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 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A 
 "NEWSPAPER GIRL"
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 CAMPAIGNS OF CURIOSITY
 
 From a pliotoyrapli by tht London Stereoscopic Company
 
 THE 
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A 
 "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 BY 
 
 ELIZABETH L. BANKS 
 
 METHUEN & CO. 
 
 36 ESSEX STREET W.C. 
 
 LONDON 
 
 1902 
 
 41612
 
 TO THAT MODEL EDITOR 
 
 WHO COMBINES ENGLISH COURTEOUSNESS WITH 
 
 AMERICAN ENTERPRISE 
 WHO ACCEPTS MY ARTICLES WITHOUT READING THEM 
 
 PAYS FOR THEM BEFORE PRINTING 
 
 AND SO HELPS ME TO KEEP THE POT A-BOILING 
 
 YET WHO, BEING MODEST AND RETIRING 
 
 IN HIS DISPOSITION 
 
 WOULD NOT WISH ME TO NAME HIM 
 THESE REMINISCENCES ARE DEDICATED BY 
 
 HIS CONSTANT CONTRIBUTOR
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. I AM COMMITTED TO THE CHARGE OF THE ANGELS i 
 
 II. THE "ANGELS" AND WHAT THEY WERE LIKE . 8 
 
 III. I GO TO PERU AS A "GIRL-DIPLOMAT" . . 21 
 
 IV. INTO THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD OF JOURNALISM . 36 
 V. IN LONDON TOWN . . ... 50 
 
 VI. WHEN I BEGAN TO STARVE IN LONDON . . 62 
 
 VII. I BECOME A MAIDSERVANT . . . . 76 
 
 VIII. WHE.N I FOUND MYSELF A "HEROINE" . . 89 
 
 IX. WHY I DID NOT BECOME A SALVATION ARMY 
 
 "LASSIE" . . ... 104 
 
 X. A DEAL IN ANCESTORS . . . 112 
 
 XI. A MIDNIGHT HOLOCAUST . . . 127 
 
 XII. ON THE BRINGING OUT OF A FIRST BOOK . . 136 
 
 XIII. AN AMERICAN MILLIONAIRE HUNTS ME UP . . 140 
 
 XIV. THE DEPARTURE OF DINAH . . . . 152 
 XV. ECONOMY FOR Two . . . . . 160 
 
 XVI. AN ENCOUNTER WITH MRS. LYNN LINTON . . 174 
 
 XVII. HOME AGAIN, AND IN "THE WAY OF LIFE". . 186 
 
 XVIII. SOME QUESTIONS OF JOURNALISTIC ETHICS . . 200 
 
 XIX. " AND HAVE NOT CHARITY " . . 213 
 
 XX. " IN THE NAME OF CHRIST" . . . . 217 
 vii
 
 viii CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XXI. A LITTLE JOYOUSNESS AND SOME TRAGEDY . . 229 
 
 XXII. THE LOVE-STORY OF Miss JOHNSTONS, JOURNALIST 240 
 
 XXIII. THE STORY OF A "FAILURE" . . . 253 
 
 XXIV. SOME PROPOSALS AND SOME LOVE-LETTERS . . 265 
 XXV. AN "EDITORIAL BOUQUET" . . 275 
 
 XXVI. ON INTERVIEWING AND SOME INTERVIEWS . . 287 
 XXVII. ABOUT MY ENEMIES, AND THE MEANEST MAN I 
 
 EVER MET . . ... 299 
 
 XXVIII. LOOKING BACKWARD AND FORWARD . . 309
 
 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 I AM COMMITTED TO THE CHARGE OF 
 THE ANGELS 
 
 " T T E shall give His angels charge concerning 
 
 JL! thee : and in their hands they shall bear thee 
 up, lest at any time thou dash thy foot against a 
 stone." 
 
 This was the benediction of my venerable relative 
 and guardian when one day I left my Wisconsin 
 farm home, all full of youth and health and con- 
 fidence, to earn my own living and make a career. 
 
 My going away was an important event in that 
 quiet neighbourhood, and there were gathered about 
 the little village station, in spring-seated waggonettes 
 and hard-seated lumber-waggons, many farmers and 
 their families, who stood up high and waved their 
 handkerchiefs to me as the train moved away. 
 
 A few years before there had also been a little stir 
 in the place over a leave-taking of mine. Then I 
 had gone away to boarding-school, a girls' seminary,
 
 2 A " NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 where, I was told, I must study hard and learn my 
 lessons and finally graduate with honours, to show 
 my appreciation of all the sacrifices that were being 
 made at the farm to give me the advantages of a 
 college education. 
 
 " Now, remember," my relative had said to me on 
 that occasion, when parting, " you are going away to 
 school so you can become capable of taking care of 
 yourself when you are older. You are a poor girl, 
 without a penny you can call your own in all the 
 world. Think of that when you are tempted to have 
 a good time instead of studying hard." 
 
 So, during the four years at the seminary, I remem- 
 bered it, and though at school I never got the name 
 of being a " book-worm " or a " goody " indeed, 
 though I even became a member of a select set 
 known among the faculty as the " Society of the 
 Ten Imps" I did study hard, and partly "worked 
 my way" through college, always with the end in 
 view of preparing to support myself. 
 
 As it seemed to me I should like best to earn my 
 living by writing for the newspapers, I paid particular 
 attention to such studies as I thought would help me 
 in that way, and my " compositions," in which I never 
 described anything that did not really happen to 
 myself or some of my school-mates, gained for me 
 a sort of local fame. 
 
 Then, in four years, I graduated in a white frock 
 with a piece of embroidery round the bottom a 
 frock that, I was informed by my relative on the 
 farm, must be especially well taken care of, it having 
 been procured at the village store in exchange for 
 ten pounds of butter and eight dozen eggs. 
 
 When I had returned home in the summer of my
 
 COMMITTED TO THE ANGELS 3 
 
 graduation, and my sheep-skin diploma had been 
 framed and hung in the parlour, to be proudly ex- 
 hibited to every caller, I set myself to learning 
 stenography and typewriting, with the idea of at 
 once becoming a newspaper reporter. Then I wrote 
 to the editors of all the newspapers of which I 
 had ever heard, and offered them my valuable 
 services. 
 
 Never an answer came back, though I had enclosed 
 a stamped envelope for reply in every letter. I 
 decided that editors must be approached personally, 
 and not by letter, and I concluded that in order to 
 get to the places where editors lived and newspapers 
 were published, I must obtain some sort of situation 
 in a large town. Then I sent out another batch of 
 letters, this time to all the large stores that I saw 
 advertised in the semi-weekly newspaper that came 
 to the farm, asking for a position as stenographer 
 and typewriter at any wages they liked to offer. 
 From my thirty letters I got one reply, offering me 
 a situation. It was from a wholesale grocer in a 
 large Western city, who offered me eight dollars 
 a week to write his letters and keep account of his 
 cash. The situation was accepted. Then came my 
 second leave-taking at the village station, and then 
 I went out into the world, confident, though all alone, 
 committed to the charge of the angels. 
 
 When I arrived in the city I hunted up a boarding- 
 house, where I was to be fed and lodged for five 
 dollars a week. The landlady found me a washer- 
 woman who would do my laundry -work for fifty 
 cents a week, and when the next morning I began 
 work in my situation I saw that out of my eight 
 dollars weekly salary I would have left over, for
 
 4 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 clothes and "sundries," just two and a half dollars 
 each week. 
 
 For several months I wrote the grocer's letters, 
 kept his cash accounts, and made myself, as he 
 frequently told me, his valuable assistant. The 
 grocer's desk was near a very large window, over 
 which the curtain was never drawn. The table with 
 my typewriting machine upon it was also placed 
 near this window, and there, among the tastefully 
 displayed exhibits of sugars, coffees, teas, soaps, and 
 canned goods, I sat all day and wrote on the machine. 
 People stopped and looked at me along with the 
 specimen goods in the window, till my face would 
 grow red and tears of embarrassment would roll 
 down my cheeks, and my fingers trembled and 
 stumbled as they flew over the typewriter keys. I 
 knew that the grocer had no intention of making 
 an advertisement of me, yet nevertheless I said to 
 him ratherly bitterly one day, "Mr. Samson, don't 
 you think you had better mark me 'Exhibit A,' so 
 those people out there will know just where to place 
 me among your other goods?" I pointed to the 
 pavement outside, where half a dozen men stood 
 looking into the window. 
 
 The grocer pulled down the curtain with a bang, 
 and carried my machine over to an obscure corner, 
 where I could no longer serve as an advertisement 
 for the store. 
 
 In a few months I began to grow tired of the 
 grocery business, and decided it was time to start 
 out in newspaper work. So I wrote a long article, 
 heading it "All about Typewriter Girls," and sent 
 it to the editor of the Daily Hustler , the principal 
 newspaper in the city, saying in my note to him,
 
 COMMITTED TO THE ANGELS 5 
 
 " Please publish this in your next Sunday's paper. 
 It is all true." 
 
 The next Sunday the article was published on 
 the front page of the paper. On Monday morn- 
 ing I said to the wholesale grocer, " I shall be 
 leaving you on Saturday night. I am going to 
 be a newspaper reporter." My reason for thus 
 summarily resigning was that I had seen my 
 article in print, and I doubted not that all I had 
 to do was to go and ask for a situation and find 
 it ready to hand. During the noon hour I went to 
 the man I had heard spoken of as the owner of the 
 paper. His office was on the fifth floor of the great 
 newspaper building. To my knock at his office 
 door he answered, " Come in! " and then I confronted 
 an elderly man, white whiskered and with a kind face. 
 
 " Do you own the paper ? " I asked. 
 
 " I'm inclined to think I do ! " he answered, look- 
 ing somewhat amused and surprised. 
 
 " Then, will you please give me a situation on it ? 
 I had an article on the first page yesterday," I con- 
 tinued. " It was about typewriter girls. Now that 
 I know I can write well enough to be published, I 
 would like a regular salaried position." 
 
 " I read your article," he said, " and I thought the 
 editor was giving too much prominence to the first 
 effort of a beginner." 
 
 "Why, wasn't it good?" I exclaimed, amazed at 
 such heartless criticism, and terrified at the thought 
 that I had resigned my situation at the grocer's. 
 " I thought you'd give me a place right away, and 
 I told my employer, Mr. Samson, the big grocer, 
 that I wouldn't work for him after Saturday night, 
 because I was going to be a newspaper girl."
 
 6 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 " A newspaper girl ! A newspaper girl ! " the old 
 man repeated to himself musingly. Then he ex- 
 claimed suddenly, " Don't think of it, my poor child ! 
 Be anything, but don't be a newspaper girl ! Go 
 back to your grocer and tell him you made a 
 mistake." He passed his hand over his brow, as 
 though trying to smooth out the wrinkles and collect 
 thoughts concerning something that had happened 
 in a time gone by. 
 
 " I won't go back ! " I replied, planting my feet 
 firmly before his desk and looking at him defiantly. 
 " I won't have the grocer laugh at me, and I'm 
 determined to be a newspaper reporter. If you 
 won't give me a place on your paper, I will go to 
 Chicago and get a place. There are lots of papers 
 there, you know." 
 
 " Don't go to Chicago ! No, no ! " he called out, as 
 he jumped up and rushed toward the door through 
 which I was making my indignant exit. " Come here 
 to my office next Monday morning at nine o'clock. 
 You are so little, I will see if I can find a hole to 
 stow you away in." 
 
 The next Monday morning when I appeared the 
 old man showed me a beautiful new typewriter, with 
 a wonderfully convenient desk. 
 
 " I bought it last Saturday, especially for you to 
 write on," he said. " You will be my confidential 
 clerk and secretary in the mornings, and in the after- 
 noons you may try your hand at writing pieces for 
 the editors upstairs. I'll pay you ten dollars a week 
 to start on. It isn't much, but it's all my conscience 
 tells me you'll be worth for the first two or three 
 months." 
 
 When I returned to my boarding-house one night
 
 COMMITTED TO THE ANGELS 7 
 
 I found there a letter announcing the death of my 
 Wisconsin relative. I cried myself to sleep, and in 
 my dreams the old familiar voice whispered again, 
 " He shall give His angels charge concerning thee," 
 and I was comforted. 
 
 So it was that I became a " newspaper girl."
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE "ANGELS" AND WHAT THEY 
 WERE LIKE 
 
 FOR about two months I was a sort of private 
 secretary and confidential typist to the pro- 
 prietor of the Daily Hustler, whose office, though in 
 the same building, was far away and removed from 
 the excitement and din of the editorial and reportorial 
 rooms. 
 
 During the long intervals between letter-writing, 
 letter-filing, indexing, and the straightening of papers 
 on my employer's desk, I would be bidden by the 
 proprietor of the bustling Western paper to think up 
 things for newspaper stories, to go out and walk about 
 the town and see what was happening, to look into 
 shop windows and observe all the new fashions, to go 
 among the city's poor and discover their joys and 
 their sorrows, to ride on the cable cars that traversed 
 the principal streets of the town, and then to return 
 and write on my typewriting machine all about the 
 things I had seen and heard. Then, seated in his 
 great office armchair, he would critically adjust his 
 gold - rimmed spectacles and read over my first 
 attempts at journalism before they were sent upstairs 
 for the editors to pronounce judgment upon. 
 
 " That's very bad. Don't send that up," he would
 
 THE "ANGELS" 9 
 
 sometimes say, as he sadly shook his head over a 
 particularly unpromising literary effort. Or, again, 
 "Well, well, that's not so bad. You might try 
 it on the city editor ; but, mind you, I can't promise 
 that he'll print it. I never interfere with the editorial 
 department." So into my waste-basket went some 
 of my writings, up to the editorial offices went others, 
 till one day my employer said 
 
 " I hear they have a great fashion opening round 
 at the Murrill Stores this afternoon. Suppose you 
 go and see if you can write a funny piece about funny 
 fashions. I don't know if they want anything like 
 that upstairs, but if they do, and your piece is up to 
 the mark, they might use it on Sunday." 
 
 The " funny piece about funny fashions " made its 
 way to the editorial rooms, and, to my great delight, 
 it appeared the following Sunday, gaily illustrated, 
 and signed by a pen-name, " Polly Pollock." A few 
 days afterwards, appearing at the office one morning, 
 I discovered that the corner which had been taken 
 up with my desk and typewriter was empty. The 
 old man sat busily writing at his desk, and wheeled 
 about to look at me, when I shrieked out, in tearful 
 and terrified accents 
 
 " Where's my machine oh, where's my machine ? 
 Is it stolen, or have you dismissed me ? " 
 
 "Yes, I've dismissed you, Miss Polly Pollock," he 
 said, half smiling, half frowning ; " but you've got 
 another situation ! My managing editor has engaged 
 you as society reporter, and requires you and your 
 typewriter upstairs in his domains. Go up now and 
 see your new office and your new employer, but don't 
 forget your old one. You're a full-fledged newspaper 
 girl now, and must take your chances with the rest"
 
 io A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 So I graduated to the top floor of the newspaper 
 building, and was turned over to what proved to be 
 the very tender mercies of the managing editor and 
 his assistants. 
 
 When I worked in the proprietor's office I had 
 always gone to my duties at nine in the morning and 
 left off at five or six. Now different hours were re- 
 quired, for I was to be a society reporter, and in the 
 world of society little happened before three o'clock 
 in the afternoon, and then things kept happening till 
 one or two o'clock the next morning. I was told I 
 need not arrive at the office until the middle of the 
 afternoon, and I must expect to remain every night 
 until my work was ready for the morning paper. 
 
 In the pursuit of news I flitted hither and thither 
 among the leaders and would-be leaders of fashion, 
 taking notes of how Mrs. Brown was giving a pink 
 tea and how Mrs. Green was going to pay a thousand 
 dollars for a dress to be worn at a ball. It was as a 
 society reporter that I first gained my introduction 
 to the world of snobs and snobbery, as well as to a 
 world where there was some tenderness and sympathy 
 and charity all under the guise of fashion. Shall I 
 ever forget how I was once left on a hat-rack seat in 
 the front hall of an aspiring social leader (whose father 
 was a blacksmith, and whose mother was a washer- 
 woman) while I heard the lady say to the servant, 
 " A reporter, did you say ? Well, I suppose I must 
 see her. She may be of use to me." 
 
 How the hot tears dropped on to that polished 
 hat-rack as I reflected upon the vulgarity and com- 
 mon origin of the woman who thought I might be of 
 " use " to her ! And did I not on my return from 
 that interview burst in upon my editor with denun-
 
 THE "ANGELS" n 
 
 ciations of the lady in question, demanding that I 
 be allowed in my own special column to "do her 
 up " ! It was then that I received my first lesson in 
 the art of returning good for evil in the newspaper 
 profession, for instead of being allowed to "do her 
 up," I was instructed to give her a " good send-off," 
 her husband being a large advertiser. 
 
 The following night a silver lining appeared to my 
 journalistic cloud, when I went to the Governor's 
 mansion on the hill to report a great ball. The 
 Governor's wife told me to come in the next day and 
 have luncheon with her, when she would give me 
 notes of the society events that were coming off, and 
 that thereafter I might call on her once a week, when 
 she would make a point of keeping me well informed 
 of all that society was doing. Then she introduced 
 her son, who was home for the holidays from Yale, 
 and he said 
 
 "Will you give me the pleasure of the next 
 waltz ? " 
 
 "I am sure reporters are not expected to dance 
 when they go to report balls," I answered, "and, 
 besides, I'm not properly dressed. Why, I've even 
 got a coat and hat on ! " But I showed in my face a 
 great longing for the waltz that I felt newspaper 
 etiquette bade me refuse. 
 
 "Oh, just throw the coat and hat off! Say, 
 mother, do you object to your son's dancing with a 
 girl in a high-necked dress?" he said banteringly, 
 turning to the first lady of the State. 
 
 " Do dance with him ! " said the lady entreatingly ; 
 "and your dress is as pretty and as stylish as 
 possible." 
 
 So I danced with the Governor's son, and during
 
 12 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 the waltz I forgot that I was only a newspaper girl, 
 all alone in the world, with nobody but the angels to 
 take charge of me. The Governor's son put me in a 
 cab, and told the driver to "drive like lightning back 
 to the Hustler office," and I wrote a very glowing 
 description of that particular society "function." The 
 city editor praised it, and I said 
 
 " Oh, but the ball was lovely ! I took off my coat 
 and hat and waltzed with the Governor's son ! " 
 
 He looked hard at me, then whistled, then tried to 
 smile and appear unconcerned, and when I was 
 moving away from his desk I heard him remark to 
 another editor who sat near him 
 
 " Poor little girl ! I didn't have the heart to tell 
 her that she was hired to report balls, and not to 
 dance at them with Governors' sons." 
 
 Then I knew for certain that I had broken a rule 
 of newspaper etiquette, but I could not make myself 
 feel more than half sorry. 
 
 I thought I was a very good American in those 
 days, believing, according to the Declaration of Inde- 
 pendence, that all men were created free and equal, 
 and that birth and pedigree were not to be considered 
 in the " Land of Freedom " ; but many times after 
 that ball I meditated upon the fact that the Governor's 
 lady was said to be descended from a long line of 
 British aristocrats, and that in her boudoir she 
 treasured a certain book that told all about her 
 family tree and her coat-of-arms, and what mighty 
 deeds were done by her great-great-grandfathers in 
 the times of Old England. Then I would think 
 indignantly of the hat-rack experience with the 
 daughter of the washerwoman, and I pondered all 
 those things in my heart. Shall I impress the
 
 THE "ANGELS" 13 
 
 readers of my memoirs as being altogether un- 
 American if I confess that even now, over here in 
 England, I am pondering them still ? 
 
 Honesty compels me to say that during those first 
 few months of my journalistic career there were not 
 many kind hands stretched out to me by the mem- 
 bers of my own sex. A great many doors were 
 slammed in my face at times, patronising airs were 
 shown me at other times, and there were also cring- 
 ings to me because of the power I was supposed to 
 possess in a newspaper way. So many people 
 " used " me ! Flowers were often sent to me won- 
 derfully costly roses and orchids, tied with ribbons, 
 and there were boxes of candies and presents of 
 books. Along with such attentions, however, came 
 photographs of aspiring society belles and matrons, 
 with crudely-written notices to the effect that Mrs. 
 or Miss So-and-So, whose photograph was enclosed, 
 was giving a ball or a reception or was going to 
 Europe, and I soon learned not to overvalue the 
 flowers and the bon-bons. Once I was sent to a 
 summer-resort hotel, and a society woman, shaking 
 hands with me, said, " I'm all alone, if you like to 
 have dinner with me to-night. I have no such silly 
 notions as some persons have, about associating 
 with newspaper women, though, of course, I would 
 not want you to repeat that you had dined with 
 me." 
 
 "Don't fear that I shall repeat it, since I shall 
 never dine with you ! " I replied. 
 
 During the winter, only occasionally when I 
 tramped through the snow late at night to the 
 various society affairs, to get descriptions of the 
 dresses, decorations, and people, would the fact that
 
 14 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 I was cold so cold sometimes that I could hardly 
 move my fingers to write the necessary notes ap- 
 pear to be taken intd consideration by society 
 women. Most of them seemed to regard me only as 
 a machine to make notes of their doings. 
 
 Once, near midnight, I was going my round of 
 evening parties, when, on the piazza, of a grand stone 
 mansion, from which issued sounds of the revelry 
 of the town's best society, I met a young woman 
 crouched under one of the porch pillars, a newspaper 
 reporter, like myself. She was nearly frozen, her 
 teeth were chattering, and she could scarcely speak. 
 After a while she succeeded in explaining to me that 
 she had got her report of the doings at that house, 
 and was waiting on the porch for a cab which she 
 had ordered to call for her. ^ 
 
 " But why didn't you stay inside the Chouse till 
 it came instead of waiting here in the snow and 
 wind?" I asked. 
 
 " Oh, because when I got my report I told them 
 I had a cab coming for me and I would like to 
 wait, and I was ushered out of the door, the lady 
 of the house saying, ' Very well, she supposed it 
 would be along in a minute.' Oh, how cruel every- 
 body is to me ! " went on the girl bitterly. " How 
 I hate them all how I hate them ! and won't I get 
 even with them one day ! " 
 
 Had it not been for the goodness of mankind, 
 compared with what I will charitably term the 
 thoughtlessness of the womankind I met in those 
 early days, I would have been in danger of becoming 
 a pessimist and a cynic as regarded all humanity, but 
 somehow the " angels," who turned out to be just 
 plain, practical, ordinary Western American men,
 
 THE "ANGELS" 15 
 
 kept my feet from dashing against the stone of 
 unbelief. 
 
 Frequently I found difficulty in filling my allotted 
 space, yet notes for that society column I needs 
 must have ; so one day it occurred to me that 
 I would call upon the husbands and fathers of the 
 women and girls who gave balls and parties. Into 
 the offices of lawyers, doctors, merchants, bankers, 
 and brokers I made my way. 
 
 " Your wife gave a party last night, but I couldn't 
 find anyone who would bother to tell me about it 
 Please tell me what sort of dress she wore, what 
 people were there, and everything." 
 
 Thus I would accost the busy merchant at his desk 
 or the much-engaged lawyer among his briefs. 
 
 "Why, bless my soul! I'm not a society man! 
 I leave all that to the women-folks. Half the time 
 I'm not even present at their goings-on. What's that 
 you say? Obliged to have a report for Sunday's 
 paper ? Well, now, let me think." 
 
 This was the way I got my news of many an 
 important event. I would be confidentially informed 
 of things that were coming off in the future so that 
 I could go and see about them, and there was more 
 than one business man in that town who, himself 
 taking no interest in the fashionable world, yet took 
 the pains to jot down little society notes and send 
 them to me at the office. Other news, besides that 
 relating to society affairs, would also come to me 
 in the same way, so that I was often able to go to 
 the city editor and tell him that although such and 
 such a thing was not in my line I could put him on 
 to great happenings in the political and commercial
 
 1 6 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 world, and he became my firm friend and advocate, 
 prophesying a brilliant future for the latest addition 
 to his staff. 
 
 The most unpleasant thing about my work was 
 the late hours which society reporting made it 
 necessary for me to keep. Balls were only in full 
 swing at midnight, and they must be personally 
 attended in order to be described in all their glory. 
 To go to a ball at midnight, get notes, and return 
 to the office to write them out for publication in the 
 morning paper, very frequently made the hour at 
 which I could go home as late as one or two o'clock 
 in the morning. At that hour the cable cars had 
 ceased to run, and the subject of my getting home 
 from the office was at first one that gave me many 
 a bad half-hour. I had, without intentional eaves- 
 dropping, heard this very question discussed among 
 the editors and reporters the first time my work had 
 kept me at the office till after midnight. 
 
 "Wait here in my room till I see how you are to 
 get home," the city editor said when I handed him 
 my " copy," and then he went into the big reportorial 
 room where fifteen or twenty men were writing away 
 for dear life. 
 
 " Of course we'll have to look after her when the 
 cars are stopped," I heard one of the men say ; " one 
 fellow one night, another the next, and so on, don't 
 you know." 
 
 "Well, / can't do it to-night, anyway. Shan't be 
 finished more than a minute before the paper goes 
 to press. Two hours' steady work at this blamed 
 stump speech ! " 
 
 " See here, old stick-in-the-mud, over there ! You've 
 got to take this girl home to-night, do you hear?
 
 THE "ANGELS" 17 
 
 You haven't a thing to do now, and you're just hang- 
 ing round to watch the rest of us work ! " 
 
 "All right!" I heard a voice say, and there was 
 a scraping of a chair over the floor. " But, I tell you 
 what It's an all-fired shame for girls to be working 
 in newspaper offices at night, and I don't care how 
 nice they are as girls, they're nothing but nuisances 
 in a place like this at midnight. While I'm walking 
 home with her I'll just ask the young lady to 
 marry me, and that'll put an end to all our 
 troubles ! " 
 
 I did not wait to hear more. In consternation, 
 indignation, and self-pity I rushed out of the office, 
 jumped on to the elevator, and, descending from the 
 top to the ground floor, made my way out alone and 
 sorrowful into the midnight street. Never, I vowed, 
 would any member of that staff again feel obliged 
 to ask me to marry him in order to rid the office of 
 a nuisance ! 
 
 At first I walked rapidly along the dark and 
 deserted streets which led to my boarding-house. 
 My indignant bravery soon gave way to fright and 
 hysterical tears. All the horrible stories I had ever 
 heard of wicked, prowling city ruffians came vividly 
 to my mind. I began to run, when I heard footsteps 
 behind me. Someone was following me. Yes, as 
 I ran faster the footsteps behind me seemed to turn 
 into long and mighty strides ! I ran on, sobbing 
 aloud, and by this time almost crazed with fear of 
 I knew not what. Suddenly I felt my arm clutched. 
 I was caught and by a policeman ! 
 
