars, asking for large bills. The 
 teller gave him two fifty-dollar notes, 
 and almost mechanically ran over the 
 loose currency in the drawer. He 
 looked at the slip upon which he had 
 just made up the cash. The loose cur- 
 rency was one hundred and five dollars 
 less than when he had counted it. With 
 a quick-beating heart and hands that 
 trembled somewhat he counted all the 
 money again. It was five dollars 
 "short." I could devote considerable 
 space to the relation of some of the 
 thoughts and reflections which passed 
 34 
 
The Teller 
 
 through our friend's mind in the next 
 five minutes, and I think it natural that 
 among them should have been that he 
 himself was under censure if not suspi- 
 cion, and that he had been mulcted of 
 nearly two hundred dollars, a grievous 
 sum to a man on a salary, and repre- 
 sentinglots of things ! He went past 
 the corner of the counter and perched 
 himself upon a high stool. 
 
 " I say, Charley," he said the boy 
 looked up inquiringly " could you let 
 me have five dollars for a while ? " 
 
 The boy's mouth twitched, and he 
 changed color a little. " What do you 
 mean?" he said. 
 
 " I'm hard up," said the teller, "and 
 thought maybe you could let me have 
 a five-dollar note for a while." 
 
 " I guess," said the boy sullenly, as 
 he turned his face and made as if to 
 
 35 
 
The Teller 
 
 look up a page in the register index, 
 " that it would be more like business if 
 I asked you to lend me five dollars. I'd 
 like to see a five-dollar bill in my pocket- 
 book," he added. 
 
 " Can't let me have it, then ?" 
 
 " Can't give you what I haven't got," 
 asserted the boy doggedly. 
 
 The teller looked at the clock. It 
 was five minutes of one. He looked at 
 the boy, whose face was turned down 
 sideways as he made an entry on the 
 register. " Charley," he said, " I have 
 been thinking for some time that a bank 
 isn't a good place for a young fellow 
 like you. I don't think you will ever 
 do yourself justice, and if I were you I 
 wouldn't stay here. I should think now 
 that your father's business " 
 
 The door opened, and in came one 
 of the bookkeepers and the discount 
 36 
 
The Teller 
 
 clerk. Charley got down off the stool 
 and made a step toward his hat. 
 
 " Think of what I have said," urged 
 the teller quickly in a low voice ; " it's 
 good advice." 
 
 37 
 
VII 
 
 Miss SAMNO rose from her chair 
 with an air that indicated a wish to bring 
 the interview to an end. " You have 
 said nothing," she declared, " to change 
 my opinion. I don't suppose you as- 
 saulted my brother, and perhaps you 
 didn't actually abuse him, but something 
 you have said or done, or both, drove 
 him out of the bank, and it must have 
 been something pretty bad, for when 
 my father threatened to send him off to 
 Saginaw to work in his lumber mill as 
 a common laborer unless he went back 
 to the bank he actually seemed relieved 
 at the idea." 
 
 The teller stood for a moment star- 
 38 
 
The Teller 
 
 ing at the pattern of the carpet. " I 
 am very sorry," he said, in a tone which 
 proved his words. " I can say no more 
 than I have." 
 
 " Which has been simply nothing at 
 all," declared the young woman, turning 
 her back. 
 
 " Good night," said the teller. 
 
 "Good night," she said over her 
 shoulder. 
 
 " I'm sorry, my dear fellow," said 
 Mr. Nollis some days later, " and so is 
 the president, but Mr. Samno insisted 
 upon it. We said what we could, but 
 he would hear nothing, and finally as 
 good as threatened Mr. Halcott to turn 
 him out of office at the next election 
 unless you were discharged." 
 
 " That teller chap up at the bank 
 won't bully no more young boys out of 
 
 39 
 
The Teller 
 
 their places," remarked Mr. Samno to 
 his daughter. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " she asked. 
 
 "I mean," he said, "that I made 
 Halcott give him the sack." 
 
 40 
 
VIII 
 
 THE next time Helen Samno saw 
 the teller (the ex-teller now) he was in 
 overalls, helping to load a dray with 
 nail-kegs. She was in a carriage. He 
 looked up and caught her glance, and 
 instantly turned away. Once again 
 they met in the street. This time he 
 looked her full in the face, and she gave 
 no sign of recognition. 
 
 Life had changed very much for the 
 ex-teller, and he took it harder perhaps 
 than he need have done. As his story 
 got about, there were a good many of 
 his friends who thought he had been ill- 
 used, and made kindly advances ; but 
 his pride had been cruelly hurt, and if 
 4 41 
 
The Teller 
 
 he did not repel them he neglected 
 them, which in the long run comes to 
 the same thing ; and, indeed, with an 
 income just above poverty, and daily 
 fatigue which sent him to sleep at nine 
 o'clock, society was rather out of the 
 question. But the worst was to come. 
 His mother was his chief resource and 
 consolation. She believed in him with- 
 out a misgiving. The changes in their 
 way of living which his diminished in- 
 come necessitated were hard to her only 
 as they affected him. All that had ever 
 passed between them regarding his dis- 
 missal from the bank was his account of 
 the affair, her one question whether he 
 felt that he had done anything unworthy 
 of himself, and his reply in the negative. 
 She put her arms about his neck and 
 kissed him, and that was all. And yet 
 it all weighed upon her, and though 
 42 
 
The Teller 
 
 her face was ever cheerful to him, she 
 brooded over it. She had never been 
 strong since the death of her husband, 
 and in a little more than a year after his 
 misfortune the ex-teller was alone in the 
 world. 
 
 It was a day in December of the 
 second year following the opening of 
 this story. When the ex-teller came 
 back from his noonday meal the book- 
 keeper of Kegbar & Co. handed him an 
 envelope directed to him. It contained 
 merely a request that he call at the 
 writer's house that evening if conve- 
 nient, and was signed, " Yours truly, 
 Alfred Samno." 
 
 He tore the note into pieces and 
 threw it on the floor, but after supper 
 he found himself dressing in the best of 
 what were left of his old clothes (they 
 were shabbier than they need to have 
 43 
 
The Teller 
 
 been, for he had become careless of his 
 dress), and trying to put his hands in 
 sightly condition. He looked at them 
 grimly when he had done his utmost. 
 They did not look much like the teller's 
 hands. He was shown into the library. 
 A fire of cannel was blazing and sput- 
 tering in the grate, in front of which 
 were two leather chairs. A small table 
 stood between them, on which was a 
 box of cigars, an ash-tray, and matches. 
 The farther chair was occupied by 
 Mr. Samno. He rose and put out his 
 hand (an honor which our friend would 
 have liked to decline) with a "Good 
 evening." 
 
 " Good evening, sir," said the ex- 
 teller. 
 
 "Will you take that chair," said Mr. 
 Samno, "and will you have a cigar?" 
 as the young man seated himself. 
 44 
 
The Teller 
 
 " Thank you, no," said the latter. 
 He was not then prepared to accept 
 any hospitality at Mr. Samno's hands. 
 
 Mr. Samno looked into the fire for 
 a moment or two. It appeared as if he 
 were a little at loss how or where to be- 
 gin. The young man looked up at him 
 once and then gave his attention to the 
 leaping blaze. Presently, without any 
 preface, the older man said, " You're 
 clerking it for Kegbar & Co., ain't 
 you?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " What are you getting ?" 
 
 " Forty dollars a month." 
 
 " Been there ever since you left 
 the bank?" 
 
 " Ever since I was turned out of 
 the bank," replied the young man, 
 " except the month it took me to find 
 the place." 
 
 45 
 
The Teller 
 
 " H'm," said the other, twisting his 
 long upper lip from side to side. 
 " How much was that shortage you 
 made up ? " 
 
 "A hundred and ninety-seven dol- 
 lars." 
 
 The old man took out a memo- 
 randum-book. "One ninety-two they 
 told me," he said, turning to the ex- 
 teller. 
 
 " There was another deficit of five 
 dollars," said the latter, " later on." 
 
 "That was the last day my son was 
 at the bank, wasn't it ? " asked the old 
 man, staring straight in front of him. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Mr. Samno took a pencil out of his 
 pocket and made a calculation in his 
 memorandum-book. Then he rose and 
 went over to a desk, and presently came 
 back with a slip of paper in his hand, 
 46 
 
The Teller 
 
 which he folded twice and laid upon 
 the table. 
 
 " Something has come to my knowl- 
 edge lately," he said, after a moment or 
 so, " and whether, as far as I'm person- 
 ally concerned, I'm glad or sorry I didn't 
 know it before I don't know. One 
 thing I will say, that as far as you are 
 concerned I'm sorry.- I've done a little 
 figuring," he added, fingering the folded 
 slip with his left hand, " and so far as 
 the cash part of the business goes, I 
 think those figures are pretty near 
 right," and he offered the paper to the 
 young man. " Look at it, please," he 
 said. 
 
 Our friend took the paper mechan- 
 ically and unfolded it. It was a check 
 for sixteen hundred and twenty dollars. 
 
 " What does this mean ?" he asked, 
 looking blankly at Mr. Samno. 
 
 47 
 
The Teller 
 
 " It means," said the latter, " that I 
 owe you sixteen hundred and twenty 
 dollars : the money you made good to 
 the bank ; the difference between what 
 you've earned and what you would 
 have earned ; and interest, as near as I 
 can figure it now, on the whole thing." 
 
 The young fellow sprang to his feet 
 with his face in a flame. " Is it for 
 this," he cried, "that you have asked 
 me to come here to-night ? To pay 
 me back dollar for dollar the mere 
 money involved in what has ruined my 
 life, and what I believe shortened my 
 mother's. You turned me into the 
 street with a stigma upon my charac- 
 ter which will go to the grave with 
 me to find what drudgery I could to 
 keep me from starvation, you separated 
 me from every friend I had in the 
 world, and you offer me what you say 
 
The Teller 
 
 you have * figured up ' as my loss. If 
 money could make it all good to me, 
 and the amount were ten times a hun- 
 dred times as much, I would not write 
 my name on the back of your check," 
 and the ex-teller tore the folded paper 
 in half, threw it into the fire, and 
 pushed his chair on one side to make 
 way for leaving the room. 
 
 The tall old man rose and raised his 
 hand. " Wait," he said, and there was 
 that in his manner which checked the 
 younger man's impetuosity, "wait, and 
 hear me out. You have been badly 
 treated, I allow. You have had a hard 
 time of it. What you say is a good 
 deal true. I done wrong, and I'm 
 sorry for 't. I want to make it up to 
 you far's I can. I'm an old man, 
 and I know some folks think I'm 
 a pretty hard one. Don't you be 
 
 49 
 
The Teller 
 
 harder'n I am ; and remember that if 
 you hadn't kept things to yourself the 
 way you did you needn't have lost your 
 place. But I ain't throwing that up to 
 you I'm the last man in the world 
 now to do that. If I'd known then 
 what I know now, I don't know what 
 would have happened. As it is, my 
 boy and I are on good terms, and, 
 please God, we're going to stay so. 
 He thought I was hard on him, and I 
 can see now that I was. I've suffered 
 some over this business more'n you'd 
 think perhaps ; but you wa'n't to blame, 
 and I was, mostly. You've suffered a 
 good deal. I've said I wanted to make 
 it right, and it seemed to me I ought to 
 begin with the money end. I couldn't 
 make it less than what you was out, but 
 I couldn't offer you more, could I ? 
 not in money? You say," he con- 
 
 50 
 
The Teller 
 
 tinued, "sit down, won't you that 
 I've ruined your life. Well, I can't 
 give you back the last eighteen months, 
 but at your age lives ain't ruined as 
 easy as you think. You say you got a 
 smirch that you'll carry to your grave : 
 well, Alfred Samno's word goes for 
 something in this community, and 
 you're going to have it at all times. I 
 will tell you, for one thing, that I got 
 the directors of the bank together to- 
 day and set you straight there. I told 
 them that I'd been responsible for your 
 dismissal, and that I was wrong and 
 sorry, and that if any of them had 
 heard of anything to your discredit I'd 
 be answerable that it wasn't so. I 
 didn't go into details why I brought 
 the matter up, and I don't know what 
 they thought, but I've put you straight." 
 The speaker was silent for a moment. 
 
The Teller 
 
 " What are your notions ? " he said at 
 length. " You don't calculate to stay 
 with Kegbar & Co. always, I reckon." 
 
 " I'm going to Chicago day after to- 
 morrow," said the young man. "An 
 old school friend has offered me some 
 sort of a chance out there, and I'm 
 going out to look into it." 
 
 11 Does it take any money?" asked 
 Mr. Samno. 
 
 "I have a little money from my 
 mother," said the ex-teller. 
 
 " Wouldn't you rather stay in Ches- 
 terton if you could do just as well ? " 
 asked the elder man. 
 
 " I hope to turn my back on Ches- 
 terton forever," said the young man bit- 
 terly. " The place is hateful to me." 
 
 Mr. Samno sat for a minute, 
 thoughtfully opening and closing his 
 eye-glasses. "Well," he said, "I ex- 
 52 
 
The Teller 
 
 pected to find you pretty sore, but 
 you're harder'n I thought you'd be, 
 and harder'n I think you ought to be. 
 I've admitted a good deal, and tried to 
 put things right, but if you can't meet 
 me I don't say half-way, but some of 
 the way, I don't know what I can do. 
 You say you're going West day after 
 to-morrow. We won't talk any more 
 to-night I've had rather a trying day ; 
 but suppose you come into my office in 
 the morning. Maybe we can come to 
 a better understanding. What do you 
 say?" 
 
 The young man rose to depart. 
 "Thank you," he said, "I believe you 
 mean to be kind, but I think every- 
 thing has been said between us. Un- 
 less I find things in Chicago different 
 from what I expect, my plans are 
 made ; and in any case I do not feel 
 53 
 
The Teller 
 
 that I could accept anything at your 
 hands." 
 
 " Very well," said the old man 
 rather sadly, rising from his chair, " if 
 that's your last word." They passed 
 out of the room together, and saying 
 " Good-night," Mr. Samno went up the 
 stairs, and our friend sought his hat and 
 coat in the hall. As he took the latter 
 from the hook, a maid approached him, 
 saying : " Miss Samno wants to know if 
 you won't come into the drawing-room 
 a moment.!' 
 
 He hung up his coat again and went 
 slowly into the drawing-room. Many 
 memories of the familiar house were in 
 his mind, but the evidence of his recol- 
 lection of the last time he had met the 
 young mistress of it when she had 
 met his look and passed him without 
 recognition was in his face. She was 
 54 
 
The Teller 
 
 sitting at the far end of the long room 
 in a low chair placed sideways to the 
 fire, and apparently did not notice his 
 approach until he stood opposite to her 
 at the other side of the hearth. She 
 rose and offered him her hand, which 
 he took for an instant. There was no 
 
 other greeting. " The maid " he 
 
 began after a moment. 
 
 " Yes," she said, coloring faintly, " I 
 told her to watch for your going, and 
 if you did not come in here to give 
 you the message. I had some things 
 I wanted to say to you, and to ask 
 you." 
 