 "What's the matter with ye? Where ye goin', 
 and where ye been to all alone at this time o' night ? 
 I've been chasin' ye fer five minutes ! " 
 c
 
 1 8 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 When the upholder of law and order thus ad- 
 dressed me, I sobbed out 
 
 " Oh, I'm so scared ! I'm a society reporter at the 
 Hustler office, and I started to go home alone, and 
 I ran because I was afraid." 
 
 " A reporter ! Great Scott ! Why, I thought ye 
 was a criminal, fleein" from justice ! " 
 
 The policeman began to laugh, then suddenly 
 sobering he said 
 
 " Come along with me. I'll see ye get home safe 
 to-night." 
 
 For several blocks he walked at my side, giving 
 it as his humble opinion that somebody ought to 
 introduce a law into the legislature forbidding young 
 ladies to do newspaper work. At a corner he stopped. 
 
 " Now, I can't go any farther with ye, because this 
 is the end of my beat, but I'll put ye in charge of 
 the officer on the next beat, and he'll go as far as he 
 can, and give ye to another officer, till the first thing 
 ye know ye'll be safe home." 
 
 A low whistle brought another policeman to the 
 corner. 
 
 " What have you got there ? " asked the new-comer. 
 
 "A little reporter scared out of her senses. I've 
 brought her this far, and I wish ye'd see her as far 
 as ye can, and then give her over to the officer of the 
 beat where she lives and tell him to take her home." 
 
 So I was handed over on that eventful night from 
 the first officer to the second, and from the second 
 to the third, who delivered me safe and sound at my 
 own door. I had no sooner closed it behind me than 
 there was a violent pull at the bell. Opening it I 
 saw standing on the step one of the chief editors of 
 the Hustler staff.
 
 THE "ANGELS" 19 
 
 " Thank God you're safe ! " he exclaimed. I just 
 came to wake up your landlady to ask her if you'd 
 got home, and if not we were going to search the 
 town for you. There's a fine row at the office, the 
 city editor raising Cain generally, and every man 
 blaming every other fellow for allowing you to go 
 home alone. Now I'll go back and tell them you're 
 all right, so their minds will be easy, but you mustn't 
 do this again. There's not one of us but would 
 consider it a personal insult for you to think you 
 had to go home alone." 
 
 He trudged back to the office to report my safety 
 to the anxious staff. 
 
 Right here, in the midst of writing my reminis- 
 cences, thousands of miles away from the town where 
 the Daily Hustler is published, I send greeting to the 
 members of that staff. God bless them ! Here's to 
 them, from an American newspaper woman to those 
 American newspaper men ! 
 
 The fear of becoming a burden instead of a valuable 
 acquisition to the staff of the Hustler was ever with 
 me after that first exciting night of my home-going, 
 and when my work was done I got into the habit of 
 stealing quietly out of the office by myself. But 
 I was no longer afraid to walk from the office to my 
 home, for I was well looked after by my friends, the 
 police officers. The one who had first protected me 
 from my fears convinced himself that he must always 
 see that I was safely escorted, so night after night 
 there sounded the low whistle of himself and his 
 brother officers as I passed from one to the other 
 on my homeward route. 
 
 " What is it ? " would come the question. 
 
 "The little reporter!" would be the answer, and
 
 20 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 always during my stay in that city I felt it no dis- 
 honour, and not derogatory to my dignity, to be 
 known among the police' only by that name " the 
 little reporter." 
 
 " It's a bad night for ye to be out, little reporter ! " 
 said one of my custodians on a night when the 
 Western winter was at its worst. "It's not fit work 
 for a girl like you, this reportin' business writin' up 
 the crazy sociables and describin' the dresses and 
 the gimcracks the society folks wear! I've been 
 thinkin' these several nights, when I've been takin' 
 ye home and protectin' ye like, that ye'd oughter 
 have a protector all the time, and a good home with 
 a big fire to sit by on winter nights, and it worries 
 me. Now, if ye'll marry me, I'll just see that ye 
 don't have no more of this unwomanlike work to 
 do!"
 
 CHAPTER III 
 I GO TO PERU AS A "GIRL-DIPLOMAT 11 
 
 I HAVE always thought that my refusal to become 
 "Mrs. Policeman" must have been an exceedingly 
 tactful one, for though I remained in the Western 
 town for some time after the police officer so chival- 
 rously offered me his lifelong protection, he continued 
 to be my friend and champion during my midnight 
 walks from the office to my boarding-house, and I 
 never missed his cheery "Good evenin', little re- 
 porter ! " till I left the city to travel thousands of 
 miles away, to become what the members of the 
 staff were pleased to call a "girl-diplomat." This 
 was during the administration of President Harrison. 
 One day when I was getting up my society notes 
 I received a letter from a Wisconsin editor saying 
 that some months before he had got a note from me 
 asking for a position of any sort on the staff of his 
 newspaper. This, I should state, was written to 
 him while I was employed in the wholesale grocer's 
 establishment, and before I had got my first article 
 published in the Daily Hustler. The Wisconsin gentle- 
 man now informed me that though he had been 
 unable to give me a place on his paper, he had kept 
 me in mind, and that having been appointed to go 
 to Peru as Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Pleni-
 
 22 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 potentiary, he wished to know if I would accept a 
 post as secretary. I immediately telegraphed back 
 "Yes." 
 
 Loud and hearty indeed were the congratulations 
 showered upon me by the editors and reporters ; and 
 what " write-ups " they gave me, to be sure ! " Our 
 Girl - Diplomat ! " " The Administration Takes the 
 Pick of Our Staff ! "that was the way they headed 
 the columns they published about me, along with my 
 photograph. Then hundreds of other papers, through- 
 out the East and the West and the North and the 
 South, sounded my fame and praises ; so it was with 
 a great flourish of newspaper trumpets that I started 
 off on my journey to the land of the Incas. 
 
 I have since heard that Mr. Elaine, who was then 
 Secretary of State in the President's Cabinet, smiled 
 dubiously, and made a rather discouraging remark 
 about what might happen if the United States went 
 in for " school-girl diplomacy." He is dead now, and 
 I bear him not the least malice. I am sure that I 
 never did my country any harm while I was a 
 " diplomat," though, on the other hand, I have no 
 reason to believe that I ever did it any particular 
 good. My position, I should here state, was not 
 strictly an " official " one, for I was not to be Secre- 
 tary of Legation, but only " secretary to the Minister." 
 Still, I was looked upon somewhat in the light of a 
 heroine, and became a sort of nine days' wonder ; for 
 I was, I believe, the only American woman who had 
 ever been employed in a clerical capacity at any of 
 our Legations. 
 
 After a three weeks' voyage on the Atlantic and 
 the Pacific I arrived in Lima, the Peruvian capital. 
 
 In a strange-looking house, built of mud, or adobe
 
 A GIRL-DIPLOMAT 23 
 
 as it was more elegantly called (over the portal of 
 which was a shield bearing a picture of the American 
 Eagle and the inscription, " Legacion de los Estados 
 Unidos "), I took up my residence with the members 
 of the Minister's family the only American girl in 
 that whole large city, and a curiosity, as I soon 
 learned, to all the inhabitants. 
 
 The second day after my arrival there, wishing to 
 go to a shop to buy a reel of cotton, I looked in my 
 Anglo-Spanish dictionary to find the Spanish term 
 for that article. I found it was algodon, so I wrote 
 it down on a slip of paper that I might not forget it, 
 and then donning my light covert jacket and gaily 
 trimmed white straw hat, I left the Legation to go 
 shopping in a town where I knew but one word of 
 the language of its inhabitants "algodon cotton to 
 sew with." In and out among strange, weird-looking 
 women, each wearing a peculiar black garment, which 
 draped the head, neck, shoulders, and hips, and fell 
 gracefully over the black skirt, I made my way, the 
 one bright-looking object in the sombre throng, till, 
 looking back, I saw the Jamaican negro major-domo 
 of the Legation rushing after me, wildly gesticulating, 
 and with a look of horror on his ebony face. 
 
 " Senorita ! Senorita ! " he cried, in the good 
 English he had learned as an old servant to pre- 
 vious American Ministers, "you must not go to shop 
 alone ! His Excellency sent me after you. It is 
 not the custom of this country. I will go with 
 you." 
 
 " Go back ! Go back ! " I answered, with severity 
 and dignity. " I will not take you out shopping with 
 me. I'm just going to buy a spool of cotton. I 
 know the Spanish word for it. It is algodon"
 
 24 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 I made this last announcement rather proudly, but 
 nevertheless the major-domo insisted on accompany- 
 ing me. 
 
 " You cannot go out here without a servant with 
 you ! " he explained entreatingly. " The Peruvian 
 ladies, either young or old, never do ; and if you 
 go out alone the Peruvian gentlemen will speak to 
 you." 
 
 "But I will go out alone in broad daylight!" I 
 answered. " I'm an American girl and can take care 
 of myself, and I won't have anybody tagging round 
 after me." The head of our domestic staff said 
 nothing in reply, and having bought my algodon 
 with him standing by my side, I went back to the 
 Legation, where, under the outstretched wings of our 
 emblem bird, there took place a new Declaration of 
 Independence. 
 
 After that I wandered where I would throughout 
 the city. It was at first suggested that I should 
 don the mania, the national female garment of 
 Peru, which I have already described ; but, finally, 
 I decided this would never do, since, robed in that 
 garment, I might be mistaken for a Peruvian girl 
 who dared to be unconventional and go out alone, 
 in which case the high-caste Peruvian ladies would 
 be horrified and give me a wide berth, and the 
 chivalrous Peruvian gentlemen would insult me! 
 Therefore, when I took my walks abroad, I dressed 
 just as I would have dressed for a morning or 
 afternoon stroll in New York or London, and my 
 Anglo-Saxon costume proved to be my shield and 
 protection. Once, it is true, a Peruvian officer, wear- 
 ing his full regimentals, stopped in the street, looked 
 at me in astonishment, swept the ground with his
 
 A GIRL-DIPLOMAT 25 
 
 military hat, and said in his musical Castilian, " Ah ! 
 Seilorita Bonita ! " Now this form of salutation, 
 which I had learned meant in English "Oh! pretty 
 girl ! ", was the Peruvian gentleman's method of 
 attracting the attention of a woman whose acquaint- 
 ance he wished to make. I drew myself up haughtily, 
 looked him full in the face, and said defiantly 
 
 " Senorita Americana ! " for I had learned the 
 Spanish for " American girl." Then, gathering to- 
 gether all my spirit and all my Spanish forces, I 
 said angrily and rapidly, " Senorita Americana, 
 Legacion de los Estados Unidos ! " 
 
 I think he understood then that I belonged to 
 the American Legation, for he incontinently sped 
 away, and never after that was I addressed in the 
 street by male Peruvians who had not been properly 
 introduced to me at the Legation. 
 
 The first few weeks of my experience as a diplomat 
 were very disappointing to me, because nothing 
 seemed to happen. I had always thought of a 
 diplomatic life as one of exciting experiences, where 
 there would be despatches to send off to the home 
 Government concerning war or rumours of war, 
 accounts of double-dealings with the heads of the 
 country to which one was accredited, and a con- 
 tinual plotting and counter-plotting with underhand 
 methods, and possibly a sort of secret service ; but 
 the days went calmly by and I did not seem to be 
 doing much in the way of "experiencing things." 
 In fact, the only relaxation and change from the 
 eating, sleeping, and doing nothing (which was 
 the Peruvian method of spending the time) was the 
 assistance I could render the Minister in the daily 
 writing of his diary, which we both thought would be
 
 26 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 interesting for friends and relatives in America to 
 read. 
 
 But just when I thought I would actually die from 
 pure ennui something happened. One morning, be- 
 tween five and six, I was awakened from my sound 
 sleep by so violent a rocking of my bed that I was 
 tumbled out upon the floor, from which I hastily 
 tried to rise, rubbing my eyes in wonder and terror. 
 From the streets there came sounds of terrible groan- 
 ings and rumblings and hoarse cries and shouts as of 
 thousands of people. 
 
 " It's one of those South American revolutions 
 which they are always having down here," I thought, 
 as I dressed myself in short order, though I tumbled 
 down and reeled round and round in my efforts to 
 do so. I was really glad of the revolution, because 
 I thought it was going to break up the almost un- 
 bearable monotony of my diplomatic career. 
 
 Through the door of my bedroom I rushed out 
 into the hall, then across the courtyard, or patio, as 
 it was called, to the Legation offices in the same 
 building, while up from the streets there rose the 
 cries and shouts of the multitude. 
 
 " Save us ! Save us ! " came the shrieks in Spanish. 
 I doubted not that these cries came from the hapless 
 victims who were being mowed down by the soldiery 
 and the mob. I felt very sorry for them, but, being 
 a diplomat, and apparently the only member of the 
 American Legation that was awake, I felt I must 
 do my duty. For myself I had no fear. I knew 
 that no one would dare to harm those who lived 
 under the protecting wings of the American Eagle. 
 I fairly threw the tin cover off my typewriter on to 
 the floor, and sitting down began to pound out a
 
 A GIRL-DIPLOMAT 27 
 
 despatch to the Washington Department of State, 
 my idea being to finish it up and then give it to 
 the Minister to send by cable. 
 
 " To the Honourable James G. Elaine, Secretary 
 of State, Washington, U.S.A. From the 
 American Minister in Lima, Peru. 
 
 " A revolution broke out at five this morning and 
 nobody knows what it is about. The streets run with 
 blood, the populace cry, ' Save us ! Save us ! ' while 
 the soldiers run them through with bayonets. It is 
 likely the President of Peru will be beheaded and his 
 head stuck up on the top of a pole in front of the 
 Cathedral, as it is customary to treat Presidents 
 during revolutions. All the staff and family of this 
 Legation are safe. Will wire you again later" 
 
 Thus ran the first despatch which I, as a diplomat, 
 ever wrote for the Department of State. Just as 
 I was pulling it out of my typewriter, loud and 
 excited noises were heard in the Legation itself. 
 Then I heard a scuffling and a banging of doors, 
 and the black major-domo's voice calling loudly, 
 almost tearfully 
 
 " Senorita ! Sefiorita ! Where are you ? " 
 
 " Have you searched in every room ? " came the 
 voice of the Minister. " Surely she cannot have gone 
 out on one of those rambles of hers at this time in 
 the morning ! " 
 
 "I have searched in all the house part, Your 
 Excellency, and she does not go to the office rooms 
 until eleven o'clock ! " returned the servant. 
 
 Another scuffling, more shouts, but not from the 
 street now. Only from the Legation came evidences
 
 28 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 of excitement. I started towards the door and 
 shouted across the patio 
 
 " I'm all right ! Nothing's happened to me, and 
 I've got it all ready for you to cable ! " 
 
 "What ready? What cable?" shouted the Minister, 
 as he came running round the courtyard accompanied 
 by the scared-looking major-domo. 
 
 "The despatch to Washington about the revolu- 
 tion ! Please see if it's all right, so that we can get 
 it off." 
 
 " What despatch ? What revolution ? " exclaimed 
 the Minister. "Great heavens ! has the poor girl gone 
 mad ? " Then turning to the major-domo he asked, 
 in a terrified sort of way, " William, do earthquakes 
 send people crazy ? " 
 
 " I'm not mad ! " I said indignantly. " They've 
 got a revolution down in the streets, and I've written 
 a despatch about it. Haven't we been waiting for a 
 revolution these many weeks ? " 
 
 "There's an earthquake, senorita!" said the major- 
 domo respectfully. 
 
 " An earthquake ! " I repeated, half dazed. Then 
 I turned to the Minister. 
 
 " I'm sure there's a revolution, though it's quieter 
 now. They always calm down one minute and then 
 break out again. My first intimation of it was when 
 my bed rocked and I heard the rumble of the 
 cannons. Come here to the window, and I'll prove 
 to you there's a revolution." 
 
 We looked out of the window. Not a soul was in 
 the street, and the Minister began laughing up- 
 roariously as he read my despatch. 
 
 "It was just an earthquake, senorita," said the 
 major-domo, trying hard to maintain a solemn and
 
 A GIRL-DIPLOMAT 29 
 
 respectful look on his face. " When the earthquakes 
 come, all the people run into the streets and shout 
 and pray, ' Save us ! ' and when the earthquake goes 
 away they go back to their houses again and go to 
 sleep." 
 
 I am sure I am not now, and was not then, either 
 bloodthirsty or war-loving in my disposition, but my 
 chagrin at discovering that my "revolution" was 
 nothing but an earthquake was many a day in passing 
 off, and it certainly was rather annoying to have the 
 Minister occasionally repeat, " The streets run with 
 blood, the populace cry, ' Save us ! ' while the soldiers 
 run them through with bayonets!" after which he 
 would shake with laughter and declare that being a 
 diplomat in Peru was not so devoid of excitement 
 as he had thought. 
 
 The first time I went to church in Lima I noticed 
 that I seemed to be the centre of a great deal of atten- 
 tion from the congregation, and that the minds of the 
 worshippers were very much distracted. However, 
 as I had by that time become accustomed to creating 
 a sensation wherever I went, because I was the only 
 American girl in the town, and also because of my, 
 to them, peculiar style of dressing, I sat down quietly 
 with the other women. Suddenly I felt someone 
 meddling with my hat, and looking up I saw a lady 
 with a beautiful face and wearing the finest and most 
 richly embroidered manta I had ever seen. She 
 pulled the hat-pins from my hat and placed them in 
 my hand, then took my hat off, and, putting it on the 
 seat beside me, smiled, patted me on the shoulder, 
 said, " Si, si ! " and went back to her kneeling-stool. 
 I was very much astonished at this strange procedure, 
 but I said never a word. Indeed, how could I, not
 
 30 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 knowing the language of the country ? The service 
 over, I left the church and, still carrying my hat-pins 
 and my hat, walked along the pavement towards the 
 Legation. 
 
 " Si ! Si ! Ah, sefiorita ! " I heard a melodious voice 
 say behind me, and with that the same beautiful 
 lady took the hat-pins and hat from my hand, placed 
 my hat on my head, pinned it tightly, and, patting 
 me again on the shoulder, glided away. I afterwards 
 learned that by going to church wearing a hat I had 
 broken one of the strictest rules of Peruvian etiquette, 
 and that had it not been known that I was a member 
 of the American Legation I might have lost my hat 
 altogether. This little incident was repeated by the 
 Peruvian lady to all her friends, and the fact that I 
 had not even attempted to replace my hat of my own 
 will after I had got outside the church redounded, it 
 seemed, very much to my credit, and I became, in a 
 sort of way, what one might term "the fashion." 
 Unknown ladies, walking with their servants, passing 
 me in the street, would take from the bouquets 
 which the servants (never the ladies) carried wonderful 
 sprigs of tuberoses and other flowers and smilingly 
 place them in my hand, saying, " Sefiorita Americana, 
 si, si ! " forcing them upon me, and then, bowing, go 
 on their way. 
 
 It was all very sweet and pretty, but this being a 
 continual heroine and a curiosity to the inhabitants 
 soon palled upon me. I was always finding new 
 barriers known as " customs of the country " over 
 which I must leap, if I would not give up altogether 
 my native-born independence. 
 
 When I accepted the position of secretary to the 
 American Minister I was not well acquainted with
 
 A GIRL-DIPLOMAT 31 
 
 that gentleman indeed, I had only seen him once, 
 and that was when we drew up our contract. I could 
 not, of course, be expected to know anything about 
 his peculiarities or fads and fancies any more than 
 he could know mine, and I had been in Peru but a 
 very few days when I came to the conclusion that he 
 certainly had a very strange and eccentric way of 
 dictating his despatches and his diary. We only 
 worked two or three hours each day, but those hours 
 soon became to me times of terror. I had travelled 
 on the same ship with the Minister and had noticed 
 nothing peculiar about him, so I was not prepared 
 for any developments of eccentricity when we got 
 started in our diplomatic career. 
 
 On the third day after our arrival, there being an 
 American mail going out, the Minister sat down to 
 go over some despatches which the First Secretary 
 of Legation handed to him. 
 
 " Now, about this note to the State Department. 
 
 Great Scott ! This is enough " And with that 
 
 the Minister, red in the face, jumped off his chair like 
 an automaton, landed on the floor, and began stamp- 
 ing with his feet, after which he executed a hornpipe 
 dance. 
 
 I stared at him in amazement. Was this the way 
 diplomats of all nations carried on, or was it a peculiar 
 and distinct phase of American diplomacy ? Was the 
 Minister in a temper, and had I possibly offended him 
 all unwittingly? 
 
 " I hope I haven't done anything to offend you," I 
 said meekly and quietly. 
 
 " No, not a thing," answered the Minister, doing a 
 reversible waltz over towards the window.
 
 32 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 " Can I do anything for you ? " I again asked 
 solicitously. 
 
 "No! no! no!" shouted the Minister; "you can't 
 do a thing ! Nobody can do anything ! I wish they 
 could ! " 
 
 After a polka of the two-step order and a kind of a 
 shake-down, such as I had seen them do at the end 
 of a country dance, the Minister seemed to " come 
 to," and, walking over to his desk, went on with his 
 instructions quite sanely and pleasantly. 
 
 " You must not mind me when I get to taking on 
 like that," he said smilingly. 
 
 Not mind him ! Then my worst fears were con- 
 firmed ! He was a madman ! Or, stay ! Was he 
 subject to fits? Whatever it was, there surely was 
 not a very pleasant outlook for me. If it were neither 
 madness nor fits, but only a new kind of eccentricity, 
 even then I didn't see how I could stand it if he were 
 taken that way often, and I gathered from the way 
 he spoke that he was. 
 
 The days passed on, and the poor man was seized 
 daily, sometimes hourly, with his strange convulsions. 
 At first I thought I would speak to the First Secretary 
 about it, and ask him what was the name of the 
 Minister's peculiar physical trouble ; but this gentle- 
 man had not met the Minister till he came to Peru, 
 and so could not know any more than I. There was 
 the Minister's wife, but it is not etiquette to speak 
 of the peculiarities of a man to the members of his 
 immediate family. 
 
 Occasionally a day would pass and no symptoms 
 of the disease would show themselves, when I would 
 think joyously that perhaps the air and climate of 
 Feru were doing something for my unfortunate chief;
 
 A GIRL-DIPLOMAT 33 
 
 but the next day the jumping and stamping and 
 strange, almost profane, exclamations would come on 
 again. We would sit down quite calmly to work on 
 the " Diary of a Diplomat," when suddenly the afore- 
 said diplomat would topple over his ink-bottle, clench 
 his fists, beat his breast, dance out into the middle of 
 the floor, and then, perhaps, run into the room where 
 the First Secretary sat. What puzzled me most was 
 that on such occasions the First Secretary laughed 
 long and loudly when the Minister descended upon 
 him in these paroxysms, and I called it very rude 
 and unkind of the First Secretary to do this. As for 
 me, I never laughed. I was too terrified to do aught 
 but wonder ; and I sometimes, in my heart, blamed 
 the United States Government for sending so very 
 eccentric a gentleman abroad to represent our 
 country. 
 
 Things went on like this for about two weeks, 
 when one day while the Minister and I were in the 
 office a Peruvian gentleman, one of the great digni- 
 taries of the State, dropped in, and, being introduced 
 to me, we began to try to carry on a conversation in 
 the little Spanish I had then learned, and also by 
 numerous gesticulations. In the midst of the conver- 
 sation up jumped the Minister and began his St. 
 Vitus' dance actions. I really thought it was too 
 bad that he could not have contained himself till the 
 Peruvian gentleman had taken his leave. A pretty 
 story this statesman would go back and tell at the 
 Peruvian State Department! I thought he might 
 get frightened and leave without ceremony, but to 
 my astonishment he only smiled slightly, and said 
 laconically 
 
 "Ah, Pulga!" 
 
 D
 
 34 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 "Si, si, Pulga!" answered the Minister, giving a 
 kick against the desk, and then starting off again on 
 a prance about the room. The Peruvian gentleman 
 began to talk excitedly in Spanish, which I knew the 
 Minister did not understand any more than I did, 
 and I left the room to call in the Legation inter- 
 preter. 
 
 " Pulga ! Pulga ! " I repeated to myself, " what does 
 that mean, and what has that got to do with the 
 Minister's peculiar affection ? " I repeated it several 
 times so as not to forget it while I made my way to 
 my room to get my Anglo-Spanish dictionary. 
 Frantically turning the leaves, I finally found the 
 following : " PULGA a peculiar kind of flea which 
 infests South American countries in great numbers, 
 and is more troublesome to human beings than to 
 animals." 
 
 The poor Minister ! I laughed until I cried, and 
 then I laughed again thinking of his antics and his 
 evident desire that I should be kept in ignorance of 
 the cause ! 
 
 Human fleas ! Had they not been the bane of my 
 own existence ever since I had landed in that terrible 
 country? Had I not talked the matter over with 
 the chambermaid, and tried all sorts of home-made 
 remedies she recommended for the curing of their 
 bites ? Truly, the Minister was not the only member 
 of the family who had suffered in silence, if " silence " 
 his actions could be called ! 
 
 This estimable Jamaica negress, later on, told me 
 that no foreigner could hope to get rid of fleas or 
 become indifferent to their attentions under at the 
 least a year's residence in Peru. 
 
 I did not remain in Peru the year that was
 
 A GIRL-DIPLOMAT 35 
 
 necessary for my acclimatisation. Not only fleas but 
 loneliness loneliness for the companionship of girls 
 of my own age who spoke my own language, con- 
 tributed greatly to my unhappiness in that far-off 
 country. It was during the years when I had not 
 many resources within my own self. 
 
 One day I said, " I am homesick, and I can't stand 
 the fleas ! " and I returned to my native land. Ar- 
 rived in New York, I secured a pleasant position as 
 secretary to an astronomer and inventor, which I 
 filled for several months, but a journalist I was deter- 
 mined to be, and when an opportunity offered for 
 me to get a situation as society editor on a prominent 
 Southern paper, I left New York and travelled south- 
 ward to again take up my interrupted career as a 
 " newspaper girl."
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 INTO THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD OF 
 JOURNALISM 
 
 no woman could ever have entered 
 upon a journalistic career under pleasanter and 
 more encouraging circumstances than did I, so far 
 as my first editors and co-workers were concerned. 
 Just as I shall never forget the Western heartiness 
 and kindness shown by the men on the staff of 
 the Daily Hustler, so shall I always remember the 
 Southern thoughtfulness and chivalry that took me 
 in charge when I became the " only woman " member 
 of the staff of that Southern paper. The managing- 
 editor was an ex-Confederate colonel, who had very 
 exact and old-fashioned notions on the subject of 
 " woman's sphere," and he was of a very decided 
 opinion that a newspaper office could not possibly 
 be included in the said " sphere." Nevertheless his 
 opinion on that subject had been overruled by the 
 decision that a woman was needed on the paper, and 
 he set to work to make my surroundings so alto- 
 gether pleasant and agreeable that if I really was 
 out of my proper sphere it never occurred to me to 
 suspect it. 
 