 "Yes?" he said, and at her request 
 took the chair at his side. He sat with 
 his face half turned, gazing into the fire. 
 She took in with a glance his half- 
 shabby coat and trousers, his patched 
 shoes, and the broken finger nails on 
 55 
 
The Teller 
 
 the hand which rested on the arm of 
 his chair. 
 
 " I knew that my father had asked 
 you to come here to-night," she said 
 presently, " and, of course, I knew why 
 he wished to see you." The young 
 man's brows contracted for an instant, 
 but he did not speak. She waited a 
 moment. 
 
 " Have you forgiven us ?" she asked 
 in a low voice. 
 
 "Us? "he said. 
 
 " Yes," she replied, " my father, 
 and brother, and me." 
 
 " I have suffered the consequences 
 of my own folly," he said, " as your 
 father has pointed out to me this eve- 
 ning." 
 
 "Oh," she cried, looking incredu- 
 lously at him, " he couldn't have said 
 that!" 
 
 56 
 
The Teller 
 
 " He did not say it unkindly," said 
 the ex-teller, " and he only told me what 
 I knew myself." 
 
 "What did he mean?" she asked. 
 "What did he say?" 
 
 "Pardon me," he said. "It is all 
 over and done with. I don't wish to 
 be rude, but I would rather not discuss 
 the matter," and he 'reached down and 
 picked up a glove which had fallen to 
 the floor. 
 
 She thought he was going. "You 
 shall not go," she exclaimed, " until you 
 have heard me. I know," she went on 
 quickly, with a nod of her head, " what 
 your ' folly ' as you call it was, and 
 how dear it cost you. I know why my 
 brother left the bank. I know how 
 your ' folly ' stood between him and dis- 
 grace, and from what might, at the 
 time, have estranged him from his 
 
 s 57 
 
The Teller 
 
 father perhaps for life, and ruined the 
 boy ; for, though the disclosure has 
 been made, it was under circumstances 
 which worked for pity and gentleness 
 instead of the unsparing condemnation 
 which would have come upon him at 
 the time. Your * folly ' has brought a 
 blessing to this house. I have just 
 come back from Saginaw," she said, 
 after a moment's pause. Her com- 
 panion looked up inquiringly. " Yes," 
 she said, " I have been there several 
 weeks. My brother had quite a serious 
 accident. Papa was away at the time, 
 and I went on alone. Charley had 
 broken an arm and injured his head. 
 When I got there he partly recovered 
 consciousness, but it was several days 
 before the doctor could give a favorable 
 opinion. Somehow my first despatch 
 failed to reach papa, and he did not get 
 
 58 
 
The Teller 
 
 the news until he returned here. By 
 that time Charley was pretty well out 
 of danger, and there was no special 
 reason for papa's coming to Saginaw ; 
 but he did some ten days later. When 
 my brother had got well enough to talk 
 pretty freely, I noticed that he seemed 
 to be brooding over something, some- 
 thing that I thought he wanted to tell 
 me, but dreaded to. I have been the 
 one person," said the girl, "whom the 
 poor fellow trusted and confided in, 
 and at last I induced him to tell what 
 was on his mind ; but the thought of 
 his father's knowing it was very dread- 
 ful to him. Did papa tell you anything 
 of this ? " she asked. 
 
 " No," was the reply, " he only spoke 
 of something having lately come to his 
 knowledge." 
 
 " Well," she resumed, " I said to my 
 59 
 
The Teller 
 
 brother that papa would have to be told 
 of it some time, because great wrong 
 and injustice had been done, and that 
 when he came on would be the best 
 time. 'I don't think he will be hard 
 with you/ I said to him, 'seeing that 
 you are ill ; and he has changed a good 
 deal since you left home in some 
 ways/" 
 
 " Was he ?" said our friend. 
 
 " No," said Helen, " he was terribly 
 shocked and grieved, but he was very 
 gentle with Charley. Indeed, I never 
 saw him show so much tenderness, and 
 the poor boy's heart went out to him, I 
 think for the first time in his life. He 
 told me afterward that he had never 
 once before in his life thought that his 
 father loved him." The ex-teller sat 
 with his eyes on the fire, slowly draw- 
 ing his gloves through his left hand. 
 60 
 
The Teller 
 
 "Are you sorry that I have told 
 you this ?" she said. 
 
 " No," he replied gently, " I am very 
 glad to hear it." There was silence for 
 a little space. 
 
 "Will you pardon my curiosity," 
 she said presently, "if I ask you what 
 took place between you and my father 
 to-night ? " 
 
 "We had some talk together," he 
 replied. 
 
 " Did you come to any conclusion ?" 
 she asked. 
 
 " No, not exactly. I had come to 
 one before I saw him." She looked up 
 inquiringly. " I am going to Chicago 
 day after to-morrow," he said. Her 
 lips tightened quickly as she turned 
 away. 
 
 "Did you tell him so?" she asked, 
 after a moment. 
 
 61 
 
The Teller 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "What did he say?" 
 
 "He asked if I would not rather 
 stay here if I could do as well." 
 
 "And you?" said the girl, address- 
 ing the fireplace. 
 
 " I said the place was hateful to me, 
 and I hoped to be able to leave it 
 forever." She lifted her handkerchief 
 from her lap and dropped it two or 
 three times. 
 
 " Did he give you to understand 
 that he wanted to try to make up to 
 you what you had lost, and as far as 
 possible something of what you have 
 undergone ? " 
 
 " He offered me his check for six- 
 teen hundred dollars," said the ex-teller, 
 looking at a patch on his left shoe, 
 "and said I should always have his 
 good word." 
 
 62 
 
The Teller 
 
 " A-a-h ! " exclaimed the young wom- 
 an with a frown. " Do you mean to 
 say that that was all ? " she demanded, 
 looking squarely at him. 
 
 " He asked me to come to his office 
 in the morning," was his reply. 
 
 " I know, of course, that you de- 
 clined," she said with a little asperity, 
 " but I should like to know what you 
 said." 
 
 " I told him," said the ex-teller, 
 "that I did not feel that I could accept 
 anything at his hands." 
 
 She turned to him with an expres- 
 sion that was half indignant. His head 
 was bent, and he was softly tapping the 
 palm of his left hand with the fingers of 
 his gloves. The new nail on his right 
 thumb was only half grown. She bit 
 her lip and turned her face. " I am 
 very sorry," she said gently and sadly. 
 
 63 
 
The Teller 
 
 " My father is greatly softened in many 
 ways. He has taken this matter very 
 deeply to heart. He is grateful to you, 
 and he feels very keenly that he wrong- 
 fully caused you great hardship and dis- 
 tress. He is an old man. It would be 
 only kind and generous of you to let 
 him make what reparation is in his 
 power. And I," she said " I fully 
 share his feeling, and " 
 
 " Do you remember," said the ex- 
 teller deliberately, "the last time you 
 met me in the street ? " 
 
 She turned toward him. "Oh," 
 she exclaimed, her eyes filling with 
 tears, "how unkind that is! How you 
 have changed ! " 
 
 The ex-teller's heart melted within 
 him. "Oh, Miss Helen," he cried, 
 " please forgive me. Please let me re- 
 call that. Please say you forgive me." 
 64 
 
The Teller 
 
 " Yes," she said. " I hoped you had 
 forgotten that," she added, after a mo- 
 ment. " It was such a little thing com- 
 pared with all the rest but I have been 
 so sorry." 
 