 The Colonel's office was separated from the main 
 room in which worked all the other editors and
 
 THE WORLD OF JOURNALISM 37 
 
 reporters by a half partition. In this big room, when 
 I arrived on the scene, an attempt was made to give 
 me a little privacy by boarding off a corner with 
 what might be called a "quarter partition," since it 
 only extended three or four feet in height. In that 
 corner, with a brand new desk of wonderful manu- 
 facture, a revolving chair, and some nails in the wall 
 in lieu of a hanging-cupboard, I was installed as a 
 sort of reigning queen. 
 
 Frequently on a morning I would find some new 
 convenience or luxury added to the furnishings of 
 my little den, and on inquiring the name of the 
 donor, would be informed by the reporters and 
 editors, "Oh, all we fellows clubbed together and 
 got it ! " It was thus that I was supplied with a gilt- 
 framed looking-glass, a tumbler, a footstool, a box 
 of lead-pencils all carefully sharpened, new-fashioned 
 kinds of blotters, a variegated flower- vase which was 
 always kept filled with flowers, apples big as pump- 
 kins, boxes of candy, and an apparatus for making 
 lemonade in the hot summer-time. One morning I 
 arrived to find that my corner had been further 
 walled in by the addition of a skilfully twisted wire 
 whereon hung, all unhemmed, a rainbow-hued print 
 curtain. This being placed over the partition made 
 a wall fully six feet high. 
 
 "We fellows did it!" I was informed when I 
 investigated the matter, and it turned out that the 
 real cause of my barricade was that as the hot 
 Southern summer came on, the question of the pro- 
 priety of working in shirt-sleeves with a lady in the 
 office had been mooted, and the high print curtain, 
 which would prevent my noting this breach of 
 etiquette, was the result.
 
 38 A -NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 Several other newspapers in the town had also 
 solitary women reporters on their staffs, and great 
 was the rivalry between myself and those other 
 women. I had been engaged to do what was known 
 as "society and woman's work" on the paper, and 
 my constant ambition was to obtain for the page 
 of which I had entire charge " scoops " of various 
 kinds news of events which the women on the other 
 papers would be unable to get It was for the 
 Sunday edition that I made especially strong attempts 
 in the " scoop " line, and Saturday afternoon and 
 evening was a very busy time for me. 
 
 One Saturday I got wind of a great social event 
 that was to be expected in the near future. I had 
 only a " hint " and no positive information whatever. 
 All day long and all the evening up to eleven o'clock 
 I chased that " hint," but the people who were in the 
 " know " refused to give me the information, one of 
 them going so far as to say, " I don't like your paper 
 nor your paper's politics, and you must expect no in- 
 formation from me. I have told all I know about the 
 affair to the young lady who represents the Daily !" 
 
 It was the last straw ! Instead of " scooping " the 
 other newspaper girls in that town, as was my wont, 
 I was going to get scooped by one of them on the 
 morrow ! In a tragic state of excitement I went 
 back to the office, and the city editor, who knew 
 of the mission on which I had gone, called out, 
 "Hello! have you got it? You'd better hurry up 
 writing it, or your page will be late going to press." 
 
 " No, I haven't got it," I cried ; " but that isn't the 
 worst Miss Jackson across the way has got it, and 
 she's going to print it in to-morrow's paper, and 
 I shall be scooped."
 
 THE WORLD OF JOURNALISM 39 
 
 The terrible word escaped me with a groan, and 
 every man in the room turned from his work to look 
 at me and take in the meaning of what I said. 
 " Scooped ! scooped ! " I murmured falteringly, as 
 I passed on to my desk to get my page in form 
 for the composing-room, and after me there followed 
 like an echo the sympathetic voices of the men 
 " Scooped ! scooped ! Our girl is going to be scooped 
 by the other paper's girl." 
 
 It was after midnight when I went home, and as 
 I jumped into the cab which a thoughtful manage- 
 ment provided for me when I was kept late, a little 
 group of the men reporters came rushing down the 
 stairs, and one of them called out after me, "Say, 
 don't you worry about that scoop, because it'll be 
 all right. Now, be sure you don't worry." But I was 
 not to be comforted, and I went sorrowing home and 
 to bed, expecting that I should awake in the morning 
 to find myself scooped. 
 
 The next morning, in looking over the paper and 
 glancing at my own page, I was struck with a certain 
 strangeness about its appearance, though I had as 
 usual seen a final proof of it before leaving the 
 office. I discovered that a special article I had 
 written to " fill up space " had been taken out and 
 another article was in its place, and I wondered who 
 had presumed to meddle with my own special, 
 particular page the page of which I alone was the 
 editor. I looked again at the article which I had 
 not written the one which was inserted in the place 
 of one I had written and I discovered it to be an 
 extended and glowing account of the great society 
 event, the information of which I had striven so hard 
 to obtain ! I wept for joy. I was not scooped after 
 all, but how in the world had that article got there ?
 
 40 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 I did not do Sunday work, but I could not resist 
 the temptation to go to the office that night to 
 inquire about the wonderful thing that had happened. 
 At the office door stood the very coterie of reporters 
 who had cautioned me " not to worry " when I got 
 into the cab the night before. They were apparently 
 enjoying a tremendous joke, for they were laughing 
 uproariously. 
 
 "Who did it? Who got the information? Who 
 put it on my page ? " I exclaimed breathlessly. 
 
 "We fellows did it!" they replied in unison. "There 
 were five of us had a hand in it, for it was terribly 
 late, and we had to get it into press in short order, 
 so maybe it sounded like patchwork, but it was all 
 there just the same, and you didn't get scooped." 
 
 " But how did you get the information ? Did the 
 man that refused to tell me tell you ? " I asked. 
 
 " Oh no ! oh no ! We didn't have time to fool 
 around much. We just went and took it." 
 
 " Took it ! " I repeated, bewildered. 
 
 "Yes. Didn't you say they had it over at the 
 other newspaper office ? Well, we took it." 
 
 " You mean you took Miss Jackson's manuscript 
 stole it from her and printed what she wrote on my 
 page, and she hasn't got it in her own paper at all ? " 
 
 "No; Miss Jackson's got it in her paper, and 
 what's on your page isn't written like hers a bit, 
 but the facts are all there." 
 
 That was all the information I was ever able to 
 obtain from the chivalrous young Southern men who 
 had come to my assistance and kept me from getting 
 "scooped." I was never let into the secret, but 
 I have always been of the opinion that they had 
 in some way made a raid on the composing-room
 
 THE WORLD OF JOURNALISM 41 
 
 of the rival paper, got their information by word 
 of mouth from one of the printers, who suspected 
 nothing, and thus saved me from what I would have 
 felt was disgrace. As I have said, I am not sure just 
 how "we fellows did it," but if, as I suspect, they 
 used some method which might have been the least 
 little bit underhand, I hope the recording angel has 
 neglected to note down in his book that part of the 
 proceeding. 
 
 There were no hard-and-fast rules laid down for 
 me as regarded office hours. I was told that I might 
 come and go as I liked, so long as my work was 
 done in time. Such privileges in a newspaper office 
 have a tendency to spoil a woman, and I was no 
 exception to the rule. Once when I had got my 
 report of a certain women's meeting which I was to 
 write up, I stopped in at a theatre instead of return- 
 ing directly to the office, with the result that my 
 "copy" was very late in reaching the city editor's 
 desk and the first edition of the paper was late in 
 coming out. Now, that city editor was a " hustling " 
 Northern man, and straightway he went to the 
 managing editor with the suggestion that I be ad- 
 monished to work first and play afterwards. Over 
 the partition came the sound of his indignant voice 
 saying, " In some ways she ought to be treated the 
 same as the men ! Now, don't you think so ? " 
 whereat the doughty Colonel replied 
 
 " See here ! I wasn't the one who started this 
 female journalism racket on this paper. I never 
 approved of having a woman on the paper, but the 
 rest of you wanted a woman, as you said, to do 
 woman's work, and now you've got her I guess you'll 
 have to put up with any little fads and fancies and
 
 42 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 shortcomings she may have. I never knew of a 
 newspaper office that wasn't upset with a solitary 
 woman in it. Where they keep a couple of dozen, 
 as they do in Chicago and New York, it's different, 
 but one woman's bound to get spoiled in an office 
 of men." 
 
 The next day I said to the Colonel, " I couldn't 
 help hearing what you and the city editor said 
 yesterday. Hereafter you are to treat me just like 
 a man, else I'll resign ! " 
 
 " All right ! So be it ! " was his laconic reply. 
 
 A day or two afterwards, when a thunderstorm 
 was raging and I had crawled under my desk for 
 safety from the lightning, I was bidden to the 
 managing editor's office. There sat that chivalrous 
 Southern gentleman on the only chair in the room, 
 his hat on the back of his head, a cigar in his mouth, 
 his feet on the table. 
 
 " I want you to go out at once and report that 
 three o'clock meeting at the Methodist Church," 
 he said, without so much as removing his cigar 
 or lowering his feet. 
 
 " But how can I ? " I objected. " It's thundering 
 and the rain is like a torrent! Why can't one of 
 the men go?" 
 
 " Because I tell you to go ! " was his answer. 
 
 I stood speechless in my surprise, for I was his 
 subordinate and he was my chief. 
 
 " How do you like it being treated like a man ? " 
 he suddenly asked, a grim smile illuminating his 
 face. 
 
 "I don't like it at all," I confessed. 
 
 " I thought you wouldn't ! Now you may go to 
 your corner and get under your desk till the thunder
 
 THE WORLD OF JOURNALISM 43 
 
 stops ! I suppose we shall have to put up with that 
 along with your other fads and fancies. I'll send 
 one of the men to do this women's temperance 
 meeting, though, as you know," he added half 
 banteringly, " it's a part of your regular work to 
 attend to the women's meetings." 
 
 So I was restored to my former happy state of 
 mind, but the incident taught me a lesson. I had 
 conscience enough to know that the city editor was 
 right in his suggestion that work should come before 
 play, and I was never again late with my "copy." 
 When material for my woman's page was scarce, 
 I begged the city editor, who was one of the most 
 enterprising of journalists, to put me on to other and 
 broader kinds of work, so that I might be able to 
 deal with subjects other than those of interest to 
 women only. 
 
 I was frequently asked to do "specials" for the 
 news department, such as the writing up of political 
 meetings, and then I was sometimes sent over to 
 Washington for a day to take a look at the law- 
 makers of my country and examine into their ways. 
 I began to do interviewing, and thus I got just a 
 little peep into the wide, wide world of journalism. 
 That " peep " was the beginning of ambitions, and 
 also the beginning of sorrows. When I ceased to 
 be merely the editor of the woman's page, and 
 started to become what might be fitly described 
 as a "general" in newspaper work, my experience 
 was very like that of a girl who suddenly 
 goes out from the shelter of home and into the 
 world to fight her own battles. Up to then the 
 "angels," into whose charge I had been committed 
 away out in Wisconsin, had always seemed to be
 
 44 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 about and around me to help me over the stones. 
 Now I elected to walk alpne. 
 
 One day a stranger entered the office, and seeing 
 me in my corner, said, " Ah ! I see you've got a lady 
 editor in your office ! " 
 
 " Well, yes," responded the city editor, " but besides 
 being the lady editor, she's one of the best all-round 
 reporters I've got on my staff!" 
 
 It could not have been half an hour after making 
 that remark that the city editor came over to me 
 with the air of having an important commission 
 for me. 
 
 " I've got a fine thing for you," said he, " if you 
 can pull it off! " 
 
 Then he explained that a certain well - known 
 actress, who had appeared in a play the night before 
 at one of the theatres, had suddenly forgotten her 
 part, put her hand to her head, and gone off the 
 stage as though in a dream. The play was almost 
 brought to a standstill, but her understudy had 
 managed to take her place till the fall of the cur- 
 tain. It was thought the actress was intoxicated. 
 In former days she had been an American society 
 beauty and had got stage-struck, and when she had 
 given up her home for the footlights a very dis- 
 agreeable scandal had followed her. 
 
 " Now," continued the city editor, " I've sent four 
 different men to see that woman to-day, trying to 
 get her version of last night's affair on the stage, but 
 she sends down word she's ill and confined to her 
 room and unable to see anyone. But I believe she'd 
 see you, because you're a woman and can go right 
 up to her room. Go and interview her. It'll be 
 a great story, and we'll even scoop the New York
 
 THE WORLD OF JOURNALISM 45 
 
 papers. Find out if she was drunk last night. Find 
 out everything you can from her. Make a big 
 special of it You can have all the space you want. 
 If you manage it well, I'll just say you won't be 
 sorry you tried to please me." 
 
 In fifteen minutes I made my way to the hotel 
 where the actress was stopping, sent up my card, 
 and was admitted to her bedroom. So beautiful had 
 been the pictures I had seen of this woman, that the 
 wan, thin face actually ugly from dissipation 
 that looked up at me from among the pillows, gave 
 me a most unpleasant start. 
 
 " I'm glad a woman has come to me at last," she 
 said, as she tossed her head from side to side. " I'm 
 in disgrace, alone, forsaken even by my own parents. 
 I've made a mess of my life. Listen, and I'll tell 
 you how I did it, and about last night at the theatre 
 too." 
 
 Then, without my so much as having asked her 
 a single question, the woman poured into my aston- 
 ished ears a story of such pathos and such horror as 
 made me start back and cry, " Hush ! Hush ! Don't 
 talk to me any more ! You will be sorry to-morrow, 
 but then it will be too late." 
 
 " No, I shall not be sorry ! " she exclaimed. " I 
 must talk, or I shall lose my reason. I must tell 
 someone of my troubles. Your face does not look 
 hard and cold. Though you are a stranger, something 
 tells me you will be my friend." 
 
 " I am a newspaper reporter," I said simply. 
 "You knew it from my card, and I told you I had 
 come from a newspaper as soon as I got to your 
 room." 
 
 The woman rose up on her elbows. Her hair lay
 
 46 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 scattered over the pillows, and with her bloodshot 
 eyes gazing intently into^ my face, and clutching my 
 hands tightly in her own, she exclaimed 
 
 " Yes, yes ! I knew you were a reporter, but you are 
 also a woman, and I know you will not write a word 
 of what I have told you. I have told you my story 
 in confidence, and you will keep it." 
 
 "No, no, not that! Not in confidence," I cried, 
 trying to snatch my hands from her grasp. " You 
 have talked not to me but to my paper. Oh, you 
 knew it, you knew it! I must print it. I am helpless 
 to keep it out. Why, I'm a woman with a living to 
 earn. I have no one in all the world but myself to 
 depend on. I must do what my editor tells me. He 
 has sent me to get an interview with you, and you 
 have given it to me. I owe a duty to him, to my 
 paper. It would be cheating to hold it back." 
 
 As I stood there by that bed the woman's eyes 
 burned into me, her nails dug into the palms of my 
 hands as she tightened her grasp. She had told me 
 of her own free will a story for my newspaper, a story 
 for other newspapers, a plot for a novel, and now she 
 said, " I have told you in confidence and you will 
 keep it." I thought of my city editor waiting at the 
 office for my return. I could see him smile the 
 " Well done, good and faithful servant " smile upon 
 me when I should walk in and stop at his desk to 
 say, "Yes, I've got a great story from her. She 
 talked and told me everything." This woman who 
 clutched my wrists so hard and said to me, " You will 
 keep it ! " who was she that she should cheat me out 
 of what was mine, should block the way to my future 
 success, should hinder me in the beginning of my 
 career ?
 
 THE WORLD OF JOURNALISM 47 
 
 "Let me go, let me go!" I exclaimed. "You 
 talked to a reporter, knowing she was a reporter. 
 Now take the consequences." I made another effort 
 and got my hands free from her, while she sank 
 exhausted on the bed. "I must go now," I con- 
 tinued ; " I am sorry I cannot see things the way 
 you seem to see them. I am a working woman, with 
 a hard struggle before me. When my editor tells 
 me to do a thing I have no choice but to obey. The 
 world is very hard on women. I'm sorry for you." 
 
 I was turning the handle of the door. " Come 
 back, just one minute," said the actress. " I will not 
 touch you. I won't take your hands again." I went 
 back to the bed and stood looking at her. "You 
 said just now that the world was hard on women. 
 So it is ; and women are also very hard on women. 
 I've had more experience than you have had. I 
 know the world. Let me tell you that very seldom 
 has a woman gone to destruction but another woman 
 has had a hand in sending her there. By printing 
 what I have said to you this afternoon you will ruin 
 me." 
 
 " You are ruined already," I said doggedly. " I 
 cannot hurt you." 
 
 "You will send me to hell and others with me. 
 You will make my name a byword in the gutters. 
 By again making a public character of me you will 
 bring renewed shame to my parents. You will make 
 my little sister, who has all her beautiful life before 
 her, hang her head in the presence of all her com- 
 panions. I say you will do this. I mean that you 
 can do it. Are you going to do it? Tell me, are 
 you going to do it ? " 
 
 " I will not do it," I said. My hands fell limply at
 
 48 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 my side. "I will not print a word you have told 
 me. I promise." 
 
 " You have promised ! Oh, you have promised ! " 
 she exclaimed. " Will you promise me something 
 else?" 
 
 " Perhaps," I answered. I was crying, and I was 
 not a journalist, I was only a woman. 
 
 " Promise me that in your work, as long as you live, 
 you will never try to get fame or money by writing 
 things that will hurt women like me. Promise 
 that you will never in any way, for the sake of your 
 own success, tread on another woman and try to 
 crush her." 
 
 " I promise," I answered. Then I slipped out and 
 closed the door. Once outside the stifling air of the 
 room and away from the woman's presence, a strange, 
 unaccountable feeling of terror took possession of me. 
 I seemed by my promises to have bound myself in 
 chains, and when I reached the street I gave myself 
 a shake, under the impression that perhaps the fresh 
 air and the blue sky and the sunlight would make 
 them drop from me ; but the chains still seemed to 
 bind me. What had I done? I had entered into a 
 compact which at that moment it seemed to me 
 would be a mortgage on my whole future life. I 
 had promised always to refrain from writing any- 
 thing that would hurt women like the one I had been 
 talking to. I had promised never to crush any other 
 woman in my climbing of the ladder to success or 
 happiness. Again I shook myself, but the chains still 
 clung, and thinking that I could hear them clatter as 
 I walked along the street, I returned to the office. 
 
 I passed by the city editor's desk. "Hello! It 
 took a long time ! " he exclaimed. " Did she talk ? "
 
 THE WORLD OF JOURNALISM 49 
 
 "Yes," I answered, "she talked a great deal, but 
 I promised her I would not write a word she said." 
 
 He jumped from his chair, a surprised light in his 
 eyes. 
 
 "You promised! What do you mean? Have 
 you a story, the story / sent you after, and do you 
 say you will not write it ? " 
 
 "That's it! Yes!" I answered. "She forgot I 
 was a reporter and told me everything, and then 
 I promised I would not write it." 
 
 His face grew first red, then white. He was angry, 
 but he made a tremendous effort to control himself. 
 "If you were a man," he said quietly, "I would 
 dismiss you from the staff instantly for rank dis- 
 regard of the interests of your paper. As you are 
 a woman, I will say that you have not the journalistic 
 instinct. You will never be able to do big things in 
 journalism. You can edit your own page, but you'll 
 never be a really successful journalist. The fact is 
 you're all woman and no journalist." 
 
 I remained on the Southern paper for some time 
 after that and attended conscientiously to my woman's 
 page. The city editor grew friendly again, but he 
 gave me no more " special features " to do, for " special 
 features" could only be worked up by "real live 
 journalists," as he frequently explained to me. 
 
 One day I went into the managing-editor's room 
 and said to him 
 
 " I am going to London." 
 
 The Colonel looked up from the editorial he was 
 writing. 
 
 " You will starve in London ! " he said. 
 
 Then I came to London.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 IN LONDON TOWN 
 
 MY ARRIVAL, MY DOG, MY FLAT, AND DINAH 
 
 I ARRIVED in London with four hundred dollars, 
 my typewriter, and my dog. 
 
 I have not referred to my dog before, because it 
 did not seem necessary, but now he must take his 
 proper place, which is a large one, in my reminis- 
 cences, for I cannot even begin to tell about the flat 
 and Dinah unless I first tell about Judge, for it was 
 on his account that I took them both. He and I 
 became great friends and pals some time before I 
 came to London. He came to me on a very dark 
 night to keep me from getting too lonely and think- 
 ing too much about myself indeed, to save me from 
 myself. 
 
 Judge is a beautiful black French poodle, not of 
 the stringy variety, but covered with silky curls, and 
 he is nearly as large as a Newfoundland. In the 
 winter he goes unshaven, but in the summer I have 
 him clipped to keep him from suffering with the heat. 
 He usually wears a necktie of blue or pink or yellow. 
 He is even more clever than the majority of French 
 poodles are known to be, and he is a dog of some 
 literary ability, and knows the difference between the 
 various London newspapers. If I have left the Star 
 5
 
 IN LONDON TOWN 51 
 
 and the Times on a chair or the floor together, I 
 have only to say, "Judge, go and bring me the 
 Times!" and he brings it, or if I want the Star, 
 I have but to tell him so and he brings that. Some 
 of my friends, however, insist that he distinguishes 
 only on account of the difference in weight ! 
 
 It was very expensive for me to bring Judge to 
 London and to keep him here for the first few days. 
 He occupied the same state-room with me on the 
 ship, and I got an extra steamer chair for him on 
 deck. All this was, of course, against the rules and 
 regulations of the ship, but there is no law or rule 
 in existence that I would not break for Judge's sweet 
 sake. 
 
 On the ship I kept Judge covered with an astrachan 
 cape when the officers passed me, and when they 
 took a notion to come over and talk with me, though 
 I always was in terror of the cape getting too animated,. 
 I gave them my best smiles and compliments. Once 
 when the captain made a remark about none being 
 so blind as those who would not see, I found myself 
 wondering if this stolid, almost gruff-looking sea- 
 captain was a typical middle-aged Englishman, so 
 susceptible to smiles and flattery, and so thoroughly 
 " manageable " was he. Without definitely commit- 
 ting myself right here, I will say that after a larger 
 and longer experience than I then had of English- 
 men, he was not exactly what I would call ww-typical. 
 
 The English ship servants were also very manage- 
 able and blind, the effect of a mixture of smiles and 
 sixpences. So were the railway guards of the train 
 that brought me up to London. So were they at the 
 hotel the very, very expensive hotel where the cab- 
 man took me.
 
 52 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 "We don't allow dogs," said the manager. 
 
 " No, I know you don't," I answered, " but from 
 my experience on an English ship and an English 
 railway I find you have a perfectly delightful system 
 over here of making all sorts of rules and regulations 
 and then not seeing the people who break them. 
 I must say I do think Englishmen are very nice 
 and kind to American women travelling in their 
 country. Now, how much would you charge a day 
 for not seeing my dog, if I'm very careful of him and 
 don't allow anybody to be troubled with him? I shall 
 eat all my meals in my own room and take him out 
 wherever I go." 
 
 " We really don't want dogs. We don't allow 
 them. But we will charge fifteen shillings extra 
 a day not to see your dog" 
 
 "Oh, Judge, Judge!" I cried, when we had got 
 up to our room, " four hundred dollars in our inside 
 pocket, and fifteen shillings a day for you, to say 
 nothing about me and my expenses ! We can't 
 stand this more than three days at the most, do you 
 hear ? The first thing to-morrow morning we must 
 go out and take a walk and see what turns up." 
 
 So in the morning we both went out for a walk 
 in Regent Street, and something did turn up. It was 
 Dinah. After Dinah came the flat, and after that 
 the deluge but that does not belong to this chapter. 
 
 Judge was wearing a necktie of American flag 
 ribbon. 
 
 " Oh, my ! You niggah dog, an' from Meriky, 
 I do 'clare ! Come heah, honey, an' let ole Dinah 
 pat yo' head." 
 
 I felt a jerk of the chain by which I held Judge, 
 and looking, beheld there in Regent Street the
 
 IN LONDON TOWN 53 
 
 United States of America in the shape of a stout, 
 middle-aged negro woman, showering pats and en- 
 dearments on to the head of my dog. 
 
 " 'Scuse me, ma'am, but I knowed he was from my 
 country by de ribbon bow, an' so's yo', ain't yo', 
 honey ? " 
 
 " Yes, I am," I answered, " and I'd know you were 
 from there too. How in the world did you get 
 here ? " 
 
 " It's not a question ob how I come, but how 
 I'se to git away from heah. If I could only git 
 back to ole Baltimore, I'd neber ask anyt'ing agin 
 ob de good Lord. I'm Dinah Moore from Baltimore, 
 ma'am." 
 
 Now, though I had myself once lived in Baltimore 
 I had never the pleasure of Dinah Moore's acquaint- 
 ance, but I found she had done washing for people 
 I knew, so I considered her properly introduced to 
 me. I wanted a place where Judge could take a run 
 without his chain and get a taste of London grass, 
 and Dinah conducted me back to Piccadilly and then 
 to Hyde Park, where we both sat down, while Judge 
 joyously kicked up his heels. 
 
 Dinah told me all about herself. It seemed she 
 had come to London a few months before with an 
 American lady, in whose family she had once been 
 a servant. The lady had taken a small flat, furnished 
 it, and set up housekeeping with Dinah as maid-of- 
 all-work. Now the lady was ill and poor. She 
 wanted to get rid of her flat and the furniture and 
 go to Germany to some relations. It she could 
 sub-let the flat and sell the furniture she could pay 
 Dinah's wages and her second-class passage back 
 to America, since she could not take her to Germany
 
 54 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 with her. But, as Dinah said, " She didn't seem to 
 hab no luck." 
 
 " Is it very expensive ? " I asked. 
 
 " No, ma'am," answered Dinah. " I reckon Miss 
 Saxon 'ud sell de furniture for a hunderd an' fifty 
 dollars, an' de flat rents for what dey calls sixty 
 poun's a year, an' I hear her say yo' don't hab to 
 keep it on moah dan six months longer." 
 
 I made a quick calculation. I could rent a flat 
 for about six dollars a week. It seemed very cheap 
 to me compared even with what I was paying for 
 Judge's right to exist in London. 
 