 " A little thing ! " he exclaimed ; " it 
 was more than all the rest. Can't you 
 understand ? The rest was hard enough, 
 God knows," he went on vehemently, 
 " but to feel that you, you who had 
 known me so well, you whom I had 
 loved so dearly, could judge me as you 
 did oh, that was the worst of all. 
 Don't you see why I can now take 
 nothing from your father ? Don't you 
 understand " 
 
 " Don't ! don't ! " she protested. " I 
 understand it all now everything." 
 She pressed her handkerchief upon her 
 face for a moment with both hands, and 
 then put one of them on the arm of her 
 65 
 
The Teller 
 
 chair. He knelt and took it in his own. 
 The warm, soft fingers closed round his 
 scarred and hardened ones. He bent 
 his face and pressed his lips upon it, and 
 then it was softly withdrawn, and laid 
 upon his neck. 
 
 " Bless my heart ! " said the ex-teller, 
 as a single stroke sounded from the 
 mantel clock, " I suppose I ought 
 to go." 
 
 " You may stay fifteen minutes 
 more, for this once" said Miss Samno, 
 "you haven't been here in such a long 
 time." Fifteen minutes later she went 
 to the door with him : he required as- 
 sistance with his coat. When it was 
 properly on, " Oh, by the way," she said, 
 "when are you going to Chicago ?" 
 
 " Whenever you say," said the ex- 
 teller. 
 
 66 
 
IX 
 
 IN the upper right-hand corner of 
 Samno & Co.'s letter-heads is printed 
 the name of the ex-teller of the Frank- 
 lin Bank. 
 
 Query : After all, did the teller do 
 right ? 
 
 67 
 
THE LETTERS OF 
 EDWARD NOYES WESTCOTT 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 MARGARET WESTCOTT MUZZEY 
 
E. N. Westcott. 
 
 From a photograph taken in 1875. 
 
THE LETTERS OF 
 EDWARD NOYES WESTCOTT 
 
 THE following extracts are from let- 
 ters written by Mr. Westcott to his 
 daughter and others. 
 
 David Harum was partially written 
 during the summer of 1895 while Mr. 
 Westcott was at Meacham Lake, in the 
 Adirondacks. On his return he said 
 nothing in regard to his book to any 
 member of his family, and it was some 
 time later that I heard of it from a 
 friend to whom my brother had read 
 some of the chapters as they were com- 
 pleted. In the summer of 1896 I asked 
 my brother to allow me to read what 
 he had written, and he gave me the 
 
The Teller 
 
 first typewritten MS. His daughter, 
 having heard of his work in the same 
 manner, begged him to tell her about 
 it. The following letters will show that 
 it was not Mr. Westcott's intention to 
 tell her anything about the book until 
 it had been accepted for publication, 
 which was a very indefinite contingency 
 in his opinion. 
 
 "Aug.itfh, '96. 
 
 " So far as the book that wrote 
 
 you of well, I fancy, the less said the 
 better. It isn't a book yet, and I have 
 not the smallest expectation that it ever 
 will be. The work has filled up a good 
 many hours which would otherwise have 
 been very dreary, and given me some 
 amusement ; but that's about all there 
 is to be said about it." 
 72 
 
Letters 
 
 " Sept. 29th, '96. 
 
 " I sent a bundle of MS. to 
 
 yesterday. I wrote, telling briefly what 
 the idea of the story was, and they re- 
 plied that the market for fiction at 
 the present time was so depressed that 
 they were not planning for much of any 
 addition to that line, but if I would 
 send MS. on they would give it care- 
 ful attention at once. I have not really 
 the smallest expectation that anything 
 will result except the return of the 
 MS. in about two months or more, 
 but I thought the experiment was 
 worth trying." 
 
 " Oct. 22d t '96. 
 
 " You mustn't have any expectation 
 about the book. I have none. The 
 publishing house of wrote that the 
 
 ' 6 73 
 
The Teller 
 
 market for fiction was dull beyond 
 measure and overloaded with books, 
 which meant to me that unless my 
 MS. was something very unusual in- 
 deed (which I didn't in the least think) 
 they would not publish it. It is liable, 
 I am sure likely, I should say sure 
 to, in fact, come back to me any 
 time now." 
 
 050 
 
 " Nov. gth t 1896. 
 
 11 ' Nothing/ says the proverb, ' is 
 certain to happen but the unexpected ' ; 
 but I can at least show an exception. 
 
 Messrs. did not see their way to 
 
 enrich their exchequer and illuminate 
 their catalogue with my book, and it 
 came back to me in less time than I 
 expected. I did, however, get from 
 them what I have reason to believe was 
 rather an unusual expression. 
 
 74 
 
Letters 
 
 " Usually when MS. is returned it 
 is accompanied by a printed slip a 
 form expressing thanks for the oppor- 
 tunity of examining the MS., and stat- 
 ing that it is regretted that the same is 
 not available, etc., etc. They wrote me 
 before I sent the stuff that in view of 
 the condition of the market they had 
 not intended to make much addition to 
 their line in the way of fiction, and 
 when they returned the MS. they 
 wrote me as follows : 
 
 " * We have given the MS. careful 
 consideration and have secured con- 
 cerning it the counsel of an experi- 
 enced literary adviser. His report is, 
 in accordance with our preliminary im- 
 pression, to the effect that the story 
 is rather distinctive in its purpose and 
 characterization, and is also well writ- 
 ten. We regret, notwithstanding, to 
 75 
 
The Teller 
 
 decide that, in connection with the 
 present exceptionally depressed and 
 overcrowded condition of the market 
 for fiction, David Harum (the name they 
 gave it themselves, by the way) is not 
 sufficiently assured of an extended or 
 remunerative sale to make its publica- 
 tion a desirable undertaking considered 
 from a business point of view. It is 
 very possible that in this conclusion we 
 are in error, and we shall be pleased to 
 learn that with the imprint of some 
 other house the story has secured for 
 itself a satisfactory success. Yours very 
 truly, etc., etc. . . .' 
 
 "I thought at the time the letter 
 was an unusual one, and have since been 
 told by some people who are familiar 
 with the ways and methods of publish- 
 ers that it was very unusual indeed. 
 Nevertheless, I have done nothing fur- 
 76 
 
Letters 
 
 ther. I think I will not press further 
 at present upon a depressed and over- 
 crowded market. I should never have 
 made any move if it had not been for 
 the opinion of other people. By the 
 time I had typewritten it the second 
 time I was so sick of the stuff that I 
 could smell it when I opened the front 
 door. You may imagine that it might 
 be so when I tell you that there are 560 
 pages nearly or quite two thirds as large 
 as this sheet and covering about 140,000 
 words. I am writing so much because 
 you heard about the thing some way 
 and expressed so much interest in the 
 matter. I didn't tell you of it, did I ? " 
 
 The following is an extract from a 
 letter sent by another publishing house 
 to which David Harum was submitted. 
 
 77 
 
The Teller 
 
 Their excuse for rejecting the MS. is 
 amusing, in view of the fact that the 
 MS. was typewritten carefully and pro- 
 nounced by D. Appleton and Co. to 
 be one of the clearest and best MSS. 
 ever submitted to their criticism. 
 
 "We had the manuscript very cas- 
 ually looked into by one of our ' read- 
 ers,' who read only a few chapters (for 
 the handwriting was not very easily de- 
 cipherable); but not feeling at liberty to 
 give it a real examination under the cir- 
 cumstances, we wrote you, in returning 
 it on July i8th, saying that on a slight 
 examination at the hands of a special 
 'reader' he had reported somewhat 
 favorably upon it, and we added that 
 before replying definitely with regard to 
 publication we should consider it neces- 
 sary to obtain other reports." (It is 
 
 78 
 
Letters 
 
 perhaps just to say in connection with 
 this matter that the MS. was sent to 
 this publishing house with the request 
 that it be read immediately, and if not 
 acceptable returned without delay.) In 
 further explanation they say : " We do 
 not think that if we had been allowed 
 time to really and carefully examine the 
 work it would ever have been declined 
 by us, and we are extremely sorry that 
 you felt it necessary to recall it so sud- 
 denly and peremptorily. Of course we 
 see now that it was unfortunate for us 
 to lose the book, as we greatly admire 
 it as published by Appleton, and are 
 well aware from our own experience 
 that it is selling very largely. 
 
 "Yours very truly, etc., etc." 
 
 After the MS. had been returned 
 several times I once asked Mr. Westcott 
 
 79 
 
The Teller 
 
 what he had done with his book. He 
 replied, " I have thrown it up on the 
 shelf in my closet, and there I mean to 
 leave it." He was utterly disheartened 
 in regard to it, and " down on his luck " 
 as to all the things, business and other, 
 in which he was interested. He would 
 often say, "When I am gone perhaps 
 some of my affairs will turn up trumps, 
 but as long as I live luck is dead against 
 everything I undertake." 
 
 Mrs. Westcott died in January, 
 1890, and after that my brother lived 
 very quietly, going seldom into society. 
 He was at that time singing in church, 
 and cared more for his music than any- 
 thing else. His voice was a baritone of 
 unusual compass and purity of tone. It 
 was his delight to spend hours reading 
 new songs or going over old ones, of 
 80 
 
Letters 
 
 which he had a very large and valuable 
 collection accumulated from wherever 
 he traveled in this country or abroad. 
 The loss of his voice as the disease 
 which ended his life progressed was to 
 him the greatest grief imaginable, and 
 his depression at that time was most 
 distressing. 
 
 Writing to his daughter during the 
 campaign of '96, he says : 
 
 " I think it should be just as much 
 a part of a woman's education and duty 
 to become intelligent upon questions of 
 government and finance as a man's in 
 this country of all others, where it is in 
 the hands of the people at large to de- 
 cide the most intricate questions of pub- 
 lic policy at the polls, of which the 
 present situation is an instance. I do 
 not believe in the extension of suffrage 
 81 
 
The Teller 
 
 to women, largely because I think it far 
 too greatly extended already ; but though 
 a woman may not vote, she ought to 
 know how she would vote if she could, 
 and give a reason for it. In Great Brit- 
 ain women take an interest in politics 
 which has no parallel in America, and 
 they make themselves felt. It is the 
 rarest thing in this country to find a 
 woman who has interest enough in pub- 
 lic questions to have formed an intelli- 
 gent opinion upon them. 
 
 " I regret deeply that I can take no 
 very active part in the present cam- 
 paign." 
 
 The following are miscellaneous ex- 
 tracts from letters written at different 
 times to Mr. Westcott's daughter and a 
 favorite cousin : 
 
 82 
 
Letters 
 
 "It is said that all letters between 
 friends begin with an apology of some 
 sort. Perhaps mine may be more in 
 the nature of an explanation though, 
 for the matter of that, almost all expla- 
 nations are in the nature of apologies. 
 Mine is that for several years I have 
 been so troubled with scrivener's cramp 
 that any continued effort with the pen 
 causes me acute discomfort, not to say 
 distress, and I have been driven to the 
 use of the typewriter as an alternative. 
 I don't believe you ever had a typewrit- 
 ten letter before, and it may give you a 
 new sensation which, provided it be not 
 a shock, is not a bad thing." 
 
 Of a friend who had recently died, 
 he says : 
 
 "As I saw and talked with him a 
 good many times in his last illness, I 
 
 33 
 
The Teller 
 
 declare to you I envied him that he 
 could pass out of this life and leave be- 
 hind him not one unkind thought or 
 criticism that would have pained him 
 or his to know, and without the ap- 
 prehension that even his death would 
 leave any one depending on him mere- 
 ly a heritage of perplexity and distress. 
 I used to think that the saying, 'to 
 die is gain,' was cant and nonsense 
 I do not think so now. Death is 
 calamity only for the living." 
 
 " We have a new member of the fam- 
 ily. H suddenly developed a crav- 
 ing to be the owner of a dog a hunt- 
 ing dog. I represented to him that we 
 had no place for a dog and no facilities 
 for insuring the welfare or comfort of a 
 member of the canine race who would 
 require more in the way of accommo- 
 
> 
 
 X 
 
 <u 
 co 
 
 ! 
 
Letters 
 
 dation than poor old Toby, of whom we 
 are on all accounts glad to be rid. I 
 also represented to him that a strange 
 young dog which would have to be 
 fed and looked after would be a cor- 
 roding nuisance, of which he would be 
 thoroughly sick and tired in a short 
 time and would probably neglect. 
 Well, my arguments and representa- 
 tions were so forcible and effective that 
 the very next day he went off and 
 bought a dog, and brought him home, 
 and though it is about ten days since, 
 the trials and perplexities which have 
 entailed would fill a volume. The first 
 night was something awful. The dog 
 ' moored his bark ' not on ' the wild 
 New England shore,' but under the side 
 piazza ; and of all the howls, shrieks and 
 yells, barks, whimperings, moans and 
 groans which were emitted by all dogs 
 
 85 
 
The Teller 
 
 since the world began, those which rent 
 the air for miles around and strewed 
 the environing neighborhood with 
 awful sound that night were the equal. 
 There was nothing for it sometime in 
 the small hours but to bring the beast 
 into the house. The next morning he 
 was again tied to the end of the piazza, 
 under which he could retire at the ap- 
 proach of danger which was frequently, 
 seeing that his melancholy did not find 
 relief except vocally. I went out to 
 take my morning sun-bath, as I have 
 been in the habit of doing when the 
 weather was propitious, and the thing 
 
 was intolerable. R was here, and 
 
 after an hour or so appeared on the 
 scene and carried the infant off down- 
 town to the office where H was, 
 
 upon my declaration that I would turn 
 
 the calliope loose to fend for himself 
 
 86 
 
Letters 
 
 and be duly advertised for. So that 
 night H quartered him in a neigh- 
 bor's barn, and supposed that settled the 
 question. But it seems that there are 
 some people who live forninst the barn 
 who do not like the sort of music of 
 which Grouse's repertoire consists, and 
 that or the next night the poor chap 
 was bitten or cut till 'he was a mass of 
 wounds. Night before last he was again 
 in the barn, but in some way broke out 
 or was let out, and in a state which 
 called for surgical treatment. The situ- 
 ation now is that he is too sick to howl, 
 and was tied up under the front steps 
 
 as aforesaid ; but P 's heart misgave 
 
 him and he got the poor beast in the 
 nursery for the night, and to-morrow I 
 shall be head nurse in a puppy hospital. 
 "Oh, yes, surely, and '/ knowed it 
 all the time' 
 
 87 
 
The Teller 
 
 " I have given more space to the 
 dog matter than it warrants perhaps, 
 but nobody who isn't actually on the 
 ground can appreciate how interest- 
 ing it is. The fact of it is (and don't 
 mention it to nobody) that I like 
 the dog and he has got on my mind, 
 but I don't see my way to assuming 
 the entire responsibility of his wel- 
 fare and amusement." 
 
 Writing of Christmas, he says : 
 
 " Even the old man's stocking was 
 not forgotten. In it was a handsome 
 umbrella -cane, a new traveling - case, 
 letter-scale, etc., etc. Blessed are those 
 who expect nothing, for unto them 
 shall be added umbrella-canes, letter- 
 scales, calendars, and all and sundry 
 88 
 
Letters 
 
 shall be given, and verily their stock- 
 ing shall be exalted so to speak." 
 