 " Dinah Moore," I said, " you're a stranger to me, 
 and I'm one to you. We are both from the same 
 country, and we must take each other on trust. I'll 
 buy that furniture and hire that flat if you'll live 
 with me and do my work and take the very best 
 care of my dog. I'm a poor American girl, and it'll 
 take nearly half of all the money I have in the 
 world to buy the furniture, but I've got to have a 
 home and live as cheaply as possible, especially till 
 I get some work to do over here. Now, will you 
 come for, say, two dollars a week wages ? " 
 
 " Yes, I'll come, ma'am ! " 
 
 So the bargain was struck, there in the park, and 
 in a few days Judge and I moved into the flat. We 
 made the place look as homelike as possible, using 
 an American flag for a couch cover, and hanging 
 a picture of George Washington over the mantel- 
 piece. With Dinah to keep Judge company while 
 I was out, I was able to go about by myself to see 
 the Tower, St. Paul's, Madame Tussaud's, West- 
 minster Abbey, and then I thought I knew all about 
 England. I described my first "impressions" for
 
 IN LONDON TOWN 55 
 
 American papers, and in that way earned enough 
 money to keep the flat going. Dinah and I lived 
 together in perfect harmony. For name she elected 
 to call me "Miss Polly," after having seen and 
 admired my pen-name in an American paper. 
 
 She would do anything in the world for me except 
 to put on a cap. I bought her one with long, wide 
 streamers, such as I had seen the London servants 
 wear. I begged her only to try it on, but she refused 
 on the ground that it was both unbecoming and un- 
 American. Dinah, even after living in England ten 
 months, was the most American American I ever 
 knew. She never hesitated to air her hatred of 
 England and its backwardness to the tradespeople 
 and the boys who delivered goods at the flat, they 
 being the only people, outside the " fambly," with 
 whom she had opportunity to talk. So things went 
 on till Christmas, the first Christmas that either of us 
 had ever spent in England. 
 
 The day after Christmas I went on top of an 
 omnibus, and remained out nearly all day getting 
 notes for a special American letter I was writing. 
 When I returned, late in the afternoon, I knew some- 
 thing had happened. Dinah and Judge were in a 
 terrific state of excitement. There were sounds of 
 growling and barking from Judge, and whenever 
 there was a lull in them, Dinah would clap her hands 
 and say, " Sic' 'em, darlin' ! Sic' 'em, an' skeer 'em 
 off!" 
 
 I burst into the flat with my latchkey, and tumbled 
 over Dinah's trunk, all strapped, as if ready for 
 travelling. 
 
 "Dinah! Dinah! What's the matter? Whose 
 trunk is this? Why are you making Judge bark?
 
 56 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 We'll be put out of the flat!" I exclaimed, as I 
 picked myself up off the floor. 
 
 Dinah appeared with her sleeves rolled up, her red 
 bandana cap tilted to one side, her big black eyes 
 showing fire. 
 
 "Mattah! Mattah!" she returned, stamping her 
 foot on the carpet. " I'se goin' back to 'Meriky dis 
 werry day. I neber did b'leeve in monarkshal 
 governments. I neber did 'prove ob dis yere 
 country, as I hab often told yo', Miss Polly, but 
 QOW I'se had 'nuff yes, plenty 'nuff, an' I done 
 wash my han's ob it all." 
 
 "But what is it? What's happened?" I asked, 
 bewildered. 
 
 "What's happened! Why, I'se been insulted, 
 an' I neber was used to it. I'm 'cused ob keepin' 
 people's things what doesn't b'long to me, an' I 
 ain't goin' to stan' it nohow." 
 
 "Oh, Dinah, you must be crazy, for I never 
 accused you of anything." 
 
 " No, not you, Miss Polly. It's other people what's 
 been comin' here this afternoon." 
 
 " Now, Dinah," said I firmly, " if you are not crazy 
 tell me what you mean. Who's been here who's 
 accused you and what did they accuse you of?" 
 
 Dinah got out her handkerchief, and fanning her- 
 self with it, began, " Well, Miss Polly, soon as you 
 lef dis mornin', de do' sounded wid de rat-tat 
 what means de pos'man. I opens de do', an' he 
 says, kinder saucy, ' Has yo' got my Chris'mas box ? ' 
 1 Why, no,' I says, ' I hasn't got it. How should 
 I hab it? I didn't know as we carries on a express 
 office in dis yere flat. I reckon yo be off yo' base.' 
 Then says he, ' I 'specs yo' missus has got it. Is
 
 IN LONDON TOWN 57 
 
 she in ? ' ' No, she hain't in,' I says, * an' she hain't 
 got no box o' yourn, neither,' says I. Then as 
 I slammed de do' on him, he jes' grinned and 'lowed 
 he stop again this ebenin' or to-morrer mornin', 'cause 
 he knowed yo' had it ! 
 
 "Then, Miss Polly, he hadn't been gone so much 
 as ten minutes when I see de baker's boy, an' I asks 
 what fer he come so late wid de bread. ' I didn't 
 bring no bread,' says he, ' I came for my Chris'mas- 
 box.' I was dat mad, thinkin' de pos'man had sent 
 him round to bother me, dat I gave him one hard 
 slap on de face he'll 'member a while, an' pushed him 
 out de do' befo' I thought what I was doin'. Well, 
 honey, in about half an hour de laundryman come 
 an' says, 'Ain't yo' got my Chris'mas-box ? ' Says 
 I, ' No, I hain't ! Go long wid ye ! Did dat debil ob 
 a pos'man send yo' here too ? ' Dat's de way I 
 answered him ; an' I tol' him not to dare show his 
 ugly face here again for our washin' work. De las' 
 thing I heard as he went away was dat he'd 'form yo' 
 of my 'haviour. 
 
 "An' he wasn't de las' ob dem imps. De milkman 
 an' de paper-boy was bof here saying, ' Has yo' got 
 my Chris'mas-box?' An' a man which say he was 
 licensed to sweep de street come too, askin' me to 
 give him his box, an' de fust thing 1 knows if I 
 stays here I'll be in a court-house an' arrested for 
 something I neber done, so I'se goin' home, an' if 
 yo' knows what's safe yo'll come too, Miss Polly." 
 
 Before I had time to collect my senses, and come 
 to any reasonable comprehension of Dinah's remark- 
 able tale, a double rat-tat at the door was heard, 
 and she started off to get what I supposed might 
 be a telegram clearing up the mystery. I heard the
 
 58 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 word "box," and then came the sound of Dinah's 
 voice. 
 
 " Yo' imperent rascal ! What yo' mean, comin' 
 here insultin' me an' my missus? Does I look like 
 a forwardin' agency, carryin' on a Chris'mas-box 
 business? Is we delegated to run a express office? 
 De only box I'se got fer yo' is a box on de ears ! " 
 
 I rushed to the hall to find a little telegraph boy 
 in the arms of Dinah getting such a shaking as he 
 must have remembered for a long time. Ere I could 
 interpose she had pushed him out, banged the door 
 after him, and gone back to the kitchen, using such 
 a string of negro epithets as I never heard before. 
 
 What it was all about I could not understand. I 
 knew nothing more about the "boxes" than did 
 Dinah. At first I thought that perhaps an express 
 company had once occupied the flat, and then I con- 
 cluded that someone was playing a practical joke on 
 poor old Dinah. Then the knocker sounded again, 
 and it was with the greatest difficulty that I prevailed 
 upon Dinah to go to the door. Immediately there 
 came a blood-curdling cry, and Dinah tumbled back 
 into the sitting-room screaming. 
 
 " Oh, Lor', it's the policeman, Miss Polly ! Says 
 he's after dat box. They'll put us in one ob dem 
 prisons, when we's innocent, like Mrs. Maybrick, 
 'cause we's 'Mericans." 
 
 By this time I, too, was thoroughly frightened, 
 even with all my consciousness of innocence ; but 
 thinking it well to be as calm as possible in an 
 emergency, I marched bravely into the hall, with 
 Judge following me. The policeman from the corner 
 the one who had always been so polite to me and 
 Judge, who held up his hand many times a day to
 
 IN LONDON TOWN 59 
 
 keep me from getting run over by the traffic stood 
 there, half smiling, half embarrassed. 
 
 "I have called for a Christmas-box, please, miss, 
 or rather you know about the policemen's ball ? You 
 see, miss " 
 
 "No, I don't see!" I interrupted. "We haven't 
 got anybody's box, nor anybody's ball, either ! My 
 servant says a dozen persons have been calling here 
 this afternoon asking about some box they said she 
 had. Will you please clear up this mystery for 
 me?" 
 
 "Why, miss, didn't you know this was Boxing 
 Day?" asked the policeman. 
 
 " Boxing Day ! " I repeated. " I never heard of 
 such a day. Is it a day similar to our April Fool 
 Day ? " I felt suddenly enlightened. Yes. The day 
 after Christmas was England's silly day, when prac- 
 tical jokes were played on people, especially unsus- 
 pecting and uninitiated Americans. 
 
 But the policeman further enlightened me, ex- 
 plaining the full meaning of Boxing Day, the reason 
 of poor Dinah's misunderstanding, and he also told 
 me that he had some tickets for a policemen's ball 
 that he would leave with me, to be paid for when 
 I had the change handy. Then he departed, and 
 I went to the kitchen to explain to Dinah the reason 
 for the strange happenings of the day. She un- 
 packed her trunk, meanwhile expressing her opinion 
 of English as spoken in England. 
 
 " If they wants money, why doesn't they say so, or 
 why doesn't they say they wants a present? How 
 is I to know a Chris'mas-box means a shillin' or 
 fi'pence? In 'Meriky a Chris'mas-box is a box 
 which comes by express. It ain't money, nohow.
 
 60 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 An' they's nothin' but beggahs to ask for presents. 
 In 'Meriky dese w'ite trash is given a dollah or so 
 on New Year's Day, when dey comes 'bout reg'lar 
 business, an' dey don't need to ask; but heah dey 
 takes time by de fo'lock an' fly to de do'! It's de 
 fust time I eber see anybody hurry in dis country ! 
 My, dey does rush when dey wants a Chris'mas-box, 
 sho 'nuff!" 
 
 After the Boxing Day episode we again settled 
 down in tranquillity for a while, and I thought I 
 would try to write for the English papers. I could 
 see no reason why I should not do my humble part 
 towards lightening the burden they seemed to be 
 carrying. I bought a lot of London newspapers 
 and, in Dinah's vernacular, I " hefted " them, one by 
 one. 
 
 Then I tossed off a light and airy production on 
 my typewriter, and selecting the heaviest paper, sent 
 there my maiden effort. Two days later it appeared 
 in print, and shortly afterwards I got a cheque for 
 three guineas. I did not know, as I do now, that 
 in that editorial stronghold the very audacity of 
 an American girl in daring to attack it had so 
 amused the editors that they decided to let me in. 
 
 That first success gave me an unlimited amount 
 of confidence. I proceeded to call on many of the 
 London editors. I had a sort of triumphal progress 
 from one office to another. Not a single editor 
 refused to see me. I was very much surprised to 
 find them all so pleasant and chatty. I thought 
 them much nicer than any American editors 
 I had ever met. They all shook hands with me in 
 the most friendly fashion, and one of them accepted 
 a subject right off when I told him some of my ideas
 
 IN LONDON TOWN 61 
 
 for articles. At first I was rather taken aback when 
 on my saying " Good morning ; I'd like to do some 
 work for you. You see I'm an American ! " each 
 individual editor laughed very heartily while shaking 
 hands with me, but I got accustomed to that habit of 
 theirs, and it was not till a long time afterwards that 
 I suspected why they had laughed when I said 
 " You see I'm an American ! "
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 WHEN I BEGAN TO STARVE IN LONDON 
 
 I HAVE a conscientious objection to fulfilling 
 people's prophecies about myself when they 
 take it upon themselves to foretell unpleasant hap- 
 penings. 
 
 When I was a freckled-faced, red-headed little girl 
 in Wisconsin, one of our neighbours, a Methodist 
 deacon, calling at my home and witnessing an 
 exhibition of the fact that I had a temper to 
 correspond with my hair, put his hand upon my 
 fiery locks, and said .portentously 
 
 " This child will come to some bad end." 
 
 "That's a story-lie!" I retorted hotly, shaking 
 my mane free from his hand, and eyeing him 
 defiantly, " I won't ! I won't ! " 
 
 I have a very keen and lively recollection of the 
 shock and commotion which thereupon ensued upon 
 my showing "such behaviour before company," of 
 the early supper that was hastily provided for me, 
 of being escorted to bed ere the sun had gone 
 down, and how I added a rider to my evening 
 prayer. 
 
 "God bless me and make me a good girl," I 
 prayed fervently, "just to spite old Deacon Jones" 
 
 When 1 had lived in London several months, I 
 62
 
 WHEN I BEGAN TO STARVE 63 
 
 woke up one summer morning with another prophecy 
 that had been made concerning me ringing in my ears. 
 
 " You will starve in London ! " 
 
 It was the half-pitying, half-threatening prophecy 
 made by the Colonel, when less than a year before 
 I had walked into the managing editor's office and 
 suddenly informed him that I was going to London. 
 
 I had just two pence and a halfpenny that morn- 
 ing when I so vividly recalled the Colonel's prophecy. 
 It was all the money I had in the world, and I could 
 see no prospect of getting any more. How I finally 
 got down to a beggarly tuppence ha'penny would 
 make too long a story. Suffice it to say that, doing 
 the best I could, I had spent what money I had 
 brought with me and all that I had earned, and 
 had mortgaged the furniture of the flat besides, and 
 that every day I was having a headache, the kind 
 of headache that comes from irregularity in the 
 matter of meals. Then on that particular morning 
 I suddenly remembered that it had been prophesied 
 I would starve in London, so while I brushed my 
 hair that had grown darker to match the temper 
 that had become calmer during the years that had 
 intervened since Deacon Jones, all unwittingly, had 
 started me out in life with a very good weapon 
 against its pitfalls, I determined that it should fare 
 with the prophecy of my dear, good friend the 
 Colonel, as it had fared with that of my old-time 
 enemy the Deacon, and as I looked at myself in 
 the mirror of the mortgaged dressing-table, I ex- 
 claimed, " That, too, shall be a lie ! I will not starve 
 in London ! " 
 
 The sun came streaming through my bedroom 
 window, with its pretty white dimity curtains tied
 
 64 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 back with blue ribbons. There, on an easy-chair, 
 sunning himself, watching the people and traffic in 
 the street below, sat Judge, my dog, a golden crown 
 of light upon his shaggy head, a highly-polished 
 silver collar round his neck, topped by a huge bow 
 of yellow ribbon. On a chair beside him lay the 
 half of a puppy-biscuit. On the floor, with towel 
 for tablecloth, were a saucer of milk and a bone, 
 with gristle and meat on both ends of it, by which 
 signs I knew that Judge had eaten what breakfast 
 he wanted and was not hungry. I thanked God 
 for that If I had ever suspected Judge of being 
 hungry I would have been capable of going into 
 the street and knocking down any little butcher's 
 boy who refused peaceably to deliver up to me the 
 contents of his wooden meat trough ; or, failing that, 
 I might have attempted to forge a cheque or have 
 committed any other crime which seemed to promise 
 something for Judge to eat. 
 
 About ten o'clock that morning I put on my hat, 
 and fastening Judge's chain to his collar, I called 
 out to Dinah, " Good-bye, Dinah ! Judge and I are 
 going out for a walk." 
 
 As I went out the flat door there came from the 
 kitchen sounds of the scrubbing and scouring of tins, 
 and Dinah's singing, in her sweet, melodious voice, 
 an old-time darkey camp-meeting tune 
 
 " Oh ! De Judgmen' Day am rollin' roun', 
 Rollin', yes, a-rollin' ! 
 I hear de trumpet's awful soun', 
 Rollin', yes, a-rollin' ! 
 
 Oh ! Some seeks de Lawd, but dey don't seek him right, 
 Rollin, yes, a-rollin' ! 
 
 Dey prays in de day-time, but not in de night, 
 Rollin', yes, a-rollin' ! "
 
 WHEN I BEGAN TO STARVE 65 
 
 I laughed as I shut the door upon Dinah and 
 her ecstasy. I had managed my experience of 
 hard-up-ed-ness very well indeed so far, and had 
 tactfully kept the state of my finances from Dinah. 
 How I was to continue the deception longer I did 
 not know, but I had an abiding faith that there must 
 be some way. 
 
 " Which way, Judge ? " I said to my dog when we 
 had got outside the building. I had then, as I have 
 now, a fancy for holding on to Judge's chain and 
 letting him lead me at his will. Judge headed to- 
 wards the Houses of Parliament, and I followed. 
 Then he turned towards Westminster Bridge, and 
 finally we crossed it. Then we wandered among the 
 streets of Camberwell, where children were playing 
 in front of the small houses. Judge, in all his beauty 
 and splendour, attracted the attention of a group 
 of tiny tots, who immediately gathered round us. 
 I was dressed rather well and stylishly on that 
 occasion, and my appearance did not betray my 
 poverty-stricken condition. To those children, Judge 
 and I were "quality folk" from the West End, 
 walking about Camberwell to gratify our curiosity 
 concerning the doings of the East End folk. One 
 little girl, pretty, though ragged and dirty, interested 
 me greatly. I asked her name and where she lived, 
 and found that her home was in a lodging-house 
 with an older sister who did sewing. 
 
 " If yer ever want any sewing done, laidy the 
 plain kind me sister'll do it for ye," said the child. 
 
 " How much money can your sister earn by sewing?" 
 I asked. 
 
 " About one-an'-sixpence every day," returned the 
 child.
 
 66 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 I was about to walk on when Judge, hearing me 
 say " good-bye," automatically put out his right paw 
 to the child to shake, whereupon she seized it, ex- 
 claiming 
 
 "Oh, laidy, please lemme show yer dawg to me 
 sister ! She ain't never seen no such hanimal, an' 'e's 
 so cunnin'." 
 
 So, to please the child, Judge and I climbed up 
 several flights of stairs and into a room where I saw 
 poverty of a different kind from that which I myself 
 was experiencing, different from any that I had ever 
 seen before. A girl of perhaps twenty-two or twenty- 
 three sat sewing, and rose to meet her little sister 
 with an exclamation of horror as she saw her visitors. 
 It was a rather absurd situation, and the humorous 
 aspect of it appealed to me. I had been dragged up 
 those stairs by a ragged little London girl to be 
 shown off to her sister as a rich West End lady, with 
 a beautiful dog to amuse a tired working girl I, with 
 tuppence ha'penny, confronting the problem of how 
 to keep from starving in London. The sewing-girl 
 dusted off a chair with her apron, bidding me to be 
 seated. The little sister begged that I would make 
 my dog " do tricks for sister Molly." 
 
 " Your little sister tells me you do sewing," I said, 
 for the sake of starting conversation. " She says you 
 earn only one-and-sixpence a day. Can't you engage 
 in some employment that pays better ? It seems so 
 little." 
 
 I stopped suddenly, and in a half -dazed way 
 remembered that I myself was not earning one-and- 
 sixpence a day. 
 
 " No, miss, I can't do anything else," answered the , 
 girl.
 
 WHEN I BEGAN TO STARVE 67 
 
 "There's domestic service," I said innocently. 
 
 Just why I happened to think of domestic service 
 in connection with the girl, I do not know. I talked 
 only for the sake of saying something. I took no 
 particular interest in her. But her face blazed up at 
 the mention of domestic service, and then and there 
 she gave me to understand that she was no " menial." 
 She would rather sew and have her liberty, she said, 
 than be a servant and have none, and as for caps and 
 aprons, did I expect a self-respecting girl to put them 
 on? 
 
 After that I had nothing to say, and bidding her a 
 hasty "good morning" Judge and I descended the 
 creaking stairs. When I got out in the open air the 
 humorous side of the thing again appealed to me. I 
 to suggest to others a way to earn their living when 
 I was in such difficulty concerning my own! " Now," 
 I thought, "if I were that girl instead of myself, I 
 would have an easier time of it. The thing for her 
 to do is to become a housemaid. Why, if I were a 
 sewing- girl earning only eighteenpence a day, I'd 
 jump at the chance of being a servant, and " 
 
 Then I did jump, as though I were struck. I was 
 struck struck with an IDEA ! Judge and I had been 
 walking back from Camberwell the way we had gone, 
 and again we were on the edge of Westminster Bridge. 
 I went over to the railing and looked down at Father 
 Thames. Then I stooped down lovingly to pat the 
 head of my pedigreed poodle. He it was who had 
 led me in the way of that IDEA which was to prevent 
 my fulfilling the Colonel's prophecy that I would 
 starve in London. 
 
 "Judge," I said, looking him full in the eyes, and 
 taking his paw there on Westminster Bridge, " I'll go
 
 68 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 out as a housemaid and write it up for the papers, and 
 so I shall get my start in London, and there are better 
 times ahead. And it's your IDEA, Judge, not mine ; 
 for you led me into the way of it. I mustn't put it 
 in the newspapers just how the thing came about 
 how I determined I wouldn't fulfil the Colonel's 
 prophecy, and how my dear doggie was commissioned 
 to save me. We can't put it in print like that just 
 yet, old fellow ; but one of these days yes, one of 
 these days my dog- story shall be written. Ha, ha, 
 Judge ! We've got it, haven't we, the IDEA ? London's 
 got to give us a living a decent, comfortable, satis- 
 fying one. It's got to give us three square meals a 
 day and afternoon tea besides. It's got to give me 
 hats and dresses and theatre tickets, and you great 
 wide all-silk ribbons for neckties. It's got to give us 
 rides in hansoms, eh, Judge ? And once in a while 
 a drive in the park in a victoria. You'll like that, 
 Judge, and so will I. Why, Judge, you and I are 
 young, and we love the follies and vanities of the 
 world, and we're going to have some of them. Why 
 shouldn't we, if we earn them ? We're going to work 
 for old London honestly and honourably, and old 
 London has got to pay us our wages ! " 
 
 I released Judge's paw. He wagged his tail in 
 agreement with me, and trotted along beside me on 
 the bridge. When we were nearly across it I 
 thought I would take a final look at Father Thames, 
 and a sudden inspiration seized me. 
 
 " Father Thames," I said, leaning far over to look 
 into his very depths, "here's tuppence -ha'penny for 
 you ! With it I'm what they call ' broke.' Without 
 it I'll be penniless and 'dead broke,' and as I'm 
 taking a new start in life to-day, I think I'll start
 
 WHEN I BEGAN TO STARVE 69 
 
 even. Here's to your next century's scraping, Father 
 Thames, and treasure-trove to the monarch then on 
 the English throne." 
 
 With that I flung all my financial resources into 
 the Thames, taking defiant aim three times in suc- 
 cession. One penny dropped upon the water, then 
 another, then a halfpenny. 
 
 Holding tight to Judge, I left Westminster Bridge 
 a " dead-broke " American girl in London, and when 
 I opened the flat-door with my latchkey I called out, 
 " Dinah, come and take Judge. He must be hungry 
 by this time, so give him the bone and the milk he 
 left from breakfast. And oh, Dinah, I've had an 
 accident! I was standing on Westminster Bridge, 
 looking into the water, and I dropped all my money 
 into the river. Have you got any money left from 
 your last month's wages, Dinah ? " 
 
 " Oh, Miss Polly ! I done got seven shillin's, an' I 
 ain't got no use fer it, an' I len' it to yo 1 and welcome, 
 but oh, Miss Polly, yo' done drop all de money yo' 
 hab into de ribber ? Did yo' take it all out when yo s 
 lefdeflat?" 
 
 " Yes, Dinah, I took every penny out with me, and 
 I dropped it all into the river," I answered, turning 
 my own eyes, in which shone the light of truth, to her 
 affrighted ones. " But don't worry, Dinah. There's 
 always something to be thankful for. If the amount 
 had been larger it would have been worse, you see, 
 though perhaps if there had been more of it I 
 wouldn't have dropped it. Anyway, I've got to go 
 right out again to a newspaper office. You can use 
 your seven shillings to buy stores for the kitchen, and 
 I'll pay you back in a day or two." 
 
 " Yes, Miss Polly, but oh, Miss Polly, ob all de mis-
 
 70 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 fortunes what happen to us, it am de werry wust fer 
 yo' to drop yo' money into de ribber." 
 
 But I was off, leaving Dinah to make her lamenta- 
 tions to herself and Judge, who, I was thankful to 
 remember, could not talk English and tell her the 
 truth about the exact amount of the money I had 
 dropped into the river, and the particular method I 
 took to drop it. 
 
 I did not borrow bus-fare from Dinah because it 
 suited my whim to " start even " and " dead broke " 
 with that IDEA of mine, so I walked to Fleet Street, 
 then turned into Whitefriars Street, and with another 
 turn went into the office of a newspaper that had 
 published three short articles of mine at the rate of a 
 pound apiece. 1 found one of the assistants and 
 asked to see the editor-in-chief. 
 
 " He can't see you, I know," was the answer. 
 " Why, he's writing four articles this very minute." 
 
 " He can't write four articles at once. Even an 
 American editor couldn't do that ! " I retorted. 
 
 " But he can, and he's the only man in London 
 that can do it He's dictating one article to a young 
 woman typist, another to a young man typist, another 
 to a telegraph operator, and the fourth one he's 
 writing himself." 
 
 " Dear me ! " I replied ; " if he's a man of so many 
 ideas, perhaps, after all, he wouldn't pay any attention 
 to me, for I'm only a woman with one idea. I 
 wanted to tell him about it I know it's a good 
 one." 
 
 "What is it? Tell me; I'm acting editor, and if it's 
 anything important I'll lay it before him and give 
 you an answer." 
 
 " My idea is to go out as a servant and write up
 
 WHEN I BEGAN TO STARVE 71 
 
 my experiences as a serial for your paper. Every- 
 body is interested in the servant question. Lots of 
 people want servants and can't get them, and lots of 
 girls are starving in London. Now, I propose to ad- 
 vertise and get a situation, and then write my true 
 experiences, without giving any names or addresses, 
 of course, and tell whether or not, in my opinion, it 
 would be a suitable employment for gentlewomen as 
 well as working girls. Now, shall I go out as a 
 servant for your paper ? " 
 
 " What, you ? Why, you couldn't get a place to 
 begin with, and if you did you couldn't do the work ! 
 Your idea is not practicable." 
 
 " Well, I'm going, anyway," I answered. 
 
 " Going where ? " 
 
 "Going out to service and going to write my 
 experiences, and if you don't want it, I'll find some 
 other editor who does. As a matter of fact, I intend 
 to find such an editor this afternoon." 
 
 " Wait a minute, will you ? " he said, as he left the 
 room. He returned in about ten minutes. 
 