 " When one gets to fifty years one 
 may be exempt from the bother of 
 razors and lather and things, and, in 
 fact, the doctor has x advised me to 
 'grow a beard.' The consequence is 
 I look like one of those things 'you 
 see when you don't have a gun.' ' 
 
 " I am sending you a copy of the 
 Atlantic Monthly, which contains some 
 account of the ' Westcote ' family. We 
 are, undoubtedly (from all that I can 
 gather tho' there are missing links), 
 descendants of the Stukely Westcote 
 mentioned in the article. There are 
 not many Westcotts with whom I am 
 7 89 
 
The Teller 
 
 acquainted, however, who would be 
 likely to be driven out of their adopted 
 place on account of the fervor of their 
 religious enthusiasm, as Stukely appears 
 to have been. Perhaps it may give you 
 a feeling of importance to know that 
 your family goes back to 1170." 
 
 In April, '97, he writes : 
 
 " Day before yesterday I did a little 
 necessary work on the machine for the 
 first time since January. In fact, I did 
 not do any real work then ; I put the 
 paper in, but felt so ill that I abandoned 
 the effort and went to bed, where I 
 have been almost continuously ever 
 since. I have been up all day since 
 then but for three days. I am getting 
 on a bit now and hope to be about 
 90 
 
Letters 
 
 the house as usual at least before long 
 and when the warm weather sets in 
 to get out again." 
 
 000 
 
 "Miss , who was the invalid of 
 
 a family of fourteen , or seventeen (I 
 forget which), has just died at the age of 
 eighty or so, having probably hastened 
 her untimely end by a habit which she 
 had of falling down-stairs, with varia- 
 tions of running into things and bump- 
 ing. Her nephew, with whom she 
 lived for years, felt her loss one hundred 
 and twenty dollars' worth so he told 
 me, and I could not doubt the sincerity 
 of his grief." 
 
 9 1 
 
The Teller 
 
 The manuscript of David Harum 
 was received by D. Appleton and Com- 
 pany on December 23d, 1897. It was 
 accompanied by the following letter : 
 
 "I have taken the liberty of sending 
 you, by the American Express to-day, 
 the typewritten manuscript of a story 
 of American life which I have recently 
 completed, entitled David Harum. I 
 desire to submit this to you for ex- 
 amination, with a view to its publica- 
 tion, and trust you will find it suited 
 to your requirements." 
 
 The manuscript was read with ap- 
 preciation, and a letter was sent to the 
 author expressing a desire "to make 
 David Harum's delightful humor known 
 to the reading public." 
 
 000 
 
 92 
 
Letters 
 
 The following extracts are from a 
 letter dictated by Mr. Westcott on 
 January 19, 1898 : 
 
 " I feel very grateful to you. I have 
 lived with and among the people I have 
 written about. My father was born and 
 'raised on Buxton Hill,' and a great 
 many of David's peculiar figures and 
 sayings were constantly cropping out 
 in my father's diction. The district, 
 which is the scene of my story, should 
 be described as being in Northern Cen- 
 tral New York rather than Northern 
 New York." 
 
 0*0 
 
 " It is true that Lenox's love affair 
 is in abeyance from the first part of the 
 book to the latter part. It seems to 
 me that if Lenox's love affair had been 
 carried along to a prosperous conclu- 
 93 
 
The Teller 
 
 sion from the start, there would have 
 been no reason for him, or anybody 
 else, to make David Harum's acquaint- 
 ance. I purposely laid but little stress 
 upon the episode ; to my mind the 
 sentiment, so to speak, of the book 
 lies more in John's engagement, of the 
 affection of the eccentric old couple, 
 and the prosperity which followed from 
 it, putting him in a position to marry 
 the woman of his choice at the last." 
 
 In another part of the same letter 
 Mr. Westcott says : 
 
 "If David Harum were to be pub- 
 lished, even without much delay, it 
 would, in all probability, be posthu- 
 mous. I have had the fun of writing 
 it, anyway, and nobody will ever laugh 
 94 
 
Letters 
 
 over it more than I have. I never 
 could tell what David was going to 
 say next." 
 
 The last letter of this correspond- 
 ence was dated February 3d. The fol- 
 lowing is an extract : ' 
 
 "Your kind letter of the 2ist ought 
 to have had an earlier reply, but I have 
 been suffering from an exacerbation of 
 some of the more painful symptoms 
 of my disorder to such an extent as 
 to make it practically impossible to 
 give anything any very serious atten- 
 tion. I did, however, on the receipt 
 of your letter, discuss the matter with 
 my friend Mr. Forbes Heermans. He 
 said he would go through the manu- 
 script carefully, with reference to what 
 
 95 
 
The Teller 
 
 might be excised, and give me the 
 benefit of his conclusions. I presume 
 that he will give me his report before 
 long. I beg to offer my best regards. 
 " Sincerely, 
 
 " E. N. WESTCOTT." 
 
 96 
 
EDWARD NOYES WESTCOTT 
 
 BY 
 
 FORBES HEERMANS 
 
E. N. Westcott. 
 
 From a photograph taken in 1889. 
 
EDWARD NOYES WESTCOTT 
 
 THE interest which is always felt in 
 the life and personality of the writer of 
 a successful book originates, it would 
 seem, in the sympathetic and kindly de- 
 sire of his readers for a more intimate 
 acquaintance with him than they can 
 attain through the medium of his fic- 
 titious characters. This is surely not 
 mere curiosity, but rather an expression 
 of genuine affection, and therefore the 
 few lines of biography which appeared 
 with the earlier editions of David 
 Harum may quite properly be some- 
 what extended, since the author has 
 achieved a great, though unhappily a 
 posthumous, fame. 
 
 99 
 
The Teller 
 
 For it may reasonably be doubted if 
 any work of American fiction has ever 
 had such a widespread and instanta- 
 neous success as David Harum. It 
 has been the theme for many poems 
 and parodies ; the text for homilies ; 
 the inspiration for the cartoonist ; the 
 source of the orator's wit ; and an as- 
 trologer has asked in all seriousness for 
 full details of the history of the book 
 and its author, so that he may cast the 
 horoscopes of novels yet unpublished, 
 and thereby foretell success or failure. 
 
 Many people, hitherto quite un- 
 known, have unblushingly set forth 
 their claims to be the " originals " of 
 one or another character of the book ; 
 and while these foolish attempts to ac- 
 quire a little unearned importance are 
 more absurd than serious, yet it may 
 not be out of place here to state that 
 100 
 
E. N. 
 
 all such claims are absolutely * witlicaif 
 foundation. The characters are all 
 drawn from life, it is true, in the sense 
 that they are lifelike, but not from in- 
 dividuals. Each one is entirely the cre- 
 ation of the author's imagination, and 
 this fact he asserted with much earnest- 
 ness, over and over again. " I should 
 not dare put real people, just as I see 
 them, into my book," he once charac- 
 teristically said ; " they'd spoil it." 
 
 The author of David Harum was 
 born in Syracuse, New York, Septem- 
 ber 27, 1846, and died there of pulmo- 
 nary consumption, March 31, 1898, in 
 his fifty-second year. He was married 
 in 1874 to Jane Dows of Buffalo, and 
 she, dying in 1890, left three children, 
 Harold, Violet, and Philip. His father 
 was Doctor Amos Westcott, once one 
 of the conspicuous citizens of Syracuse, 
 101 
 
The Teller 
 
 4 
 
 . . 
 
 and during part of the civil war its 
 mayor. 
 