 " I've talked your matter over with the editor-in- 
 chief, and he thinks the idea all right, but says 
 you can't do it ! He agrees with me that it would 
 make interesting copy if you could do it, but you 
 couldn't get a place." 
 
 " But if I get a place and write the serial for you, 
 say in six instalments of two columns each, how 
 much will it be worth ? " 
 
 " But we can't agree to take things we've never 
 seen and you've never written ! " 
 
 "No! That would be unbusinesslike, I confess," 
 I returned. " But let me put it to you in this way. 
 If I get a place as domestic servant in London, or in
 
 72 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 the country near London, and write up my ex- 
 periences, and you like them and think them suitable 
 for your paper, how much would you pay me ? " 
 
 " Twenty pounds." 
 
 "All right! I'll do it! You won't hear from me 
 again till I'm somebody's parlourmaid or housemaid. 
 I'll write to you from my situation and tell you how 
 I'm getting on ! " 
 
 So the bargain, if "bargain" it could be termed, 
 was sealed. Twenty pounds seemed a large sum of 
 money to me in those days, especially when I multi- 
 plied it by five and thought of it as one hundred 
 dollars. 
 
 That evening at the flat I summed up the situation 
 thus: 
 
 " I have found a newspaper editor who says that if 
 I can do a thing which he knows I can't do, and then 
 write a series about it in such a way as shall please 
 him, he will publish it and pay me twenty pounds. 
 To do the thing I must have enough money to live 
 on for at least a month, and must have cash at once 
 for advertising, buying caps and aprons, print dress, 
 black dress, collars and cuffs. There is no money in 
 the flat, but enough food on hand, bought with 
 Dinah's money, to last three or four days, if 
 used very economically. Puzzle how to get some 
 cash ! " 
 
 Then I went to bed with the unsolved puzzle in 
 my mind, and the next morning I knew what I must 
 do sell my typewriter ! The furniture was mort- 
 gaged. The old tin pan which was called a " piano " 
 was hired, but the typewriter was my own. I had 
 brought it with me to London as a necessary adjunct 
 to my proposed newspaper work. I had grown to
 
 WHEN I BEGAN TO STARVE 73 
 
 love my machine. To me it was not an inanimate, 
 but a sentient, living thing. I had dealt tenderly 
 and carefully by it, had oiled and dusted and polished 
 it every morning, and at night-time had sometimes 
 lovingly patted it when it had earned for me a five- 
 dollar bill or a sovereign. When I knew I must sell 
 it, small wonder that I cried over its keyboard. 
 Then, when I had cried, I washed my face, donned 
 my hat, and went out and made a bargain, selling the 
 thing for twelve pounds, though it was as bright and 
 capable as when I had bought it for twenty. I sent 
 a man to look at it and he bought it and took it 
 away. 
 
 Then I was rich that is, passing rich with twelve 
 pounds. I paid Dinah what I owed her, and went 
 out again and negotiated for another typewriter, to 
 be bought on the instalment plan, paying three 
 pounds down and signing an agreement to pay two 
 pounds a month afterwards. 
 
 When I had got through with this somewhat 
 peculiar sort of business transaction, I sat down and 
 admired my own cleverness. I remembered my 
 difficulties at the seminary with even the simplest of 
 mathematical problems, and the prophecy of my 
 teachers that whatever else I might do I would never 
 become a good business woman. Here again was a 
 prophecy unfulfilled ! How little did those instruc- 
 tors know of my capabilities in a business way when 
 the emergency should arise ! I woke up that 
 morning without a penny, though I had a type- 
 writer. I went to bed the proud possessor of another 
 typewriter, just as good, and nearly nine pounds ! 
 What a deal, to be sure! In the morning a type- 
 writer and no money, then money and no type-
 
 74 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 writer, and then money and typewriter both ! Given 
 my circumstances, who could have done better than 
 I ? Buoyant and full' of hope and faith that even- 
 ing, I sat at the old tin pan and played and sang 
 gleefully, while Judge danced about the room with 
 his ruffled paws. Dinah hesitated over the laying of 
 the supper table and looked at the new typewriter 
 over in the corner. 
 
 " Done got machine fixed werry quick fo' dis coun- 
 try, w'ich am allus mighty slow, didn't dey, Miss 
 Polly ? " she observed. 
 
 " Yes, Dinah," I answered, " it was done in some- 
 thing of a hurry, and I got some money to-day and 
 things are looking up ! " 
 
 " Glad o' dat ! " returned Dinah, bustling back to 
 the kitchen. She was under the impression that I 
 had sent the machine out to be repaired and had got 
 it back. I found that a very easy and plausible ex- 
 planation to make to her, when a man had come to 
 take the first machine away and another had come, 
 apparently to bring it back. 
 
 I wrote out my advertisement for a situation on the 
 new machine that night, and on August 23rd, 1893, 
 it appeared in the Daily Telegraph. It was a novel 
 kind of advertisement, and brought me one hundred 
 and fifty answers. In reply to them I spent about 
 two weeks tramping over London, and then came my 
 reward in the shape of an engagement, or rather two 
 engagements. 
 
 Shall I ever forget that starting out into service ? 
 How several times I went out the flat door, then flew 
 back again to give Judge just one more pat and 
 make Dinah renew her oath of allegiance to my dog 
 during my absence. It was agreed that she and
 
 WHEN I BEGAN TO STARVE 75 
 
 Judge were to meet me every evening near a certain 
 pillar-box at about ten o'clock, where I would go 
 nightly to post the letters of the family with whom I 
 had engaged as housemaid. It was in this way that I 
 intended to keep in touch with my little home-circle 
 while I essayed to play the part of maidservant.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 I BECOME A MAIDSERVANT 
 
 I HAD resided in England something less than a 
 year when I donned a cap and apron with the 
 purpose of getting experience as a London servant 
 and turning that experience into newspaper copy. 
 During the few months I had lived here I had gained 
 but little knowledge of English home-life, English 
 customs, and English manners. My English acquaint- 
 ances, too, were few, and my friends, using that term 
 in its proper sense, were none. I had not at that time 
 ever visited any of the women's clubs, or the houses 
 of any prominent Englishwomen, and, with the ex- 
 ception of those persons of art and letters who were 
 celebrated in my own country as well as in England, 
 I knew nothing of " who was who " in London. 
 
 It is therefore not at all strange that, when I 
 became a housemaid in the world's metropolis, I 
 happened, all unwittingly, to enter the service of a 
 family several members of which were rather well 
 known in certain circles of society. When I made 
 this discovery, I was extremely sorry for the chance 
 that had led me in that particular direction, and had 
 my circumstances permitted me to do so, I would 
 have given up that situation at once and started out 
 in another, leaving the first experience entirely out of 
 76
 
 I BECOME A MAIDSERVANT 77 
 
 my newspaper write-up. But my time was limited, 
 my health and nerves were not in a state which 
 warranted my beginning all over again, and my 
 necessities were great. 
 
 I have a keen recollection of how, on the second 
 day of my experience in service, I sat upon the edge 
 of the bed in the room that was assigned to myself 
 and my fellow-servants as a sleeping apartment, and 
 argued the whole question out with my mind and my 
 conscience, and how, applying the rule by which I 
 tried to guide all my actions " This, above all, to 
 thine own self be true " to the situation in which I 
 then found myself, I decided that I was justified in 
 taking advantage of the means for helping myself 
 that seemed to have been thrown in my way. It had 
 been very difficult for me to obtain any situation at 
 all. My lack of a "character " from a former mistress, 
 my suspicious American accent, my diminutive stature 
 and my far from robust appearance had all stood in 
 my way. I had been refused a situation by over one 
 hundred London mistresses. Only one other woman 
 had given me encouragement to hope that she might 
 engage me. She had half promised to take me, but 
 could not let me know until the following week. In 
 the meantime a sure thing had been offered to me 
 and I had accepted it. 
 
 As I sat on the bed, I kept asking myself over 
 and over again, " Shall I give up what may be my 
 only chance ? Shall I give it up, and, perhaps, after 
 all, fulfil the Colonel's prophecy by starving in 
 London ? " 
 
 Both my common sense and my conscience an- 
 swered " No ! A thousand times no ! You have 
 got your chance. If you throw it away, you may
 
 78 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 never get another one. Under these circumstances, 
 as well as under others, you can be true to yourself 
 and therefore not false to anyone." 
 
 Then, on that second morning, I hurriedly pulled 
 on my stockings, buttoned my boots, donned my 
 print dress and morning cap and apron, and started 
 out to do my work to the best of my ability. 
 
 I have forgotten just how many times I went up 
 and down four flights of stairs that morning before 
 breakfast. I do remember, however, that with the 
 carrying of hot water, the preparing of baths, the 
 sweeping and dusting, and the shaking and brushing 
 of the family skirts and trousers, I was more tired 
 physically when I sat down to the kitchen breakfast 
 than I had ever before been in my life. Along with 
 my weariness had come an appetite for solid, sub- 
 stantial food. When bread and butter and coffee 
 were placed before me I created a diversion in the 
 kitchen by asking innocently 
 
 "Where's the meat?" 
 
 "What meat?" asked the parlourmaid surprised ly. 
 
 " The meat for our breakfast ! " I returned, still 
 more innocently. 
 
 Then I was informed that the regular kitchen 
 breakfast in that household was bread and butter 
 and coffee, or tea, if one preferred it. 
 
 As the house was somewhat upset, and the regular 
 number of servants had not been engaged, we were 
 on board-wages for a time one-and-sixpence a day. 
 I had some money with me a part of the proceeds 
 from the sale of my typewriter, so I added what 
 seemed to me to be a necessary sum to the board- 
 wages and went out that day and purchased certain 
 kinds of food, substantial and nourishing, which I
 
 I BECOME A MAIDSERVANT 79 
 
 thought would help to keep me in proper condition 
 for the task I had undertaken. 
 
 As I have said, I knew little of London in those 
 days. I had, in the flat, known what it was to 
 economise and "do without things" when a light 
 pocket-book demanded it, but I did not know then, 
 as I have since learned, that one -and -sixpence 
 a day was the regular rate of board-wages usually 
 paid to London servants, nor did I know what one- 
 and-sixpence was capable of buying in the way of 
 eatables. I therefore looked upon the sum as in- 
 adequate, and I considered that the allowance was 
 a rather mean one. I said to the parlourmaid 
 
 "How can one get proper food on one-and-six- 
 pence a day ? " 
 
 "Well, you'll have to!" was the answer. " It's all 
 she gives ! " 
 
 I suppose it is not necessary for me to state that 
 the " she " referred to was the mistress of the house, 
 who, except upon very rare occasions, was known in 
 the kitchen only by that title. 
 
 When the regular staff of servants was made up, 
 which happened within two or three days, the board- 
 wages were withdrawn, and the servants had their 
 meals provided by the mistress. Then was I more 
 than ever surprised to find that bread and butter and 
 coffee still figured as the only breakfast for the 
 servants, and when I was informed that such was the 
 regular morning diet, I was overcome with astonish- 
 ment, which finally led me to ask the mistress herself 
 if it were true. 
 
 Yes, it was true, so she told me, and she further 
 informed me that I was not likely to suit her. 
 
 As I had gone to the place only for a week on
 
 8o A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 trial, to see whether or not I was likely to suit, the 
 ordinary " notice " was not deemed necessary on 
 either side, and as I had no intention of remaining, 
 in any case, longer than a week, I was very glad to 
 be dismissed by my mistress instead of being obliged 
 to offer her my resignation. But I had still several 
 days before the end of my week, and I applied 
 myself to the business I had undertaken. 
 
 To keep up my strength I daily used a part of 
 my own money for the supplementing of the break- 
 fast and supper allowed to the servants. The dinners 
 I found were wholesome and ample. What most 
 astonished me was that the rest of the servants 
 seemed not particularly discontented with the bread- 
 and-coffee breakfast and the bread-and-cheese supper 
 which were provided for them. What they lacked in 
 variety they made up in the quantity of the bread 
 and butter they ate, and I do not think they ever 
 went hungry. I have since learned that such break- 
 fasts and suppers are very often the only kind allowed 
 to many of the London servants, though I am still 
 of the opinion that it is neither good sense nor 
 economy for mistresses to allow so large a consump- 
 tion of bread and butter in their kitchens to the 
 exclusion of other food. I have noticed that some 
 servants are capable of eating enough butter at one 
 meal to pay for a good substantial bit of meat or 
 bacon or a couple of eggs. 
 
 One of the pleasant things I have to remember 
 of that week in service is the good, sound, healthy 
 sleep I enjoyed. The bed was hard and springless, 
 and all the appointments of the room which I shared 
 with two other servants were as different as possible 
 from those of the dainty bedroom, with its mort-
 
 I BECOME A MAIDSERVANT Si 
 
 gaged furniture, at the flat. But so tired was I when 
 bedtime came that no such thing as insomnia ever 
 troubled me, and every morning at six o'clock I 
 rose with a prayer of thankfulness for the blessing 
 of sleep. 
 
 Nearly all of the tasks I was given to perform 
 I did well and conscientiously. I say nearly all, 
 for there were certain kinds of work I thought it 
 well to attempt in peculiar and original ways, in 
 order to "draw out" observations from my fellow- 
 servants and occasionally to note the effect upon my 
 mistress. I did not allow myself for one instant 
 to forget that I was a journalist seeking " copy," and 
 I had no notion of letting any opportunities for 
 getting that all-important article slip by me. 
 
 Thus it was that one day, when I had a lot of 
 candlesticks to clean off, and noting that a bronze 
 Minerva among them was badly mottled with grease, 
 I innocently remarked in the presence of the other 
 servants 
 
 " It's an awful job to clean the candle-grease off 
 that female figure. I wonder if there's any way 
 to get it off quickly ? " 
 
 " It do take time for that sort of thing," observed 
 one of the servants. 
 
 I began carefully to scrape off the grease with 
 a hair-pin. It took nearly an hour. When I had 
 finished, I remarked to the parlourmaid 
 
 " It seems as if there ought to be a way of getting 
 that candle-grease off without spending so much 
 time. How did you get it off when you were 
 housemaid ? " 
 
 " Oh, I didn't use a hair-pin ! I used my finger- 
 nails," was the reply.
 
 82 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 "But don't you think if we put her in the oven 
 and baked her well, the grease would come off, 
 on a paper or something?" I asked, with serious 
 eyes and guileless face. 
 
 "Bake a candlestick?" exclaimed Annie. "Any- 
 body could tell you never was taught how to work ! " 
 
 "Or boiled her in some hot water don't you think 
 that would do it ? " I continued. 
 
 " Did you ever see such a fool ? " I heard one ask 
 the other as I left the kitchen with Minerva, and 
 when the door was shut I laughed softly and then 
 fell to wondering why somebody did not start a 
 school for would-be housemaids and parlourmaids 
 in London. 
 
 The thing that most impressed me during my 
 career as a housemaid was the need of many 
 American housekeeping conveniences in typical 
 English homes. When I assisted the parlourmaid 
 in carrying food and dishes from the kitchen to the 
 dining-room I sighed for the " dumb-waiter " or lift, 
 of which we make use in our modern-built American 
 houses. The continual running up and down many 
 flights of stairs with hot and cold water, instead ot 
 having it laid on, if not in each bedroom, at least on 
 each floor, was the most tiresome and wearing of all 
 my tasks. Up and down, up and down, always up 
 and down, I seemed to be going from morning till 
 night. The helplessness, too, of Englishwomen, as 
 compared with the activity of my own country- 
 women, was also a thing of which I took note. In 
 New York the woman who has not a personal ladies' 
 maid, has a habit of waiting upon herself. In 
 England, I learned, from the gossiping of the 
 servants, that many women who kept only a
 
 I BECOME A MAIDSERVANT 83 
 
 " general " never attempted to brush their own skirts, 
 clean their boots, or put coal on the fire. 
 
 But of all the things that worked most " wear and 
 tear " upon my nervous system the constant dread 
 in which I lived of " being found out " was the worst. 
 
 Once my heart almost stopped beating when the 
 cook, exasperated at my contention that no servant 
 had a right to hold letters written by her mistress 
 over a candle, in order to attempt to read the 
 contents of them, exclaimed 
 
 " Oh, you ! You're nothin' but a spy and houtsider, 
 any'ow. You ain't no proper servant." 
 
 " I don't understand," I answered faintly. 
 
 " Easy enough to understand," she returned. "You 
 breaks a dish and you goes and tells. You don't 
 want the parlourmaid to tell me any of the interest- 
 ing things about the family, and you pertend you 
 don't read any of her letters when you dust her 
 desk." 
 
 I must again explain that the " her " referred to 
 was the mistress of the house. 
 
 " I just hates underhand dealin's and spyin' about, 
 and you're a spy," continued the cook. 
 
 I breathed freely again. 
 
 "All right," I answered, as I went upstairs with 
 a can of hot water. 
 
 It was true that, although a chiel among them 
 taking notes, I endeavoured in every possible way 
 to avoid obtaining or imparting knowledge concerning 
 the private, personal affairs of the family in whose 
 service I was engaged, and whatever of such in- 
 formation was forced upon me I kept to myself and 
 made absolutely no use of it in the " write-up " which 
 I subsequently made of my housemaid experience.
 
 84 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 My first place I left at the end of one week, going 
 from there to take a, situation as parlourmaid in 
 Kensington, a situation I obtained by calling on a 
 lady when the time for my Sunday afternoon out came 
 round. There I found a kind, considerate mistress 
 with incompetent, unaccommodating servants. The 
 more privileges given them the greater and more 
 unfair were the advantages taken, so that when at 
 the end of another week I went back to the flat, 
 I was not by any means an advocate of increased 
 " liberty " for London servants, and my sympathy for 
 London mistresses equalled, if it did not exceed, that 
 which I felt for the servants. 
 
 That return to Dinah and the flat, after two weeks 
 spent in domestic service, was a stirring event. 
 I remember that when it was all over I proved 
 myself a typical, ordinary woman, who, having held 
 her own and exhibited surprising strength and 
 fortitude in an emergency, falls down in a faint 
 when the emergency is past and nothing more is 
 required of her. I burst into the flat and sprang 
 upon Judge and Dinah like something wild or crazy, 
 crying 
 
 "Dinah, Dinah! put me to bed! I'm going to 
 pieces. There's something snapped in my back and 
 in my head." 
 
 After that there were ten days mostly spent in 
 bed, and an occasional visit from a doctor, whose 
 subsequent fees needed no microscope to be seen 
 largely. There was rest and sleep, and sympathy 
 from Judge, interspersed with murmurs from Dinah 
 of, " Oh, Miss Polly, I done toP yo' so ! I say many 
 de time when yo' talk 'bout dat sarvant bus'ness, 
 lemme go an' do de work an' toP yo' all about
 
 I BECOME A MAIDSERVANT 85 
 
 it, an' yo' write 'em for de paper, 'cause scrubbin' am 
 for niggahs an' w'ite trash." 
 
 But, like Truth, crushed to earth, I rose again, and 
 soon the flat resounded with the noise of my type- 
 writer, as I wrote out the true account of my 
 experiences under the title of " In Cap and Apron." 
 
 I use the word true in almost, if not quite, its 
 strictest sense. My real reason for going into service, 
 which was that I might get a start in English jour- 
 nalism and thus put myself in a fair way of earning 
 my own living in London, I did not state, in so many 
 words, believing that way diplomacy did not lie. I 
 reasoned it out that if London knew that the amateur 
 housemaid who essayed to put her experiences into 
 print was quite as much compelled by necessity to 
 go into domestic service in order to earn her living 
 as was any real housemaid who ever applied to a 
 London mistress for a situation, then London might 
 not be so much interested in the story of my ups 
 and downs, on the principle that the poor it had ever 
 with it, and was rather longing for a change. 
 
 So whatever was sad, whatever was tragic, and, to 
 a certain extent, whatever was serious, I determined 
 to leave out of my "In Cap and Apron " tale. I 
 knew there were plenty to write fiction, plenty to 
 write tragedy, so I chose what afterwards proved 
 to be the better and more popular part of trying 
 to write brightly and entertainingly of my brief 
 experience as a servant girl. The fact of my being 
 an American girl I kept to myself, although it very 
 comically leaked out through some of the "Ameri- 
 canisms," such as "wash-bowls and pitchers" and 
 my demand for a meat breakfast, when my articles 
 appeared in print.
 
 86 A -NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 I also did what might possibly be termed a little 
 " posing " during the course of my narrative, by 
 letting it appear that I was not well up in the art 
 of housework, and was unacquainted with the proper 
 method of scrubbing, cleaning bronze candlesticks, 
 etc., and thereby brought down upon my head the 
 ire of many a British housewife, who took the re- 
 lation of my attempts at scrubbing and candlestick 
 cleaning in a too serious manner. The fact of the 
 matter is that I was then and am now, like the 
 majority of my countrywomen, a very good house- 
 worker, and what I did not know by experience I 
 knew by instinct, and if, as was afterwards poetically 
 asserted by Sir Walter Besant, I " housemaided it 
 with zeal and also pranks," I acted thus wise for the 
 purpose of trying to break up the monotony of the 
 daily life of myself and my fellow -servants, thus 
 furnishing somewhat more interesting "copy" than 
 I otherwise could have done. All work and no play 
 is bound to make one a dull journalist. 
 
 The names of my employers, the neighbourhoods 
 in which they lived, their professions and the position 
 which they occupied in London society, I carefully 
 concealed in my write - up, substituting names, 
 addresses, and occupations as different as possible 
 from the real ones, and if it ever in the years that 
 followed became known in what particular London 
 families I had acted the part of maidservant it was 
 not through any information that came from me, 
 either in my writing or my conversation. 
 
 When two chapters of the " In Cap and Apron " 
 series were written and handed to the editor to 
 whom I had first carried my IDEA, the story of my 
 adventures began to appear in print, it not being
 
 I BECOME A MAIDSERVANT 87 
 
 considered necessary to wait until I had finished the 
 whole. 
 
 In the midst of the publication and of my writing 
 I was asked by the same editor to go touring through 
 the mining towns of Lancashire and Yorkshire, where 
 the great coal strike of 1893 was m progress. I was 
 commissioned to write about the distress of the 
 miners, and their wives and children, but I had no 
 sooner arrived in the mining towns than my own 
 "distress" became greater than any I witnessed 
 among the colliers, for my sympathy was not all 
 with the miners and their wives, though it abided 
 always with the innocent children. Beer and waste- 
 fulness and filth I found everywhere among them, and 
 in the midst of their drunkenness they described to 
 me their " wrongs," and told of children " clemmin " at 
 home while both parents caroused in the public-houses. 
 Thus my own "distress" the distress I felt at having 
 to apparently "side with" the colliers when it seemed 
 to me that justice and right were partly on the side 
 of the mine-owners doubtless showed itself in the 
 reports I daily sent on to the London paper that was 
 upholding the cause of the strikers, and before the 
 end of a week a pertinent telegram, " Come back ! " 
 brought me to London. 
 
 "Your reports were not exactly the thing," said 
 the editor, when I again stood before him. "You 
 seemed to lack sympathy." 
 
 " Not at all," I responded. " I can't tell you how 
 much I sympathised with the mine-owners, as well 
 as with the strikers ! " 
 
 " I thought so," he laughed. " But your servant- 
 girl experiences are all right, and we shall want the 
 third instalment at once."
 
 88 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 So I returned to the flat, and during the next 
 three weeks I wrote six more chapters of " In Cap 
 and Apron," making eight in all, I having discovered 
 that six, as originally agreed upon, would not hold 
 all I had to tell. Then for eight weeks ran the story 
 of my adventures in the paper.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 WHEN I FOUND MYSELF A "HEROINE" 
 
 HE is, in her highly becoming cap and apron, 
 the heroine of the town. Her strange, wild, 
 and curious adventures are the common theme of 
 conversation in thousands of English homes, where 
 the pros and cons of the case are eagerly discussed 
 by both the parties concerned. Indeed, mistress and 
 maid, should a good understanding subsist between 
 them, exchange views on the position taken by the 
 author. That position is really untenable. We con- 
 tend that she, in her confessed ignorance of the 
 duties of the profession, which, for journalistic 
 purposes, she undertook, was not properly equipped 
 for her essay in servanthood. . . . She announces at 
 the very outset of her voyage of discovery her in- 
 ability to darn a sock ! Does there actually breathe 
 a woman in whom the domestic instinct is so dead 
 as this? . . . She cleans a bronze candlestick with 
 a hair-pin ! . . . An ivory ornament is resolved into 
 its component parts, under her incompetent hands, 
 in a pail of hot water, and contrary to her fellow- 
 servant's advice she insists on confessing to having 
 broken it ! . , ." 
 
 Thus ran a part of a column article in the Pall 
 Mall Gazette of November 22nd, 1893, anc * I was 
 89
 
 90 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 the "heroine." I did not, however, see it on 
 November 22nd. I could not afford the luxury of 
 buying many newspapers, and so it happened that 
 for several days, though I was a "heroine," I was 
 entirely ignorant of that encouraging fact. In those 
 days there stood only a few pennies between sadness 
 and gladness for me, and I could not spend those 
 pennies. 
 
 It was a few days after the 22nd of November 
 that, walking along Piccadilly, I met an American 
 newspaper man whom I had not seen since I left 
 my native land. 
 
 "Lo! the Conquering Heroine comes!" he ex- 
 claimed, taking off his hat and making a low 
 obeisance. "It took an American girl to stir 'em 
 up and show 'em what's what in journalism ! You 
 didn't starve in London, after all, did you ? " 
 
 " No, I didn't starve," I answered ; " but I haven't 
 lived on canvas-back duck, nor lobsters and things ! 
 But I've got a little start now, and I'm going to 
 stay in London till I do something. I've got a 
 series running in one of the papers." 
 
 "Stay till you do something! Got a 'series' 
 running now ! Why, you seem to have a series 
 running in all the papers, or something mighty like 
 it, as far as I can make out ! I haven't picked up 
 a London paper since I've been over that didn't have 
 something about you in it. Why, the papers are 
 full of you, and the London correspondents are 
 cabling over home about you. You've done us all 
 proud. You don't mean to say that you don't know 
 you're the talk of London and America a regular 
 right-down heroine?" 
 
 My compatriot looked at me suspiciously, and I
 
 MYSELF A "HEROINE" 91 
 
 returned his look quite honestly as I replied, " No, 
 I didn't know it. I've scarcely seen a paper, and 
 I haven't been up to much since I got out of 
 service." 
 