 Edward was educated in the public 
 schools of the city, finishing with the 
 High School when about sixteen. 
 Even at that age he had clearly de- 
 veloped the temperament and mind of 
 the student. But instead of contin- 
 uing his studies in college, as he greatly 
 desired to do, he found it necessary to 
 enter at once upon a business career. 
 It is, of course, quite futile now to im- 
 agine what other results would have 
 followed had he been allowed to pursue 
 his inclination in this matter ; but it is 
 certain that the discipline of a university 
 training, and particularly the stimulat- 
 ing effect of intellectual competition 
 and the necessary mental concentration, 
 would have produced a great and valu- 
 able impression upon his sensitive, ar- 
 102 
 
E. N. Westcott 
 
 tistic temperament. For if ever a man 
 was endowed too richly, it was the 
 author of David Harum. Besides be- 
 ing a novelist and a man of business, 
 he was a musician, a poet, and a con- 
 versationalist of conspicuous powers. 
 He did well all that he undertook, but 
 because he could do so many things 
 easily he did not often feel impelled to 
 concentrate his efforts upon one thing. 
 It was not until his long and fatal ill- 
 ness took from him the power thus 
 variously to occupy himself that he be- 
 gan the work that has made him famous. 
 Being deprived by circumstances of 
 the education he longed for he became 
 his own teacher ; and in this his inher- 
 ent good taste, receptive mind, and re- 
 tentive memory enabled him to select 
 and rapidly acquire a great store of use- 
 ful and ready knowledge. Throughout 
 103 
 
The Teller 
 
 his life he was a voluminous reader; 
 and while fiction and poetry were his 
 favorite branches of literature, yet his 
 tastes were catholic enough to cover all 
 the sciences, and he was particularly in- 
 terested in questions of finance. The 
 drudgery and monotony of a commer- 
 cial life were always very irksome to 
 him, but being compelled to disregard 
 his tastes, he did so completely. His 
 active years were wholly devoted to 
 business, in which he started as a junior 
 clerk in the Mechanics' Bank of Syra- 
 cuse. Then followed two years in the 
 New York office of the Mutual Life 
 Insurance Company ; after which, re- 
 turning to Syracuse, he again became a 
 junior bank clerk, then teller, and then 
 cashier. About 1880 he founded the 
 firm of Westcott and Abbott, bankers 
 and brokers ; and when this partnership 
 104 
 
E. N. Westcott 
 
 was dissolved he became the registrar 
 and financial expert of the Syracuse 
 Water Commission, which was at that 
 time installing a new and costly system 
 of water-supply throughout the city. 
 Over three million dollars passed through 
 his hands in the execution of this work ; 
 and his management of these great 
 financial interests was distinguished by 
 absolute fidelity and accuracy. 
 
 In personal appearance Mr. West- 
 cott was tall, slender, and graceful ; and 
 his handsome, intellectual face would 
 light up in greeting a friend with a smile 
 that was extremely attractive and mag- 
 netic. It was undoubtedly in music 
 that he found his greatest pleasure ; for 
 though in business hours he always sub- 
 ordinated the artistic side of his nature 
 to the requirements of the moment, yet 
 these duties being ended for the day, he 
 a 105 
 
The Teller 
 
 let the other talents appear. He was 
 endowed with a fine baritone voice, and 
 having received most excellent profes- 
 sional training, he became a conspicu- 
 ous figure in the musical circles of 
 Central New York. His knowledge 
 of music as well as his acquaintance 
 with banking have benefited the readers 
 of David Harum ; for in describing the 
 trials of a church choir director, and the 
 methods of a country bank, the author 
 has clearly drawn upon his memory for 
 his facts. He possessed also a consid- 
 able talent for musical composition, and 
 several songs, of which he wrote not 
 only the words and air, but the har- 
 mony as well, have been published, and 
 sung by those who may never know the 
 author's name. 
 
 Those who knew Mr. Westcott in 
 the years when he was an intellectual 
 1 06 
 
E. N. Westcott 
 
 leader in his native city and his house 
 was a center for musical and artistic 
 men and women may still recall some 
 of his wise and witty sayings. Yet, 
 with all his quickness and keenness, he 
 never intentionally uttered a word that 
 hurt, and his fine courtesy was invaria- 
 bly a most conspicuous part of his bear- 
 ing. The genial humor which he has so 
 successfully infused into his book was 
 actually his own, and was constantly 
 exhibited in every-day affairs. 
 
 It was not until he retired from all 
 business occupations because of the 
 collapse of his health and the certain 
 knowledge that he could not recover, 
 that Mr. Westcott seriously thought of 
 doing any literary work for publication. 
 He had written much in the past, and 
 doubtless realized that he possessed 
 unusual literary powers ; but, with the 
 107 
 
The Teller 
 
 exception of a series of letters upon 
 financial and political topics, very little 
 had ever reached the public. At the 
 outset his chief hope was not to win 
 fame or reward these, indeed, he 
 seemed not to think of but rather to 
 find an occupation that should busy his 
 mind and hands. " I have been so 
 closely tied to a routine all my life," he 
 once said, "that, now I am free, I find 
 I have lost all power of self-employ- 
 ment." The failure of his voice about 
 this time, which was due to the prog- 
 ress of his disease, caused him the 
 greatest distress, and, more than any- 
 thing, impressed him with the serious- 
 ness of his condition. 
 
 Little by little, however, he grew 
 
 accustomed to the changed conditions 
 
 of his life ; the artistic side was now 
 
 having a chance to develop along an 
 
 108 
 
E. N. Westcott 
 
 unobstructed path ; the limitations 
 which his failing health placed upon 
 him were combining his efforts in one 
 or two directions, instead of the five or 
 six along which he had previously al- 
 lowed his talents to stray ; and pres- 
 ently he had made a tentative start on 
 David Harum. This was in the sum- 
 mer of 1895, while he was living at 
 Lake Meacham in the Adirondacks, 
 where he had gone in the vain hope 
 that the climate would stay the progress 
 of his disease. 
 
 The first work thus done by him 
 produced what are now substantially 
 Chapters XIX-XXIV ; that is, the 
 scenes between David, John, and the 
 Widow Cullom, and the Christmas din- 
 ner that follows them ; and these pages 
 constitute the nucleus about which 
 the others were eventually assembled. 
 109 
 
The Teller 
 
 When the author returned to Syracuse 
 late in the fall of 1895, he diffidently 
 showed his work to some of his friends, 
 and was urged by them to complete it. 
 He really needed little urging, for he 
 had already become interested in his 
 characters, and as he went on he found 
 the work becoming a real pleasure. 
 
 His method of composition was 
 first to prepare a rough sketch or out- 
 line of a chapter with a lead-pencil on 
 ordinary copy paper. He was unable 
 to use a pen freely, as he suffered from 
 scrivener's palsy. These notes being 
 finished, he rewrote them on a type- 
 writer, enlarging or deleting as he went 
 along ; and this work was again revised 
 or reconstructed until the author was sat- 
 isfied. In most cases the chapters were 
 completed in their present order, the 
 exceptions being those just mentioned 
 no 
 
E. N. Westcott 
 
 (XIX-XXIV), and those which are 
 now Chapters I and II, these being 
 written last of all and prefixed to the 
 story as it then stood in order to intro- 
 duce David and Aunt Polly to the 
 reader at the very beginning. In all 
 the author occupied about fifteen 
 months of actual time in writing his 
 book, though a somewhat greater inter- 
 val than this elapsed between the start 
 and the finish, since there were often 
 days, and even weeks, together when 
 he was unable to write a line because of 
 his physical prostration. Often, too, he 
 would become discouraged as to the 
 value of his labors, a discouragement 
 his friends laughed out of him ; yet in 
 the main his progress was steady, and 
 the story was completed about the end 
 of 1896. 
 