 " Well, you're the most indifferent, not to say non- 
 progressive and ##-energetic American girl I ever 
 knew! Why, I have got my pocket stuffed full of 
 you that is, things about you that I've cut from 
 the papers. I'm going to write a great story about 
 you to send over to my paper. Come on in here 
 and have lunch, and while we're eating you can 
 read all about how you're the greatest show on 
 earth ! " 
 
 With that he conducted me into a restaurant 
 where Americans in London largely foregather, and 
 as the meal progressed there were spread before my 
 astonished though delighted eyes the evidences of 
 the success which my " In Cap and Apron " series 
 was achieving. What kind, encouraging things the 
 London papers were saying about " the American 
 girl " to be sure, even the most staid and conserva- 
 tive of them ! Some took my journalistic exploit as 
 a far more serious affair than it was. They opined 
 that I was a reformer and a philanthropist, bent upon 
 solving the domestic servant question, and deliver- 
 ing both servants and mistresses in England out of 
 bondage. Other papers viewed the whole proceeding 
 as a "lark," and declared that I had entered upon 
 it in a spirit of mischief, and was writing it all up 
 " for the fun of the thing." Both surmises were 
 kindly meant, but both were wrong. 
 
 It was just about this time that letters from all 
 parts of Great Britain began pouring in upon me, 
 letters addressed in care of the paper in which the
 
 92 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 series was appearing, asking me to tell my real object 
 in going out to domestic service. Servants begged me 
 to become president of their leagues, mistresses wanted 
 to know what good I expected to accomplish. I was 
 accused of being a "busybody," trying to set the 
 English servants against their employers, and putting 
 false notions of equality into their heads. " Why did 
 you do it? What was your aim and what do you 
 expect to accomplish by it?" were the questions 
 asked me in hundreds of letters. 
 
 To those letters I could not reply : first because 
 the writers neglected the formality of enclosing 
 postage stamps, and second because I had neither 
 the time nor the physical strength for entering upon 
 so arduous a task. I remember that shortly after 
 that there came to me an invitation to attend a 
 gathering of women, which I thought it might be 
 well for me to accept. At that meeting a woman 
 writer came over to me and said 
 
 " Now, tell me exactly what was your aim and 
 object your serious one, I mean in going out to 
 service and writing about it? It is a question we are 
 all asking." 
 
 " I did it for ' copy,' " I answered. " To earn my 
 living, you know. I knew it was a subject that 
 would interest everybody." 
 
 How shall I ever forget the shocked expression 
 on that woman's face, how fail to remember her 
 exclamation of surprise and disgust, as she replied 
 
 " ' Copy ' ! you mean to confess you had no 
 philanthropic aim, that you did it for mercenary 
 reasons, merely to earn your living ? " 
 
 "Yes," I returned, looking her squarely in the face; 
 " I'm not a hypocrite and I won't pose as a reformer.
 
 MYSELF A "HEROINE" 93 
 
 I did it to earn my living, but of course if my 
 published experience helps anyone else to earn hers 
 I shall be very glad. I have done my best with this 
 series and have been absolutely honest and impartial. 
 I have taken no sides I have simply told the truth." 
 
 " Oh, I really never thought any journalist would 
 sink to such a level, or make such a confession even 
 though it were true ! I must say that I have never 
 written anything except with the object of benefiting 
 somebody by it." 
 
 "Perhaps you have an income aside from your 
 writing, which I have not," I answered ; " and then, 
 I am sure you have never undertaken the hard kind 
 of work which I have just done. Would you scrub 
 floors, and carry water up four flights of stairs, and 
 make yourself ill in mind and body, doing work 
 to which you were not accustomed, from motives 
 of philanthopy ? " 
 
 I got only a disgusted " Oh, what a motive ! " in 
 answer to my question. I left the place soon 
 afterwards. The atmosphere seemed not congenial. 
 My unblushing confession of my " motive " in going 
 out to service was repeated in other female journal- 
 istic and club circles, and it was never accounted unto 
 me for righteousness. 
 
 It seems now a very long time ago since, trying 
 to be honest by answering honestly a simple question 
 that was put to me, I suddenly found myself looked 
 upon in certain quarters as a sort of journalistic 
 pariah, outcast from some circles of the truly good 
 and worthy writers for the press. " Tell the truth and 
 shame the devil," said somebody once upon a time, 
 but "Tell the truth and shame yourself" was the 
 way it seemed to me the saying should run in those
 
 94 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 early London days. There have been occasions since 
 that time of struggle against poverty when I too, 
 thank God ! have been able to write from pure love 
 of and interest in my subject ; when I have seen the 
 weak and helpless abused, the right down-trodden, 
 and the wrong rising triumphant, and have said, 
 " I will wield my pen in the cause of righteousness 
 for mere righteousness' sake," and have been able 
 to contribute the fees I received to the upbuilding 
 of the cause I have championed. 
 
 Happy those writers who can always do this, who 
 know not what it is to write merely as a means ot 
 money- getting who have needed never to write 
 the " pot-boiling " article or the " pot-boiling " book ! 
 Happy are they and blessed, for truly they have 
 entered into the Kingdom the Kingdom after which 
 the rest of us strive with hard work and longing! 
 But it is not for them to sneer at us who work 
 honestly and conscientiously at our trade. Rather 
 let them follow the command of the Man of God and 
 sell all they have and give to the poor, and start out 
 even penniless, and learn the lesson of working for a 
 living. Let them have to report a Sunday night's 
 sermon in order to pay for their Monday night's 
 dinner ; or, rather, let them have to go without their 
 Monday night's dinner because payment is only 
 made on Saturday nights at the newspaper offices. 
 Let them know the pain that hunger can give, and 
 the aches and the diseases that fireless grates bring 
 on. Let them see their dear ones dying for lack of 
 medicine ; the dead bodies of those they love waiting 
 in one room for a shroud, while in the next room 
 they must write a comic story for a comic paper in 
 order to buy it. Let them experience all this, and
 
 MYSELF A " HEROINE" 95 
 
 more ten thousand times more and then if they 
 do not fall upon their knees crying out, " Money ! 
 money ! Good God ! give me ideas which I can turn 
 into money money to satisfy hunger, to build a fire, 
 to save my dying, to bury my dead ! " then, why 
 then, they are not human ! 
 
 Who that is breakfastless and dinnerless can write 
 an article on " The Need of a Christmas Feast for 
 the Poor" merely and solely for the sake of those 
 who are known as " the poor " ? To that " feast " the 
 hungry journalist is not invited; for who suspects that 
 she may be hungry and far " poorer " than the " very 
 poor" of the East End of London or the East Side 
 of New York ? The journalist writes of the need 
 of the feast and receives as payment two guineas or 
 ten dollars. That is what the hungry journalist writes 
 it for the fee, and if she is honest she will admit it. 
 But along with the fee and the satisfaction of having 
 earned some food for herself there comes the added 
 satisfaction of having helped to fill other empty 
 stomachs than her own. This is one of the com- 
 pensations of the working " pot-boiling " journalist's 
 life! 
 
 A few years ago, when I was engaged as reporter 
 on a New York paper, a girl artist and I were told 
 by our editor to go out and get up a true story on 
 " The Hottest Day among the New York Poor," for 
 which we were to be paid at space rates. The editor 
 gave us an order on the cashier for some money, 
 saying we might use it at our own discretion, so long 
 as we expended it in getting him a good story and 
 some good sketches all true and no fiction. We 
 decided to spend this money in buying a small load 
 of ice to distribute free among the poor who lived
 
 96 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 in the worst section of the city. An illustrated story 
 of how the poor children scrambled after the ice 
 would, we thought, be sure to please the editor, so 
 we went with our ice on to the East Side. 
 
 " Please, missus, is ye an angel, bringin' us ice all 
 fer nothin', when we's so hot and it's so 'spensive ? " 
 asked a tiny, ragged tot of me, her great eyes staring 
 with delighted wonder. 
 
 "No, little girl," I said; "I'm only a reporter. 
 I'm writing a story about you for my paper, and the 
 other lady is making pictures for it. Stand still with 
 your ice-pail, like that, and let her put you into the 
 picture." 
 
 "I declare," said the artist to me at the office, 
 when at midnight we were just finishing our work, 
 having had no time for either luncheon or dinner 
 that day, " I'm horribly tired and ravenously hungry, 
 but the memory of how those youngsters enjoyed 
 that ice fairly does me good ! " 
 
 I bring in this little New York episode here, where 
 it may seem to be a digression in a chapter devoted 
 to a part of my London experiences, in order to 
 illustrate what is my conception of the attitude that 
 may be rightly taken by the honest working woman 
 journalist whose income must be derived from her 
 pen. 
 
 I had a code by which I justified and do now 
 justify my entry into domestic service entry even 
 under what some of my critics rightly called " false 
 pretences," for I gave a false name and a false 
 address, and, in order to get the situations I obtained, 
 though I told a part of the truth, I kept back a part 
 of it. Again, I justified myself when I became a 
 flower-girl, and sold flowers in the West End streets
 
 MYSELF A "HEROINE" 97 
 
 and in Piccadilly Circus; again when I became a 
 laundry-girl, and pretended to be what I was not; 
 also as a dressmaker's apprentice, a crossing-sweeper, 
 and when I assumed the role of American heiress, 
 trying to buy a pedigree and a presentation at Court. 
 These experiences came the one after the other in 
 as quick succession as I could bring them to pass, 
 for, once having made my name as the "exponent 
 of the newer and American journalism," the London 
 editors, many of whom were known as belonging 
 formerly to the conservative class of journalists, 
 wrote to me and "asked for more." In vain did I 
 visit many of them personally, suggesting subjects 
 which seemed more suitable to the particular style of 
 newspapers which they published, and were certainly 
 more to my own taste and inclination, and required 
 less of the physical strength and nervous energy 
 which I knew, even without consulting a wise old 
 British doctor, who was continually shaking his head 
 at me, were being all too rapidly used up. 
 
 "Oh, but we do not want the ordinary sort of 
 writing from you ! " the editors would say. " You've 
 started this newer and more entertaining kind of 
 journalism over here, and you must keep it up." 
 
 Then I would be offered three times the regular 
 rates of the papers to tell how I went up in a balloon 
 or worked in the sweat-shops. 
 
 " But I ask only your regular rates, and I really 
 can write on ordinary subjects," I would answer, but 
 vainly, vainly. So I prepared to go out as a flower- 
 girl, and when I was all ready, with my queer-looking 
 costume, and my basket of blossoms hanging about 
 my neck, I sat down on the stairs that led from the 
 flat, and felt I never could do it, and then I started 
 H
 
 98 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 out again and became a flower-girl for a day. The 
 next day I was worn out and remained in bed, also 
 the next. On the third day I got up and wrote 
 what the critics said was a " vivacious and entertain- 
 ing account" of my experiences. Another day was 
 spent sweeping crossings, two more days in bed, a 
 day in writing it, and so two articles were done for a 
 magazine. 
 
 One day, having heard that Mr. A. Gibbons, the 
 then editor of the Lady's Pictorial, had spoken kindly 
 of my work, I went to his office, and, introducing 
 myself to him, said, " Would you care to have me 
 write something for the Lady's Pictorial ? " 
 
 " Nothing would please me better ! " he exclaimed. 
 " Why, I've been going to send for you to come and 
 see me these many weeks. I expect you're full 
 of suggestions and ideas, so let me hear some of 
 them." 
 
 " I will write you an article about girls' boarding- 
 school life in America," I said. 
 
 "No, you won't! I wouldn't look at it!" he 
 replied. 
 
 I suggested a dozen other subjects, none of which 
 met the approval of Mr. Gibbons. Finally I said I 
 would return home and communicate with him by 
 letter. I was moving towards the door, when Mr. 
 Gibbons jumped up. "No, indeed, you won't go 
 home ! Sit you down there on that chair and put 
 your wits to work, and I'll put mine to work too. If 
 you've had the effrontery to come to the Lady's 
 Pictorial without an idea in your head you're not 
 going to leave it till you get one." 
 
 I am bound to state that I began to get a bit 
 nervous of Mr. A. Gibbons, so altogether different
 
 MYSELF A "HEROINE" 99 
 
 was he from any other London editor I had met. 
 Certainly, I decided that he must be a character in 
 the literary world of London. It was about two 
 o'clock when I went into his office. He sat at his 
 desk thinking, I sat at the other end of the hand- 
 somely furnished room till four o'clock. 
 
 Then spoke Mr. Gibbons. " Have you any ideas 
 yet ? " he asked. 
 
 " No," I answered. 
 
 " H'm ! I've heard of American cuteness, but I 
 don't know I don't know ! " 
 
 " I think I'll go now," I said, beginning to rue the 
 fancy that had made me think I could write for the 
 fashionable Lady's Pictorial. " I've got an engage- 
 ment." 
 
 " You've got no engagement that's more important 
 than this one. Do you have to earn your living 
 writing for the papers ? " 
 
 "Yes," I said. 
 
 "Very well! Just sit there till you think or I 
 think of a subject. Of course one of us is bound to 
 hit upon something." 
 
 The hands of the clock went round, and when the 
 hour of five had arrived, and I had sat waiting three 
 hours for an inspiration, Mr. Gibbons exclaimed 
 
 " I've beaten you ! British wit is quicker than 
 American ! Go down to Kent and pick strawberries 
 with the common pickers and then write all about 
 it." 
 
 It will be too awful ! I can't ! " I answered. 
 
 "You said you had a living to earn! This will 
 help you. Good afternoon. I'll write you a letter 
 stating the terms and telling you how many 
 columns."
 
 TOO A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 He shook hands with me, brusquely, yet kindly. 
 In the morning there was a letter offering me the 
 most liberal terms I had ever received for any 
 London work. I went to Kent one night, and en- 
 gaged lodging with a quaint little lodging-house 
 keeper to whom Mr. Gibbons gave me a letter of in- 
 troduction. The next morning at three o'clock I 
 was gathering fruit with the strawberry-pickers of 
 Kent. The rain poured all day, but I kept at my 
 work till eight that night, wet through, of course, to 
 the very skin, and my shoes full of water. The next 
 morning, waking with the pangs of rheumatism in 
 every bone, a kind friend got me back to London, 
 and with Judge and Dinah attending me with all love 
 and sympathy, and my one time mild-mannered but 
 now infuriated doctor declaring that he washed his 
 hands for ever of so idiotic a patient, and writing 
 prescriptions the while, some days went by, and Mr. 
 Gibbons heard nothing from me except a hastily 
 scribbled note to the effect that I had done the straw- 
 berry picking and would send him the manuscript as 
 soon as possible. The following week I wrote an 
 account of my experiences, telling of the rainy day 
 and a few rheumatic twinges, but keeping back some 
 of the more serious results. After a part of the story 
 had appeared in print, I received a peremptory sum- 
 mons to call on Mr. Gibbons. He eyed me fiercely 
 as I entered the office, and exclaimed 
 
 " I want to say that I consider you've treated me 
 very shabbily about that strawberry-picking affair." 
 
 " I don't understand," I said amazed. "If you did 
 not like the manuscript, you ought to have told 
 me so." 
 
 " I did like it. It's exactly what I wanted, but I
 
 MYSELF A -HEROINE" 101 
 
 ask you in the name of all that's honest, did I tell 
 you to go out and pick strawberries in the rain, and 
 run the danger of killing yourself?" 
 
 " No, you didn't ; but it rained the morning after I 
 got to Kent, and as I had engaged to go to work, 
 I went." 
 
 " Didn't I tell you I'd pay all your expenses while 
 you were down there ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Then why didn't you stay there in the lodging- 
 house till a fine day came, and then go and pick the 
 berries ? I say, why didn't you wait and take a rest, 
 and behave like a sensible, reasoning human being ? 
 Instead of that you've got me talked about as a slave- 
 driver. Why, yesterday an old friend of mine, a 
 doctor, called here flourishing the last copy of the 
 Pictorial in my face, and screaming, ' Gibbons, you're 
 a brute ! If that girl had died from the effects of 
 picking berries in the rain, you'd have been tried for 
 murder, and quite right too ! ' I told him I didn't 
 know what day you had picked strawberries, but I 
 knew you were not so foolish as to pick in the rain. 
 When I read your manuscript I thought you brought 
 in the rain to make the thing dramatic. My friend 
 faced me up and down that it did rain, and I said it 
 didn't Now, I ask you, did it rain ?" 
 
 " Yes, it rained." 
 
 "Have you been ill and had a doctor's bill on 
 account of it ? " 
 
 "Oh no ! of course not !" I answered ; for I thought 
 that here was a place where the truth need not be 
 told. 
 
 " I was going to say that you could add the doctor's 
 bill to your expense account, if you had one," he
 
 102 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 returned, with a relieved expression on his face ; 
 " but I'm sorry you picked in the rain. Take better 
 care of yourself, and hoard your strength ; you'll 
 need it." 
 
 The next day I found that in order to finish the 
 strawberry-picking series with satisfaction to myself 
 and justice to my subject, I required a column more 
 space than Mr. Gibbons had agreed to pay for, and I 
 wrote asking if I might be allowed to add this column 
 without extra charge. His reply was characteristic. 
 "Of course, do the extra column, and of course 
 you will be paid for it. Herewith the cheque for 
 all." 
 
 Mr. Gibbons was known as " the gruffest editor in 
 London," so I was afterwards told. To me he was 
 one of the kindest, and I have often laughed over my 
 first experience with him waiting three hours for an 
 inspiration, and then having his British wit win the 
 contest over my American. 
 
 One day, when my first article had appeared in the 
 Nineteenth Century, I called at his office, and was 
 greeted at the door with "Good afternoon! You've 
 got a new name. Hereafter you have dropped the 
 title of ' The American Girl in London,' and shall be 
 known as ' The Frivolous Contributor of the Nine- 
 teenth Century!'" 
 
 Then there was another day when I called to see 
 him. I had been in America for a long time, and 
 had brought back a head full of ideas that I thought 
 would please him. I handed my card to the office 
 boy in the little ante-room. 
 
 " For Mr. Gibbons," I said, " and ask him, if he's 
 busy now, to please make an appointment for another 
 time."
 
 MYSELF A "HEROINE" 103 
 
 " Mr. Gibbons is dead ! " said the boy. 
 
 Then I turned away, half -chokingly, as I went 
 down the stairs. I had lost not only a kind and 
 considerate editor but a good friend, one of the 
 earliest of my editorial friends in London.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 WHY I DID NOT BECOME A SALVATION 
 ARMY "LASSIE" 
 
 ONE of the last situations I entered in London 
 during my search for " working-girl copy " was 
 that of laundry girl in a large steam laundry. It 
 was not only the beginning of the end of the peculiar 
 kind of work I had taken up, but was also the hardest 
 task I ever attempted. The laundry was called a 
 " sanitary " one, but it was in many ways a most 
 insanitary sort of establishment. Upon the floor of 
 the wash-house part of the laundry, where numbers 
 of the girls, including myself, were obliged to walk 
 up and down dozens of times a day, water, dirty, 
 slimy, and ill-smelling, always stood to the height of 
 several inches. Whenever I stood or walked in it 
 my feet slipped up and down in the water that 
 penetrated into my boots, and so my feet, all day 
 long, were always wet far above my ankles. I had 
 every reason to believe that my lungs were of the 
 strongest, and would stand any reasonable amount 
 of carelessness on my part, but I contracted a hacking 
 cough, which, happily, did not last long after I made 
 my final exit from the atmosphere of soap-suds. 
 While engaged in the work, however, I was con- 
 stantly in terror of getting maimed or killed with the 
 104
 
 NOT A SALVATION "LASSIE" 105 
 
 machinery, and so, as I had given a false name and 
 false address to the manageress of the laundry, I / 
 wore always in the locket round my neck a thin 
 slip of paper upon which I had written particulars 
 of what was to be done with me should any accident 
 befall me. 
 
 But at the end of a little over a week's work I left 
 the laundry quite whole, and as sound in mind and 
 body as one could have reason to expect after such 
 an experience. The writing up of the story of my 
 career as a laundry girl was all done in bed, my 
 typewriter being placed on a tea-tray in front of me. 
 
 That task accomplished I was up again, and as 
 it was not to be published for some time, and I 
 would not receive any money for it till after publica- 
 tion, I looked about me for another way to earn 
 some ready money. Again I made a tour of the 
 London editors, with whom I had by that time 
 become pretty well acquainted, suggesting subjects 
 for articles of a different nature from that with which 
 I had started my career in English journalism. They 
 were kind, but they were firm in expressing their 
 opinion that it was foolish for me to think of doing 
 "ordinary" things in journalism when I had proved 
 myself so capable of doing the " extraordinary " 
 things. Then I attempted to get a position on 
 some one of the daily or weekly papers at a stipu- 
 lated salary, and though I was even then talked 
 about and written about as " one of the most success- 
 ful women journalists in the world," I would gladly 
 have accepted a salary of three or four pounds a week, 
 and I offered my services at that price to several 
 editors in turn, each of them laughing at what he 
 termed " such nonsense."
 
 io6 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 " Why," said one of these editors to me, " you have 
 introduced a bright, nqw, attractive kind of journalism 
 into London. Keep at it, and you should, without 
 the slightest difficulty, earn an income of at the very 
 least fifteen hundred pounds a year ! " 
 
 I was very discouraged when I left that editor's 
 office, and at the bottom of the stairs I met a young 
 English woman writer. 
 
 " Oh, if you've been up there, I suppose it's no use 
 
 for me to go and talk with Mr. about one of 
 
 the ordinary articles I want to do for him!" she 
 said laughingly. " I expect you came away with 
 an order for a five -hundred -pound series, didn't 
 you ? " 
 
 I laughed. " No," I said, " not quite so much as 
 that ! But you'd better go up, and I hope you'll sell 
 your article." 
 
 She did sell it ! I found that out the next week. 
 Meantime I walked over to the office of a paper that 
 had recently been started, the editor of which wanted 
 me to do some of my " new kind of journalism " for 
 him. 
 
 " Take some work from you ! Certainly ! " he 
 said, when I had introduced myself. " Now, what 
 haven t you done in London ? I want something 
 quite fresh and startling." 
 
 We went over ideas and suggestions, and it was 
 decided that I was to write up the Salvation Army 
 " from the inside," which meant that I was to become 
 an Army " lassie." 
 
 " Don't go into it with the idea of an ' expose,' " 
 said the editor, "but join the Army just as you 
 became a housemaid, and write up your experiences." 
 
 Then we arranged terms, which were, if I re-
 
 NOT A SALVATION "LASSIE" 107 
 
 member rightly, nearly four times the ordinary rate 
 he paid to other contributors. 
 
 " I will, of course," I said, " need a small amount 
 of money, over and above the column rate, for 
 expenses." 
 
 " How much ? " he asked. 
 
 "Oh, not more than three or four pounds," I 
 answered. 
 
 "Very well! I will pay you four pounds down 
 now." 
 
 Handing me an order for that amount on the 
 cashier, and bidding me buy a " uniform " with it 
 and anything else I needed for the adventure, he 
 bade me farewell till I should bring him my " copy." 
 
 Then I went out shopping, buying thick boots, 
 such as I thought I should need for "marching," 
 and such other belongings as I thought should go 
 with a humble Salvation Army girl, keeping intact 
 an amount that I thought would be sufficient for 
 the purchase of the poke bonnet and dark blue dress, 
 which I thought I would not get until I had spent 
 a few days investigating what was the best way to 
 join the Army. 
 
 The next day I stopped in at the office of the 
 editor of one of the most prominent and conservative 
 of London's papers, and who, by the way, up to that 
 time was the only editor who had given me any 
 encouragement to do a different sort of work from 
 that by which I had made my name, he having even 
 gone so far as to take two anonymous articles from 
 me, paying me at his ordinary rate per column. 
 
 I explained that I had called to see if there were 
 anything else that I could do for him, but there 
 happened to be nothing on hand just then.
 
 io8 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 " I hope you are not doing any more of that ' new 
 journalism ' now," he said. 
 
 " Yes," I answered, " I am. In fact, I am just 
 about to start on what I suppose will be the biggest 
 thing I have ever attempted, and perhaps create the 
 greatest sensation." 
 
 "What is it?" he asked. 
 
 " I can't tell you." 
 
 " I wish you would tell me. Perhaps you ought 
 not to do it, and if so, I might persuade you to 
 give it up." 
 
 " Yes, I ought to do it ! " I answered, half defiantly, 
 " and it would not be right for you to persuade me 
 to give it up. But I will tell you what it is in the 
 strictest confidence, though I will not tell you the 
 name of the paper I am going to do it for. I am 
 going to join the Salvation Army and write an 
 account of my experiences." 
 
 I saw a look of horror come over the good man's 
 face. He jumped up from his desk. 
 
 " No ! No ! You must never do that ! It would 
 be a terrible thing. Promise me you will give up 
 that scheme. It is not nice. It is not dignified. 
 It will create a prejudice against you which you will 
 never be able to live down." 
 
 " But I must do it. I have engaged with an editor 
 to do it," I answered. " He will pay me well for it." 
 
 " Pay you well ! He cannot pay you well, no 
 matter what he offers you. I don't ask you who 
 this editor is, but I do ask you, in your own interest, 
 for your own good, to go back to him and tell him 
 you find it impossible to do this work." 
 
 The great man began walking up and down his 
 office, and as he walked he explained to me the enor-
 
 NOT A SALVATION "LASSIE" 109 
 
 mity of the task I had undertaken. He told me I 
 would ruin my whole future literary and social career, 
 that I would prejudice all the religious people of Eng- 
 land and even of my own country against me, and as 
 he exclaimed, " I tell you, you will be ruined, ruined, 
 ruined, if you do this thing ! " I began to get as 
 thoroughly frightened as though I had been about to 
 commit a crime, and as I listened to all the dire con- 
 sequences which he prophesied would follow in the 
 wake of my proposed undertaking, my hair almost 
 stood on end and my eyes fairly started from my 
 head. I was almost tempted to give it up, when I 
 suddenly remembered the money that had been 
 advanced to me for expenses, a good part of which 
 I had spent and had no means of replacing. 
 
 " You don't understand," I said faintly, " that I am 
 in honour bound to do it." 
 
 " How in honour bound ? " he asked. 
 
 " Oh, because I promised the editor," I answered. 
 
 " Go and ask him to release you. That is quite a 
 permissible and honourable thing to do." 
 
 I was passing out of the door, frightened, bewildered, 
 sick at heart. 
 
 " Promise me you will not do this thing. Promise 
 you will go to that newspaper editor, whoever he is, 
 and ask to be released from this commission," he said, 
 looking me full in the face as he shook hands. " Re- 
 member, you have come to the parting of the ways, 
 and your whole future depends upon your giving up 
 this Salvation Army scheme." 
 