 The question has been asked, Did 
 in 
 
The Teller 
 
 Mr. Westcott leave his book unfin- 
 ished ? No ; every line and word of 
 the story are his own, and two com- 
 plete typewritten copies of it were 
 made by his own hand nearly a year 
 before his death. Even in this me- 
 chanical part of the work his lifelong 
 habits of neatness and accuracy were 
 conspicuous, and it is doubtful if 
 " cleaner copy " were ever given to the 
 printer. 
 
 The book was read and recom- 
 mended by Mr. Ripley Hitchcock, and 
 accepted by D. Appleton and Co. early 
 in January, 1898 ; and the cordial words 
 of commendation which were then sent 
 to the author by Mr. Hitchcock were 
 " more welcome," so he said, " than any 
 gift I could have received." His health 
 actually rallied a little at this time in 
 response to the mental exhilaration, 
 112 
 
E. N. Westcott 
 
 but only temporarily, and never suf- 
 ficiently to permit him to leave his bed. 
 He was able to conduct the preliminary 
 business negotiations himself, however ; 
 but he died without knowing, and per- 
 haps without suspecting, the extraor- 
 dinary welcome that was to be given 
 his book. Yet when we read in Chap- 
 ter XLVI I his own words, "Many of 
 the disappointments of life, if not the 
 greater part, come because events are 
 unpunctual. They have a way of ar- 
 riving sometimes too early, or worse, 
 too late," their prophetic significance 
 is now profoundly impressive. 
 
BY ELLEN THORNEYCROFT FOWLER. 
 
 Each, izmo, cloth, $1.50. 
 
 Sifius* A Volume of Fiction. 
 
 " Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler's latest production has richer sources 
 of entertainment than any one book she has yet written, inasmuch as it 
 has more characters, more conversation, and more epigrams." Chicago 
 Tribune. 
 
 Cttpid's Garden* With new Portrait of the Author. 
 
 "Whatever this author sends out has freshness and originality, and 
 her sketches of people are so deftly drawn that one wonders at the ver- 
 satility. ' Cupid's Garden ' is a collection of stories of love, not all of 
 which run smooth, but which all exhibit some noble trait of the tender 
 passion." Indianapolis News. 
 
 The Farringdons. 
 
 " ' The Farringdons' is a serious and a sound piece of work, and there 
 is about it a note of thoroughly genuine piety which is very far from being 
 religiosity. ... It is bright, it is interesting, and the denouement is just 
 what we all would wish it to be." London Chronicle. 
 
 "Whether we consider the racy wit of conversation, the wonderful 
 insight into human nature, the pure and elevated Christian spirit, or the 
 broad and liberal humanity, it is a work of rare excellence." Cincinnati 
 Christian Standard. 
 
 Concerning Isabel Carnaby* New edidon, with 
 Portrait and Biographical Sketch of the Author. 
 
 " Rarely does one find such a charming combination of wit and tender- 
 ness, of brilliancy, and reverence for the things that matter. ... It is 
 bright without being flippant, tender without being mawkish, and as joy- 
 ous and as wholesome as sunshine. The characters are closely studied 
 and clearly limned, and they are created by one who knows human 
 nature. ... It would be hard to find its superior for all-around excellence. 
 . . . No one who reads it will regret it or forget it." Chicago Tribune. 
 
 A Double Thread* 
 
 " Brilliant and witty. Shows fine insight into character." Minne- 
 apolis Journal. 
 
 " Crowded with interesting people. One of the most enjoyable stories 
 of the season." Philadelphia Inquirer. 
 
 "'A Double Thread' is that rare visitor a novel to be recom- 
 mended without reserve." London Literary World. 
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK. 
 
DAVID HARUM. 
 
 A Story of American Life. By EDWARD NOYES 
 WESTCOTT. i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 " David Harum deserves to be known by all good Americans ; 
 he is one of them in boundless energy, in large-heartedness, in 
 shrewdness, and in humor." 'I'hc Critic, New York. 
 
 "We have in the character of David Harum a perfectly clean 
 and beautiful study, one of those true natures that every one, 
 man, woman, or child, is the better for knowing." The World, 
 Cleveland. 
 
 " The book continues to be talked of increasingly. It seems 
 to grow in public favor, and this, alter all, is the true test of 
 merit." The Tribune, Chicago. 
 
 " A thoroughly interesting bit of fiction, with a well-defined 
 plot, a slender but easily followed ' love ' interest, some bold and 
 finely sketched character drawing, and a perfect gold mine of 
 shrewd, dialectic philosophy." The Call, San Francisco. 
 
 " The newsboys on the street can talk of ' David Harum,' but 
 scarcely a week ago we heard an intelligent girl of fifteen, in a 
 house which entertains the best of the daily papers and the week- 
 ly reviews, ask, 'Who is Kipling ?'' The Literary World, 
 Boston. 
 
 "A masterpiece of character painting. In David Harum, the 
 shrewd, whimsical, horse-trading country banker, the author has 
 depicted a type of character that is by no means new to fiction, 
 but nowhere else has it been so carefully, faithfully, and real- 
 istically wrought out." The Herald, Syracuse. 
 
 " Popular with young people as well as old people, and with 
 rich and poor alike." The Morning News, Savannah. 
 
 " We give Edward Noyes Westcott his tme place in American 
 letters placing him as a humorist next to Mark Twain, as a mas- 
 ter of dialect above Lowell, as a descriptive writer equal to Bret 
 Harte, and, on the whole, as a novelist on a par with the best of 
 those who live and have their being in the heart of hearts of 
 American readers. If the author is dead lamentable fact his 
 book will live." Philadelphia Item. 
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK. 
 
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 NOVELS BY HALL CAINE. 
 
 Uniform edition. Each, xamo, cloth. 
 
 'TTHE CHRISTIAN. $1.50. 
 
 * "Though the theme is old, Mr. Caine has worked it up with a 
 passion and power that make it new again. . . . Can not fail to 
 thrill even the most careless reader.' 1 New York Herald. 
 
 " None who read it will gainsay its power and effectiveness." New 
 York Times. 
 
 "A book of wonderful power and force." Brooklyn Eagle. 
 
 " The public is hardly prepared for so remarkable a performance as ' The 
 Christian.' ... A permanent addition to English literature. . . . Above 
 and beyond any popularity that is merely temporary." Boston Herald. 
 
 *pHE MANXMAN. $1.50. 
 
 -*- " Mr. Caine has written well and nobly." Boston Herald. 
 
 " Hall Caine has the art of being human and humane, and his characters 
 have the strength of elemental things. In 'The Manxman' he handles 
 large human questions the questions of lawful and lawless love." New 
 York Commercial Advertiser. 
 
 "'The Manxman' is more than a good story; it is a great novel." 
 Philadelphia Press. 
 
 ^pHE DEEMSTER. $1.50. 
 
 J- (New copyright edition, revised by the author.) 
 
 " Hall Caine has already given us some very strong and fine work, and 
 'The Deemster' is a story of unusual power. . . . Certain passages and 
 chapters have an intensely dramatic grasp, and hold the fascinated reader 
 with a force rarely excited nowadays in literature." The Critic. 
 
 ^pHE BONDMAN. $1.50. 
 
 * (New copyright edition, revised by the author.) 
 
 "A story of Iceland and Icelanders at an early era. Our author throws 
 a charm about the homes and people he describes which will win the interest 
 and care of every reader. Their simple lives, and legends which shaped 
 and directed them, take the reader clear away from the sensational and fever- 
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