 " I promise I will give it up, and ask the editor to 
 release me," I answered, and then turned and fled 
 down the stairs, lest he should discover the tears I 
 knew I was ready to shed. Then out in the open
 
 i io A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 air I thought of the promise I had made with a sort 
 of shock, and felt like a criminal who had taken a 
 newspaper's money and spent it and could not return 
 it, though failing, yes, refusing, to keep my engage- 
 ment. How dared I go and say, " I have spent the 
 money you advanced me for Salvation Army ex- 
 penses, and I have no way of paying it back, but I 
 will not do the work for you " ? 
 
 What did other people do when they were in such 
 terrible straits ? Borrow ? Yes, I knew they did 
 that. But I had never borrowed any money since I 
 came to London, except the seven shillings from 
 Dinah, and I never intended to borrow. There were 
 magazines in London at that time for which I had 
 done some work, which had been accepted, and for 
 which I had corrected the proofs. I knew my articles 
 would be published some time in the future, and that 
 then I should get paid for them. Should I go to the 
 editors, explain my necessity, and ask for payment 
 before instead of after publication ? Yes. That 
 seemed the sensible thing to do. I started for one 
 of the offices, climbed the stairs to the editor's room, 
 was about to walk in, then turned and went down 
 the stairs. I found I could not do it I had courage 
 for many things, but not for that. 
 
 Then I went home and slept not through the live- 
 long night. But in the morning I remembered a 
 good Irish Catholic priest whom I had met in one of 
 the mining towns of Lancashire when I had been 
 sent there to write up the distress among the strikers' 
 families. He had been very kind to me in those 
 days, and on parting had said, " Remember, my child, 
 if you ever get into any trouble and need any helping 
 hand stretched out to you, just write to me. And see
 
 NOT A SALVATION "LASSIE" in 
 
 here, my child, I'm a poor man, but I sometimes 
 have a few pounds put by ; so if you're ever in need, 
 just write and tell me." 
 
 I wrote to the good Father all about my troubles, 
 keeping back nothing, and in the end informed him 
 that I wrote as " under the seal of the confessional," 
 and wanted to know if he would lend me four pounds 
 till the magazines paid up. By return of post the 
 money came, and then with it in my hand I went to 
 the office of the editor who wanted the Salvation 
 Army written up, handed it over, and begged to be 
 released from my undertaking. 
 
 " It's all right," he said, when I began to make 
 excuses ; " I'm glad you've given it up. I can't 
 exactly say why, but I'm glad." 
 
 Two months later I sent four pounds ten shillings 
 to my good friend the priest in Lancashire four 
 pounds in return of the loan and ten shillings for one 
 of his pet charities and for reply came this specimen 
 of ready Irish wit : "Money received. Shall be glad to 
 lend you some more on the same terms. Little Mary 
 O'Flannagan is the better for that loan to you by a 
 new pair of boots, and I have instructed two other 
 poor little girls to say a prayer every night for you."
 
 CHAPTER X 
 A DEAL IN ANCESTORS 
 
 I CAME to England with the knowledge that I 
 had no pedigree worth speaking of on one side of 
 me the English side. Perhaps I should correct that 
 statement, for, of course, if I thought about the matter 
 at all, I knew I did have a pedigree of some sort or 
 other, but I did not know what sort it was, whether 
 honourable or dishonourable, plebeian or aristocratic. 
 The fact troubled me but little for a time. I was 
 altogether too busy trying to earn my own living to 
 spend time and trouble and bus fare running about 
 investigating how my ancestors earned theirs, or 
 whether they got it in some less respectable way 
 than earning it. I knew, however, that they could 
 not have been rich, or, if they were, that they must 
 have been selfish spendthrifts, since nothing in the 
 way of legacies in English land or bonds had been 
 handed down to me. On this account I always felt 
 a resentment towards them, and it was my own 
 private opinion that if I ever found out anything 
 about them, I would discover that not only financially, 
 but socially and morally, they were a pretty poor lot, 
 and I had no notion of claiming them. 
 
 When I had been in England something over a 
 year a relation in America, whose grandfather was
 
 A DEAL IN ANCESTORS 113 
 
 my grandfather as well, wrote and begged me to go 
 to the British Museum and hunt up some data in the 
 records of the Harleian Society. I would there find, 
 he said, that we had among our common ancestors 
 some knights, baronets, and things. With the " clue " 
 that my relation sent me I went to the British 
 Museum, and, though I found the knights and 
 baronets, I found also confirmation of even more 
 than my worst suspicions concerning my ancestors. 
 One had died in an almshouse, one had been a sort of 
 pirate captain so far as I could make out, one had 
 fought against George Washington, concerning one 
 
 there was but this simple record, " Born , Died 
 
 , not worth a groat." One of my far-away- 
 removed ancestresses, who horror of horrors ! bore 
 the very name which was bestowed upon me at my 
 christening, had conducted herself in so shameful and 
 disreputable a manner that her " husbande," my far- 
 away and removed ancestor, had ordered her to sit 
 upon the steps of the meeting-house from midday 
 till the going down of the sun, with a shawl over her 
 head, and publicly confess her fault, which was indeed 
 a most grievous one, " and the ladye," so the record 
 ran, " did confesse." 
 
 I slammed together with a bang the book that 
 gave me this bit of scandalous information, and 
 started back to the flat, not altogether pleased with 
 my afternoon's work. I had in my purse two pounds, 
 two shillings and sevenpence, money for which I had 
 many and very urgent uses. The distance to the 
 flat was great, but I did not take a 'bus, thinking to 
 walk and save the pennies. Passing a second-hand 
 shop, I noticed some old and curious-looking objects 
 in a corner near the door, and I stopped to examine 
 i
 
 n 4 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL' 
 
 them. They themselves proved useless, but behind 
 them, in a mass of dirt and rubbish, with the dust of 
 ages as well as modern second-hand iron kettles and 
 tin saucepans piled upon it, I discovered a good-sized 
 oil painting without a frame. When I had got the 
 things off of it and dusted it, I discovered it to be the 
 portrait of a kind-faced old gentleman, with brown 
 e yes, grey hair, and an aristocratic expression of 
 disgust at his squalid surroundings. At least that 
 was the way he seemed to look, and one couldn't 
 blame him. From the fashion of his clothes I fancied 
 he had lived about a century ago, and had been 
 something of a swell. 
 
 " Want that, miss ? " asked the man who kept the 
 shop, noticing me at the door. 
 
 "Oh, I don't know," I answered. "How much is it ?" 
 
 " Eighteen-pence," he replied. 
 
 I was astonished. Eighteen-pence for a fine old 
 oil painting ! I looked at the portrait again, and it 
 seemed to me the old gentleman had a pleading look 
 in his eyes, as though appealing to me to take him 
 away from so horrible a place. " Why, you must see 
 this is no place for a gentleman ! " he seemed to be 
 saying. " And so cheap, only eighteen-pence ; do 
 buy me ! " 
 
 " I'll have it," I said to the second-hand man. I 
 took the painting home and washed it with soap, and 
 then greased it and hung it on the wall, and the old 
 gentleman smiled upon me and looked pleased and 
 happy. The room was really a very pretty and 
 dainty little place, and though, perhaps, in the bygone 
 times he had lived in a grand old mansion, yet he 
 must have felt that in becoming a part of the fur- 
 nishings of my abode he was coming to his own
 
 A DEAL IN ANCESTORS 115 
 
 again. Before I hung the oil painting up the room 
 had been merely pretty. Now it took on an air of 
 grandeur when I looked in that particular direction, 
 and before I went to bed that night I had quite fallen 
 in love with the dear old gentleman, and had named 
 him " Grandfather." The next morning when I went 
 to look at him he was still smiling, and I smiled back, 
 and Dinah remarked 
 
 " I do clah, Miss Polly, dat's de same kin' o' 
 pixcher w'ich dey done hab in my ole massa's house 
 in Virginny ! " 
 
 When I went out that day I passed again the 
 second-hand shop, and I stopped and peered again 
 into the dark corners and on the walls, though of 
 course I knew I must not buy anything. Hanging 
 on the wall was an empty gilt frame that seemed to 
 be about the size of " Grandfather." 
 
 " How much is that ? " I asked, pointing to it. 
 
 " Well, it really aren't saleable," returned the shop- 
 man, "as there ben't no pictur' for it It's sca'cely 
 wuth sixpence." 
 
 " I'll buy it," I said quickly, and the bargain was 
 consummated. 
 
 I afterwards discovered it was too large for the 
 oil painting, so I set to work with hammer and saw 
 to reduce it in size, with the result that in the evening 
 "Grandfather" was framed, elegantly and properly 
 as befitted him, for the frame turned out to be a 
 really fine thing, after a washing and polishing, the 
 sort of frame one must pay at least thirty shillings 
 for if purchasing new. " Grandfather " seemed to 
 smile more broadly than ever, even when Judge, 
 coming upon him unexpectedly, stood before him 
 in amazement and barked a full five minutes at him.
 
 ii6 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 I had hung the old gentleman's portrait directly 
 over my typewriter, and all the next morning he 
 smiled down upon me while I wrote my London 
 letter to an American paper. His smile seemed 
 to follow me out of the room and out of the flat 
 as I went with my letter to the post ; and after I had 
 dropped it in the box I took a walk among some 
 of the curious, dingy, old-fashioned streets of the 
 West Central district where pawn-shops, antique 
 and second-hand shops abound. As I walked about 
 and peered into the doors and windows I kept 
 thinking of the pleased old gentleman who hung 
 over my typewriter, and I said to myself 
 
 " What a pity he couldn't have been one of my 
 ancestors instead of those horrid creatures I've found 
 out about at the British Museum ! " I didn't believe 
 he died ' not worth a groat,' or fought against George 
 Washington, or went pirating, and I didn't believe 
 his wife ever had to sit on meeting-house steps and 
 confess unspeakable things. Poor old man ! I won- 
 dered how he got into that dirty second-hand shop, 
 anyway, and got sold to me for a beggarly eighteen- 
 pence. Nice old man ! If I could have had him 
 for a great-great-great-grandfather it would have 
 been worth while. After all, why not? Why not 
 imagine it? Why not adopt him as a great-great- 
 great-grandfather? Indeed, why not adopt a lot 
 of ancestors who seemed to be of a decent sort, 
 rather than claim descent from those apologies for 
 ancestors which I had found in the British Museum 
 records? I knew plenty of my country-people 
 adopted ancestors ancestors that weren't half so 
 nice, in appearance, at least, as was my old gentleman. 
 
 " I'll do it ! " I exclaimed, half aloud, as I stood
 
 A DEAL IN ANCESTORS 117 
 
 before one of the curiosity-shop windows. " I'll see 
 if I can buy some more cheap. I'll fill the whole 
 flat with ancestors at eighteen-pence apiece." 
 
 I looked in my purse. There were still my two 
 gold sovereigns and a few coppers. The money 
 I had in those days was the kind of money that 
 was spent before it was got, "booked ahead" as 
 it were. The instalment on my typewriter was 
 nearly due, and most of what I then had I had 
 intended to use for that. But all ideas of economy, 
 sense, and reason took flight from my head. The 
 desire for ancestors swallowed up all other desires. 
 It became a sort of intoxication, or rather it became 
 like what I fancy might be the desire and determina- 
 tion of a man to have a drink, no matter what 
 happened in consequence. It became a passion, an 
 overmastering one, and the only bit of reasoning I 
 did was to say, " It must be I ought to do it, else 
 I wouldn't feel like this. If I want anything so badly 
 as this I ought to have it." 
 
 " Have you got any old paintings ? " I asked, 
 looking in at one of the shop doors. 
 
 " I don't think so, miss. Everything I've got 
 that's worth selling you see right here exposed to 
 view." 
 
 " But you might have some old things stored away. 
 Won't you just look ? " I answered. 
 
 "But I know I got nothing. There were a laidy 
 'ere 'arf an hour ago inquiring for frames, whether 
 they 'ad pictures in 'em or not, but I didn't 'ave." 
 
 " But I don't want frames. You might have some 
 pictures without them." 
 
 " I got an old roll o' pictures somewhere, but they're 
 stuffed awaiy and I don't know just where."
 
 n8 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 "Paintings?" I asked. 
 
 " I think they was engravings, and some in what 
 they call ile, too. If I taikes a lot o' trouble to find 
 'em I'd want you to buy em ! " 
 
 "Of course," I answered. 
 
 He moved away to the back of the shop, and I 
 sat myself on a rickety stool. It was one of the 
 worst and dirtiest of the second-hand shops, and 
 there seemed to be less than five pounds' worth of 
 goods in the whole place. It must have been three- 
 quarters of an hour before he returned with a dirty 
 roll, which he handed to me to untie and inspect 
 Sure enough there were some oil-paintings, faded, 
 wrinkled, and torn, among the collection. There 
 were seven in all three men, three women, and a 
 child, as far as I could make out through the dirt 
 that covered them. 
 
 " How much for these ? " I asked, holding up the 
 seven. 
 
 " ' Arf a crown." 
 
 I handed him a sovereign, but he declared his 
 inability to change it, and asked if I would wait 
 while he went to the public-house with it. I fancied 
 I would rather get it changed myself, so I went to 
 the post office and bought some stamps, and then 
 returned to pay over the half-crown. 
 
 All the afternoon I kept at my task of buying 
 remarkable-looking oil-paintings. For one that was 
 stretched and in a frame I paid as high as five 
 shillings, for some small ones I paid sixpence and 
 tenpence, for others two shillings. Finally, I had 
 collected twenty, and spent thirty-seven shillings for 
 them, and I called a cab because my burden was 
 greater than I could bear.
 
 A DEAL IN ANCESTORS 119 
 
 I was glad Dinah had gone for a walk with Judge 
 when I returned to the flat, so that I had three 
 hours for scrubbing and greasing the really dis- 
 reputable-looking lot I had brought with me to my 
 home. There were in some of them the most terrible 
 creases. One gentleman, with a ruffle round his neck 
 and a sword in his hand, seemed to have been 
 attacked in the eyes, for there was a hole on one 
 side of his face where an eye should have been. 
 The nose of an aristocratic lady I found was only 
 half there, it having been washed and scrubbed I 
 supposed many times before. Yet, when I had them 
 all clean and had polished them up with salad oil, 
 I was immensely pleased with them. For some I 
 made frames of paste-board, covered with old black 
 silk and velvet ; others, after trimming the edges, 
 I tacked directly on the wall, and when I got the 
 room embellished with them, removing all the other 
 pictures from the sitting-room, with the exception, 
 of course, of the original "ancestor," I must say I 
 was pleased and even surprised at the effect. My 
 room, which had been merely pretty before, now 
 looked anciently grand, and the old gentleman over 
 the typewriter smiled and smiled, and some of the 
 rest of the company seemed to be smiling too. 
 Then I smiled in unison with them, and stretched 
 out my hands in a solemn benediction, and said, 
 " I adopt you all as my ancestors. I hope you 
 appreciate what I've done for you rescuing you 
 from the dirtiest second-hand shops in London, and 
 washing you and putting you in a clean, nice room. 
 I hope you don't mind being adopted by me. I'm 
 a very decent sort of person, and it may be you've 
 got real descendants you've just as much reason
 
 120 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 to be ashamed of as f have to be ashamed of my 
 real ancestors ! " 
 
 And while I was declaiming to the ladies and 
 gentlemen on the wall, my almost empty purse fell 
 to the floor and Dinah, to whom I always allowed 
 the privilege of a latchkey, walked into the sitting- 
 room with Judge. 
 
 "Miss Polly, what am de mattah?" exclaimed 
 Dinah, looking about in amazement at the walls. 
 
 " These are my ancestors, Dinah," I answered. 
 
 "You don' mean dey is yo' gran'paps and gran'- 
 mams fom way back, like ole Massa had in 
 Virginny?" 
 
 "Yes, Dinah," I said. 
 
 " W'y, Miss Polly, how you done fin' 'em ? Whar 
 dey been?" demanded Dinah aghast, going up to 
 the gentleman with one eye and sticking her finger 
 in the hole that served for the other. 
 
 " In an old, dirty shop, Dinah. I think they were 
 stolen and sold, you know, and it's lucky I came 
 across them." 
 
 Dinah was not too sceptical. Poor thing! She 
 was always willing to take my word for even more 
 than it was sometimes worth, and when she had 
 examined each one in turn and had several times 
 exclaimed, " I guess we's gittin' gran' these days ! " 
 went to her kitchen with more dignity and self- 
 importance than I had ever seen her assume before, 
 saying, " I 'spec' we's quality, ain't we, Miss Polly ? " 
 
 That night I amused myself with naming my 
 ancestors, and before I went to bed made out a 
 catalogue of them, as one might do for a picture- 
 gallery. 
 
 I awoke the next morning with a start, and ran
 
 A DEAL IN ANCESTORS 121 
 
 into the sitting-room to see if I had been dreaming 
 that I had spent all my money on ancestors. I 
 received a shock to find it was no dream a shock 
 that brought me back to the realities of life and the 
 uselessness of ancestors for purposes of paying instal- 
 ments on typewriters and buying bread and meat 
 and potatoes and postage stamps. Had I been mad 
 the day before, and was I now " coming to " ? That 
 was the question I was resolving in my mind when 
 Dinah, with a new dignity added to her step and a 
 new look of satisfaction on her face, came in with my 
 breakfast. 
 
 That over, I dressed and went into my ancestral 
 gallery and sat down at my typewriter, trying to 
 think of something to write about. I could not. 
 My brain seemed to have lost its cunning ; my wits 
 had gone a- visiting ; all joy in existence had fled. 
 I hated myself for a fool, and the rest of the world 
 for knaves. I cursed my relation over in America 
 for having been the original cause of my fool- 
 hardiness and improvidence. Thirty-seven shillings' 
 worth of ancestors and nothing for the morrow's 
 dinner ! Who had brought me to that ? Who but 
 the relation with his nagging letters, that finally 
 resulted in my going a - pedigree - hunting at the 
 British Museum, finding ancestors, discarding them 
 as unworthy, and then spending my little all in 
 buying for myself a more reputable lot? 
 
 Were they a more reputable lot, after all? I 
 looked around at them and fell a-thinking. They 
 seemed not to smile so sweetly as they had done the 
 day before. Some of them, especially the gentleman 
 with one eye, looked vicious, some greeted me with 
 cynical, some with, I now thought, idiotic smiles.
 
 122 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 Even the old gentleman looked grave, as he watched 
 my listless fingers move over my typewriter keys, 
 bringing out upon the paper nothing more inspiring 
 than the sentence I practised when I wanted to get 
 up speed for something that must be written in a 
 hurry " John quickly extemporized five tow bags." 
 Over and over again I wrote it, the sentence that 
 contains every letter in the alphabet, and therefore is 
 bound to bring a quick mechanical action to the 
 fingers, if practised sufficiently. I filled three sheets 
 of paper with it ; then I got carbon and manifolded 
 it, and flung the pages about the room, and at eleven 
 o'clock I put on my coat and hat and went out for 
 a walk, at loggerheads with myself and all the world. 
 When I get into an excited state of mind my 
 only remedy is to go and "walk it off." It was so 
 in those days ; and I passed to Charing Cross, along 
 the Strand, and to Fleet Street, with no object in 
 view except to walk myself into a state of reason- 
 ableness. I turned into one of the streets that went 
 towards the Embankment, then I turned about again, 
 and got into a street I had never seen before, Dorset 
 Street, and I saw hanging suspended over a door the 
 sign " The St. James's Gazette" As I have said, I 
 was at loggerheads with myself and all the world, 
 and here was the office of the paper that was always 
 giving me unkind, or at least cutting notices. It was 
 one of the few London papers that I considered had 
 not treated me fairly. It had once laughed in print 
 because the Times had published my "American 
 Girl's Reply to Mr. Rudyard Kipling." It had said, 
 " The lady is very vague and shadowy. It is, indeed, 
 very like reading Mr. W. D. Howells ! " Now, in 
 asserting this last, I considered the St. James's had
 
 A DEAL IN ANCESTORS 123 
 
 added insult to injury insult not to me, I hasten to 
 say, but to Mr. Howells, whose works I had read and 
 loved from my childhood up, and at whose feet I 
 would ever sit, as did Paul at the feet of Gamaliel. 
 
 As I was about to pass under the swinging sign, 
 a sudden resolution took possession of me. The 
 St. James's had treated me cruelly, and I would go 
 and tell the editor what I thought of him. I knew 
 not the editor's name, so as I handed in my card at 
 the waiting-room I merely said, " I would like to see 
 the editor." The card went up, and a boy came 
 down. 
 
 " Mr. Low will be happy to see you, miss. Will 
 you step this way ? " said the boy. 
 
 " What did you say the editor's name was ? " I 
 asked sharply. 
 
 " Mr. Sidney Low," he returned ; and then I was 
 ushered into the editorial sanctum. A pleasant-faced 
 gentleman rose and extended his hand, but I did not 
 take it. Neither did I deign to be seated in the 
 proffered chair. 
 
 " I came," I said, trying to wither him with scorn 
 and dignity, " to inquire why your paper is always 
 pitching into me? Why, if you must notice my 
 articles which appear in other papers, you can't say 
 something pleasant as the rest do ? What objections 
 have you got to me ? " 
 
 " None whatever, my dear young lady, except that 
 you take all your clever things to other papers in- 
 stead of favouring the St. James's with them," an- 
 swered the editor, still standing and smiling. 
 
 Did ever American man have so apt and gallant an 
 answer for blustering American maiden, I wonder? 
 Truly, if so, I never heard of it. And yet I had
 
 i2 4 A -NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 heard that Englishmen were devoid of chivalry as 
 compared with American men ; that they had no 
 pretty speeches at their tongues' ends as had my own 
 countrymen. I was astonished and nonplussed into 
 answering, with wide-open eyes 
 
 " Is that it ? Is that really the reason ? " 
 
 "I give you my word it is," returned Mr. Low, 
 again offering me his hand and then a seat, both of 
 which I then took. "Now I hope you have come 
 with some brilliant suggestion for an article for the 
 St. James's ? " 
 
 " Oh yes! oh yes!" I returned, trying to be as ready- 
 witted and save myself as well as he himself had done. 
 " Let me see I was going to ask you I was going 
 
 to ask you " Dear me ! where was my American 
 
 ingenuity, my quickness in an emergency, even the 
 good, ordinary common sense that I had thought I 
 possessed before I went out and spent all my money 
 on ancestors? What was that ancestors? A sudden 
 inspiration came. 
 
 " I was going to ask if you would care for an article 
 telling how easy it is for Americans to buy ancestors 
 and pedigrees in London and pass them off for their 
 own ? " 
 
 " What ? " asked Mr. Low, looking interested. 
 
 " It's astonishing," I continued, "how cheaply old oil 
 paintings can be bought, and how Americans can go 
 to certain people who will manufacture pedigrees for 
 them ; and then, you know, American heiresses buy 
 their way to Court and kiss the Queen's hand. 
 American money can do anything in England." 
 
 " How do you know that ? " he asked. 
 
 " Oh, I can prove it ! " I answered readily. " Why, 
 I know it's so, but I can get still further proofs."
 
 A DEAL IN ANCESTORS 125 
 
 " I like that idea. It ought to make not only one, 
 but several articles," said Mr. Low, when I had told 
 him of some of the proofs I had ready at hand. 
 
 I went home in the best of humour with myself 
 and all the world, and I kissed every ancestor in the 
 flat, and they all smiled as they had done on the 
 evening before. The old gentleman looked down 
 beamingly upon me as I began pounding out upon my 
 typewriter the first chapter of a series which described 
 the power of the Almighty Dollar in London Society. 
 It took me some time to finish it, but when it was 
 written and published, and all London was talking 
 about it, and wondering whether it could possibly be 
 true, I was able to think quite calmly over the sum I 
 had expended for my ancestors. For several weeks 
 I continued to work, surrounded by that noble com- 
 pany of adopted forefathers and foremothers, till one 
 afternoon some American friends called upon me. 
 
 " Why, this room is quite a picture-gallery, and the 
 paintings are not so bad, I vow!" one of them ex- 
 claimed, examining them critically. " Rather ancient 
 in more ways than one, some of them look. Who 
 are they ? " 
 
 " My ancestors," I answered. 
 
 "What!" 
 
 " Yes, my ancestors," I returned, going over to one 
 of the most ancient-looking gentlemen among them. 
 " I'll name them one by one as you point them out." 
 
 " Well, who's this ? " nodding at one with a sword 
 in his hand and a seal-ring on his finger. 
 
 " That," I said, " is, or rather was for, as you can 
 see, he lived in very ancient times the Duke of 
 Banks." 
 
 " Duke of Banks ! " he repeated incredulously. " I
 
 126 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 don't know much about the English dukedoms, but 
 I know there never was such a person as the Duke 
 of Banks." 
 
 " And Braes ! " I went on, appearing not to notice 
 his interruption. " He was a Scotchman, was my 
 ancestor, the Duke of Banks and Braes. You know 
 the song about the ' banks and braes of Bonnie 
 Doon,' don't you ? Well, you see " 
 
 I was not allowed to finish my enlightening expla- 
 nation of the origin of my surname, for I was again 
 interrupted with shouts of derisive laughter from the 
 whole company. Then I told the truthful account of 
 my search after ancestors, which had ended in my 
 buying at a bargain (I did not tell how cheaply) a 
 job lot, and adopting them. 
 
 " What will you take for them ? " said one of my 
 visitors. 
 
 "A hundred dollars," I answered in jest. 
 
 "All right. I'll buy them at that price, and take 
 them back to New York as a speculation." 
 
 And the next day my walls were cleared of oil 
 paintings, and the other and daintier pictures put 
 back in their places, and with twenty pounds in my 
 hand besides the cheque for my articles in the St. 
 James's, I felt that I had made rather a profitable 
 deal in ancestors.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 A MIDNIGHT HOLOCAUST 
 
 " A GENTLUM is waitin' to see yo', Miss Polly. 
 ji\. He done been a-waitin' dese two hours an* a 
 half, an' I done say yo' be late, but he say neber min', 
 an' so he settin' down." 
 
 Thus was I greeted by Dinah one winter evening 
 when, returning from business that had kept me late, 
 she answered my knock at the flat door. 
 
 "What is his name, Dinah?" I asked. 
 
 " I dunno, Miss Polly." 
 
 " Didn't you ask his name ? " 
 
 " Oh yes ! I ax him two, tree time, an' he say 
 neber min', no mattah 'bout de name." 
 
 I stepped into the sitting-room, and immediately 
 there rose a tall, commanding-looking man, with a 
 face that immediately I hated, though I did not 
 know why. 
 
 " You have waited to see me ? " I inquired. 
 
 "You are Miss Elizabeth Banks, the American 
 journalist?" he asked, answering my question by a 
 question. 
 
 "Yes! And you?" 
 
 He handed me a card. 
 
 " I don't think I am acquainted with you," I said, 
 looking at the name on the paste-board. 
 
 " Perhaps not, but that does not matter. I am but 
 127
 
 i 2 8 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 an emissary from one whose name, at least, you may 
 
 know very well. You know , or rather you know 
 
 of him, and would perhaps know his signature if you 
 saw it ? " 
 
 He mentioned the name of a very prominent and 
 wealthy person, and I answered, " Yes." 
 
 " Very well. He is not in London at present, else 
 he would probably try to make his arrangements 
 with you in person, and as this is a matter he wishes 
 hurried up, he has delegated me to act as his repre- 
 sentative. I have a letter with me that will prove 
 to you that I act for him, and I am also authorised to 
 make financial arrangements with you." 
 
 " I don't think I understand you. I have never 
 had any business dealings with the gentleman you 
 speak of. I do not know him personally, and he 
 does not owe me any money." 
 
 " Certainly not ! But he now has a business propo- 
 sition to make to you, something very advantageous 
 to both you and himself. Would you mind if I closed 
 the door, so that your servant may not hear our 
 conversation ? " 
 
 " I don't think it matters, but you may close it if 
 you wish," I replied. 
 
 The door was closed, and the man continued. 
 
 " I take it that you are a hard-working, struggling 
 American girl, trying to make your way in London 
 by newspaper work, that your income is derived 
 wholly from your work, that you are just getting your 
 start and are not too rich and prosperous ? " 
 
 " I don't know why you should trouble yourself to 
 think about it at all, but as the situation you describe 
 is not one of which any woman need be ashamed, 
 I will admit it is the true one."
 
 A MIDNIGHT HOLOCAUST 129 
 
 "I did not mean to be rude, or even to try to pry 
 into your affairs, but I wanted to be sure that you 
 were in need of money before I told you the means 
 of obtaining it. Now, you have written for one of 
 the English papers a description of your posing as 
 an American heiress, telling how much you discovered 
 it would cost a rich American girl to get introduced 
 into the highest circles of Society and presented to 
 the Queen. You say in your articles that you adver- 
 tised, as a rich American girl, for a chaperon of social 
 distinction to take you in charge, and that you re- 
 ceived in answer to your advertisement a very large 
 number of letters from very well-known persons 
 offering to chaperon you and introduce you at Court, 
 giving their terms; also letters from aristocratic 
 Englishmen, who offered to marry you if you had 
 a large enough fortune?" 
 
 "Yes!" I said. 
 
 "The letters bore the names, the crests, and the 
 addresses of the distinguished persons themselves ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " What have you done with those letters ? " 
 
 " Some I returned to the writers, who wrote re- 
 questing them. Many of them I still have." 
 
 " I came to buy those letters." 
 
 " They are not for sale ! " I said, laughing. 
 
 " Plenty of things are not for sale until a purchaser 
 comes." 
 
 " What interest has the man who sent you here got 
 in those letters ? " I asked. 
 
 " I can't explain to you the interest he has, but it 
 is a very large one, especially if they have among 
 them letters that he has good reason to suspect are 
 , there.. Anyway, he's willing to take the risk, and he
 
 130 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 authorised me, as you see by this note, to offer you 
 a reasonable, I may even say, a large sum for them." 
 
 ."What does he want to do with the letters?" I 
 asked. 
 
 "That is something I can't tell you, and it ought 
 not to interest you, but I can assure you that it will 
 be a matter kept strictly private, and your name will 
 not be brought into it. Now, will you name your 
 terms, and if they are anywhere within the bounds 
 of reason, they shall be complied with." 
 
 "You have told me all you have to tell me?" I 
 asked, rising. 
 
 "I think that is about all. Now, will you name 
 your terms ? " 
 
 " I have no terms, and I will now have to bid you 
 good evening ! " I answered, and I went towards the 
 door to call Dinah to show him out. 
 
 " You mean to say you refuse to sell those letters 
 that are not of the slightest use to you?" he ex- 
 claimed, jumping up in astonishment. 
 
 " I count myself an honest and honourable woman, 
 so, naturally, I do not stoop to this kind of negotia- 
 tion. As soon as you began to speak of the letters, 
 I felt instinctively what you wanted, and I would 
 have told you to go at once, only I wished to find 
 out what your scheme was." 
 
 " You are too poor and too much of a beginner to 
 be so scrupulous. Don't think because you've made 
 a name in London that you will have no more 
 troubles in life. The time may come when you'll get 
 hungry in this big city. A thousand dollars or so 
 doesn't drop into a woman journalist's hands very 
 often." 
 
 " Oh, I don't know ! A thousand dollars or so, as
 
 A MIDNIGHT HOLOCAUST 131 
 
 you call it, can very often fall into the hands of the 
 woman journalist who is willing to sell her honour for 
 it As for getting hungry in London, I've had that 
 experience already, and I suppose, if necessary, I can 
 have it again." 
 
 I went to the door and called to Dinah 
 
 " Dinah, show the gentleman out." 
 
 " Just one minute ! " he said hurriedly, as Dinah 
 made her appearance. " Will you give me this in- 
 formation ? Have you got among those letters one 
 from ?" 
 
 " No," I answered ; " I will assure you that I have 
 no letter, and never so much as heard of the person 
 you mention." 
 
 It was a lie, for I remembered the name as the 
 signature to a letter which I received in answer to my 
 advertisement. I hold that there are times when to 
 tell the truth is to commit a dishonourable act, and to 
 tell a lie is to act righteously. It is when the truth 
 will betray the innocent and the lie will save. This 
 was one of the cases where I justified a lie. Had I 
 simply refused to answer, the man would have be- 
 lieved there was such a letter, but in looking him 
 squarely in the face and telling him there was not, I 
 think he believed me. 
 
 He left me, saying, " If you change your mind, you 
 have my address." 
 
 I cannot say that I passed through a temptation, 
 nor that it could be in any way accounted to me for 
 righteousness that I had refused to become a black- 
 mailer or assist in what was doubtless a blackmailing 
 scheme. There was no hesitation nor question in 
 my mind as to what one could do in such a case if 
 one possessed only the most ordinary ideas of honour
 
 13* A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 and decency, so with the exception of a feeling of 
 indignation that such a proposal should have been 
 made to me, I went to bed calmly enough that night, 
 and to sleep. 
 
 I awoke just as the clock out in the kitchen struck 
 one, with a cry of horror, and then a prayer of grati- 
 tude. " Thank God, it was a dream, only a dream ! " 
 I said, as I jumped from my bed and made my way 
 in the dark to light the candles on my dressing-table. 
 
 Judge sprang from the couch where he had been 
 sleeping, to inquire the meaning of my striking of 
 matches and lighting the room at so solemn and 
 ghostly an hour. There was not a sound in the 
 street, and none in the flat except that which I made 
 with my bare feet on the rugs as I ran to my desk, 
 drew out a tin box, and took from it a bundle of 
 letters, all securely tied together. 
 
 "We must burn them, Judge!" I said, "every 
 one!" 
 
 For I had seen in a dream a vision of those letters 
 on a mission, fiendish and hellish in its intention, and 
 always in the dream was the face of the man who 
 had called on me that evening. In his hands he held 
 the letters, and I, looking on, knew not how he had 
 got them, but in my dream I thought, " If I had only 
 burnt them, he never would have found them ! " And 
 as I awoke, the cry I made was, " Burnt, burnt ! they 
 should have been burnt ! " 
 
 I am not a particularly superstitious person, but 1 
 am a believer in my own premonitions, in the in- 
 stincts of my dog, and in some warnings that come 
 to me in dreams. Most of my dreams are like other 
 people's dreams, without rhyme or reason, but occa- 
 sionally I have had dreams which I have felt sure
 
 A MIDNIGHT HOLOCAUST 133 
 
 were intended as messages to give me happiness or 
 success, or to save me great trouble or regret, and 
 such dreams I never disregard. 
 
 Therefore, when I awoke from my dream-horror 
 that night, I doubted not that I must immediately 
 burn the letters which I had been asked to sell. 
 I sat down on the floor and untied them. There 
 were eighty-three in all, four having been returned by 
 request to the writers. 
 
 I took them all out of the envelopes and put the 
 envelopes in a pile. Then I spread each letter out 
 upon the floor, one after another, row upon row, in a 
 sort of semi-circle, before the fireplace. The room 
 was cold and I shivered, but having recovered from 
 the horror of my dream, and accepting it merely as a 
 suggestion as to the course I should pursue in regard 
 to the letters, I had no notion to dump them all into 
 the grate together and burn them like ordinary fuel. 
 It was my mood, too, that Judge should officiate at 
 the holocaust, so when I had lighted one letter, and it 
 had blazed up and turned to black, I said 
 
 " Now, Judge, number one ! " pointing to the letter 
 farthest away. 
 
 Judge trotted over to the letter which I designated, 
 brought it in his mouth, wagged his tail, and dropped 
 it into my lap. I threw it into the fire. 
 
 " Number two ! " I called out, and again Judge, 
 obedient, though bewildered, brought me the second 
 one. 
 
 " Number three ! " 
 
 " Aha ! " I looked at it and laughed. It was from 
 a very distinguished personage indeed the letter 
 which my caller had asked if I had got, and I had
 
 i 3 4 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 said I had not ! It blazed beautifully, and I warmed 
 my hands over the pretty-coloured flame. 
 
 Judge brought me the letters now without my 
 calling out or pointing. He had heard me laugh 
 when I burnt number three, and, concluding that we 
 were in for a joke on somebody, and being always a 
 jolly dog when the occasion demanded it, he entered 
 into the spirit of the thing right heartily, trotting 
 back and forth with the letters faster than I could 
 burn them. 
 
 One after another, tenderly, carefully, I dropped 
 the dainty missives into the blaze, which sprang up 
 renewed and more brilliant as I added to the fuel. 
 The room became illumined with glory, vari-coloured 
 flames shone forth from the tops of the letters as 
 their many-shaded crests and coats-of-arms were 
 caught by the fire. So bright was the room with the 
 burning, that the light from my two candles first 
 grew dim and then showed not at all in the greater 
 illumination that enveloped them. 
 
 When the letters were all burnt, I dropped in the 
 envelopes, and again the pretty -coloured flames 
 darted from about the seals. 
 
 Two o'clock struck, then two-thirty, and there 
 remained of the letters upon which so high a price 
 had been set nothing but black sheets, which I took 
 in my hands and crumbled to ashes. 
 
 Again the light of the candles shone forth, dimly, 
 compared with the greater glory that had passed, and 
 Judge and I sat before the fireplace till I fell asleep 
 to dream only the commonplace dreams brought by 
 health and an unburdened mind. 
 
 So perished those strangely-confiding letters which 
 certain members of the British aristocracy wrote to
 
 A MIDNIGHT HOLOCAUST 135 
 
 an unknown American woman advertising her desire 
 for an entrance into the highest Society of England, 
 for a consideration. 
 
 When Dinah came in at eight o'clock I was in bed 
 and ready for my breakfast. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Polly," she said, " it war a col' night las' 
 night, and de win' it do howl fit to wake de dead, an' 
 I do clah," she exclaimed, going over towards the fire- 
 place, " yo' whole grate an' tiles is dat full ob black 
 specks an' sootses, w'ich mus' hab come down by the 
 win' from other chimbleys, an' I got to go to work 
 now an' cleah it up. Dis here town am a wicious 
 town, an' as full ob dirt as it am full ob sin." 
 
 " That's true, Dinah," I said, as I drank my coffee.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 ON THE BRINGING OUT OF A FIRST BOOK 
 
 SOME LEAVES FROM A DIARY KEPT IN THOSE DAYS 
 
 "September iflh, 1894.. 
 
 " TV /T Y book is published, and I have not been so 
 1 V JL happy since I came to London. I never 
 quite realised how lovely a thing it was to be the 
 author of a book till I got two dozen copies to-night 
 from the publishers. I've been so happy, I have cried 
 and laughed alternately all the evening. I spread 
 the whole two dozen on the floor, and examined 
 every one over and over again. I have given Dinah 
 one, and written my name in it. I told Judge to pick 
 out whichever one he wanted and bring it to me, and 
 I'd write his name in it. He grabbed one by a cover, 
 and brought it over and laid it in my lap, and I have 
 written his name in it and sewed linen over it, so he 
 won't get the colouring from the picture-cover in his 
 mouth. 
 
 " I have spent all the evening reading the book 
 through again, though of course I knew everything 
 in it by heart. I shall take one to bed with me, and 
 read by the candle till I go to sleep. 
 
 " September ijth. I went out this morning at 
 eight o'clock to see if my book was prominently dis- 
 136
 
 BRINGING OUT A FIRST BOOK 137 
 
 played on all the stalls of the Underground and in the 
 shop windows. It was too early, and none of the 
 stalls and shops were open. I went out again at 
 nine o'clock, and it was still too early. At ten I 
 bought a ticket at the Underground that would take 
 me round the Circle, and I got out at every station 
 and looked for my book on the stalls. It was no- 
 where to be seen. I spent six shillings cab-fare and 
 two shillings bus-fare going about the shops to look 
 for the book, but there wasn't a sign of it. At several 
 of the shops I asked if they had it, and they said they 
 hadn't heard of it. I suppose it's a failure, and no- 
 body will buy it. I never have known such disap- 
 pointment in my life, it seems to me. 
 
 " September i6th. I have been to all the stalls and 
 bookshops again, and no signs of the book. I went 
 this afternoon to see the publisher, and asked him 
 what was the matter that none of the shops had my 
 book. He said it was only published on the fifteenth, 
 and it wasn't time yet. 
 
 " September I'jth. The book was not at the stalls 
 or in the shops to-day, and I went to the publisher 
 again. I burst out crying when I got to his office. 
 The publisher explained that it was all right, and 
 that books were sometimes not displayed till several 
 days after publication. He told me I could not 
 expect things to move along in England the way 
 they did in the United States. 
 
 " September i8th, There's nearly a column review 
 
 of my book in the . I've been out again, and 
 
 the book is nowhere to be seen. 
 
 " September 2Oth. The book is everywhere. I saw 
 it at the Underground station when I took my ticket 
 for round the Circle. I got out at every station, and
 
 138 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 found it prominently displayed except in two stalls. 
 At both places there were other books in front of it. 
 One of the books in front of mine was six shillings. 
 I bought it so mine would show. I couldn't afford it, 
 but I didn't know of any other way to get mine a 
 front place. At the next station, where I could not 
 see my book, I asked the boy for it. He handed it 
 to me, so of course I had to buy it, but when he 
 wasn't looking I pulled out a second one of my books 
 from the back row, and placed it right in front of all 
 the others. 
 
 " September 25th. The book is now at all the shops, 
 and is in Mudie's front window. The papers are 
 treating me well. 
 
 "October. What the difficulty is in America I 
 cannot understand. I expect to make more money 
 there than in England. 
 
 "December. The book is out in America, but there 
 is no copyright on it. I have tried my best to under- 
 stand what all the trouble has been about, but I've 
 been all this time without getting a glimmer of the 
 meaning of the copyright law. All I can say is that 
 it is unjust and cruel, especially to me, an American 
 woman. I expected to make plenty of money in my 
 own country by the publication of my experiences in 
 England. I thought I would make as much as a 
 thousand dollars. 
 
 "January. I've just lost a chance of earning a lot 
 of money. A man called this afternoon to ask if I 
 would go into the music-halls and ' do a turn,' as he 
 called it. He said I was now the talk of London, 
 and if I would sing a song about the American lady 
 journalist, telling about my experiences as a servant, 
 flower-girl, crossing-sweeper, and all the other things,
 
 BRINGING OUT A FIRST BOOK 139 
 
 illustrating each kind of work with a change of cos- 
 tume, and making gestures as though scrubbing, 
 holding out flowers, wielding a crossing-broom, and 
 so forth, I'd make a great hit. He said that after 
 several weeks in London I could go over and 'do* 
 America. He tried my voice, sitting down at the 
 ' tin-pan ' and asking me to sing something. I sang 
 one of Dinah's negro songs, and Judge joined in, 
 the way he always does when there's any music. 
 He said I had the sort of voice that would take in 
 the halls, and that I could take Judge on the stage 
 with me. He would advertise us as the American 
 lady journalist and her poodle. He said I had some 
 talent for acting that I must have had a great deal, 
 else I couldn't have done the things in real life that 
 I've done. He suggested a beginning in the halls, 
 and then going into comedy as a soubrette. I con- 
 sidered his proposition very seriously, for I'm very 
 much in need of money just now, but I have decided 
 against it."
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 AN AMERICAN MILLIONAIRE HUNTS ME UP 
 
 DEER Miss, will You plese be so good as to 
 let me Com and see You as I am Interest in 
 A magazin and would like to Talk to you about 
 Working for it. I will call when it is most Convenent 
 for you to see me if you will write me Where You 
 reside. I send this to the Publishers of your Book 
 to be forwarded as I do Not know where you Reside. 
 " I am Most Respectfully, 
 
 "EBENEZER EMMETT." 
 
 I tossed the letter into my waste-basket, and with 
 an exclamation of anger and disgust gave my type- 
 writer such a loud - sounding bang as made Dinah, 
 who was dusting in the same room, turn round 
 anxiously and say 
 
 " I hopes, Miss Polly, dey ain't no bad noos?" 
 
 " No, Dinah," I answered, " only an impertinent, 
 illiterate man who has read my book wants to get 
 acquainted with me, and he's trying to find out where 
 I live, so he can call ! " 
 
 " Lemme see dat letter, Miss Polly, an* ef he give 
 his directions, I hab a min' to go callin' on him an' ax 
 a explanation of his conduc'." 
 
 " It's there in the basket, Dinah. Pick it up and 
 read it, if you want to," I returned indifferently. 
 140
 
 AN AMERICAN MILLIONAIRE 141 
 
 Dinah picked up the objectionable missive and 
 proceeded laboriously to read it. 
 
 " I don' see nothin' wrong wid dat letter, Miss 
 Polly," she remarked when she had got about half 
 through it. " He do seem to live at a right quality- 
 like hotel, an' he say he hab a magzeen w'ich he 
 want yo' to work for. Ain't yo' open to magzeen 
 work, Miss Polly? Ain't yo' done tol' me w'en yo' 
 got lots dat kin' of work to do, yo'd make moah 
 money an' pay me fi' dollars a week ? " 
 
 " But, Dinah, you don't understand, because you 
 are not an educated person," I said. "No man 
 who writes like that can have anything to do 
 with a magazine. It is not a properly written 
 letter." 
 
 Dinah did not heed me. She had evidently got 
 to the bottom of the letter, for I heard her muttering 
 to herself over and over again. 
 
 " Ebenezah Emmett, Ebenezah Emmett ! 'Spec' I 
 seen dat name befoah ! " 
 
 " Miss Polly," she said finally, " don't yo' reckon dat 
 name seem familiah like ? " 
 
 " I don't think so, Dinah," I replied. 
 
 " But I be sho' I know dat name ! " she insisted. 
 " Seems like it hab somet'ing to do wid cookin." 
 
 With that she started for the kitchen. There came 
 the sound of rattling among dishes, saucepans, and 
 tins, and Dinah saying several times, " I 'low it mus' 
 be heah." 
 
 Suddenly a scream of delight came from the 
 kitchen. 
 
 " Oh, honey, I done foun' it ! Heah it am on de 
 tin can ! Ebenezah Emmett, packer ! It am de cod- 
 fish man in Meriky."
 
 142 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 I rushed out to find the kitchen in an uproar. All 
 the contents of the cupboard were spread out in con- 
 fusion on the table and floor, and in the midst, doing 
 an amateur " cake-walk," was Dinah, hugging a blue 
 tin can, on which ran the legend, printed in gay 
 colours, "Salt Codfish. Ready for immediate use. 
 Price, 25 cents. Ebenezer Emmett, packer. U.S.A." 
 
 " Didn't I tol' yo' it was familiah-like ? " exclaimed 
 Dinah. " Ain't I used dis goods fo' picked-up cod- 
 fish an' Sunday mornin' breakfas' fish-balls evah since 
 I was cookin' for a livin'? W'y, Miss Polly, dat 
 Mistah Emmett mus' be wuf millyuns of dollahs, 
 cause ev'rybody uses his codfish." 
 
 Sure enough, now that I saw the name in print, 
 I knew Ebenezer Emmett's codfish as a household 
 necessity, but I could not believe that the man who 
 packed those tins and the man who wrote the letter 
 to me could possibly be the same. 
 
 " I'm sure they can't be the same, Dinah," I said 
 discouragingly. " The man who wrote that letter 
 couldn't have anything to do with a magazine, and 
 the rich codfish man would know how to write a 
 proper letter, or have a secretary write for him. No, 
 it is somebody else of the same name, or somebody 
 has used the name to attract my attention and make 
 me answer." 
 
 " Miss Polly," said Dinah solemnly, " I'se older dan 
 yo', I is, an' done hearn tell in Meriky of rich men 
 w'ich couldn't write dey names. Dey is called self- 
 madem." 
 
 Dinah's method of reasoning was beginning to have 
 an effect on me. Might not Ebenezer Emmett, the 
 great millionaire, be a self-made man ? 
 
 " Dinah, let me see that letter again ! " I said.
 
 AN AMERICAN MILLIONAIRE 143 
 
 She passed it over, and I read aloud, musingly, " as 
 I am interest in a magazin " 
 
 " He doesn't say he's going to edit it," I reflected. 
 " Perhaps someone else is the editor, and Ebenezer 
 Emmett only owns it." 
 
 " He only owns it ! " I repeated. " Why, he's rich 
 enough to own a hundred magazines, and if he wants 
 any particular person to write for them, who can say 
 him nay?" 
 
 " I'll answer the letter, Dinah," I said, as I left the 
 kitchen. " I'll tell him he may call to-morrow after- 
 noon, and if he's not the codfish man at all, I'll 
 cough very loud, and you must ring the messenger 
 box for a policeman to arrest him." 
 
 So I wrote a dignified letter which could not 
 possibly be misconstrued by any bold adventurer 
 seeking the acquaintance of a defenceless American 
 girl in London : 
 
 "DEAR SIR, If you wish me to do some work 
 for your magazine, I shall be pleased to see you at 
 this address at four o'clock to-morrow afternoon, when 
 we can talk the matter over. 
 
 " Very truly yours, " 
 
 "Mistah Ebenezah Emmett!" 
 
 Dinah was looking her very best and trimmest the 
 next afternoon when she announced my visitor. To 
 my utter amazement and delight, she had secretly 
 donned the despised streamered cap, which always 
 before she had steadfastly refused to wear. She had 
 also squeezed herself into a much tighter-fitting dress 
 than usual, and was as smart, haughty, and dignified 
 in her demeanour as any British parlourmaid could 
 possibly "have been, Nevertheless there was on her
 
 144 "A NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 face a self-satisfied " I done toF yo' so " look as, with 
 what appeared to be a much -practised bow and 
 curtsey, she ushered into our little sitting-room a 
 well-dressed, elderly American man, who carried his 
 silk hat not quite familiarly, yet not awkwardly. He 
 was, perhaps, sixty-five or seventy, with kindly blue 
 eyes that shone through his spectacles, and a long 
 white beard. 
 
 All suspicion and prejudice melted away from my 
 thoughts, and I doubted not that I now shook hands 
 with the great Ebenezer Emmett, of tinned codfish 
 fame. 
 
 He was a very agreeable surprise to me, this 
 millionaire, who had written so grotesque a letter. 
 There was no sign of commonness or vulgarity in his 
 appearance, and his bearing and manner were those 
 of the hearty, whole-souled gentleman, and even 
 when he talked there was only occasionally to be 
 detected a slight deviation from the strictly gram- 
 matical. His voice was pleasant, though there was 
 in it a suggestion of the "down-East" drawl often 
 noted among the New Englanders. 
 
 " I've been going to write to you for some time," 
 he said, when I had given him a real American rock- 
 ing-chair to sit on, "but I'm not much at letter- 
 writing, so I put it off and off, and as I'm going to 
 leave England next week, I made up my mind I'd 
 do it, and hoped you'd excuse all the mistakes of an 
 old man that didn't have the school advantages he'd 
 ought to when he was young. I always take my 
 secretary about with me to attend to letters and 
 things, but two weeks ago he was taken sick and 
 had to go away from London, so that's how it was I 
 had to do my own writing."
 
 AN AMERICAN MILLIONAIRE 145 
 
 I felt myself growing red for shame of the way I 
 had first received his letter, and I wondered if the 
 good man could possibly have an instinctive know- 
 ledge of the whole affair ; but he went on 
 
 "Though I'm not much on writing, I'm great on 
 reading, and I always keep a look-out in the news- 
 papers, so once I read a letter in an American paper 
 giving a description of the Tower of London. I'd 
 never been to London then, but I'd read a great deal 
 about that old Tower, and it was all such prosy, dry- 
 bone reading, that I was very much surprised to find 
 this letter so bright and funny. I hadn't supposed 
 there was anything for comic writing in that subject, 
 but this letter made the tears come into my old eyes 
 for laughing ! " 
 
 " Oh ! oh ! " I exclaimed. " Was it really funny, 
 Mr. Emmett ? I was very unhappy when I wrote 
 that letter." 
 
 The old man chuckled. " It was a good one," 
 he said. "But what do you suppose? The very 
 next day after I read that article I happened to see 
 a book with a picture-cover on it, and I saw it was 
 by the same writer. I bought that book at once, and 
 as soon as I began to read it I knew it was by the 
 girl who had written about the Tower. There was a 
 picture of you in the front of it too, and I didn't 
 think you was quite such a happy-looking little girl 
 as you ought to be, though you did write such bright 
 and happy things. Then through the book I'd seem 
 to read between the lines, and what I read between 
 the lines worried me ! Yes, it did ! 
 
 " I said to myself, ' There's a little American girl 
 over in England working night and day to earn a 
 living. I wonder if she made plenty of money out
 
 146 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 of that book. If she didn't she'd ought to, and 
 what's the matter with me putting her on to some- 
 thing she can make money out of!' I made up my 
 mind I'd hunt her up when I went over to England, 
 and that's what I've done, you see." 
 
 My head was beginning to whirl in anticipation of 
 what this man of millions was intending to do for 
 me. Was he going to adopt me and make me the 
 heiress of the codfish factory ? Once a more un- 
 pleasant thought came into my head. Perhaps he 
 was going to propose to me ! Horrors ! He was 
 almost old enough to be my grandfather ! Then I 
 remembered that he had spoken of a magazine in his 
 letter. Yes, that was it ! He wanted me to do some 
 literary work, just exactly what he said. 
 
 He pulled out from his pocket a package of notices 
 from a newspaper-cutting agency and spread them 
 before me. 
 
 " You see how I've kept track of you !" he said. 
 " I sent to one of these agencies and told them to cut 
 out everything they saw about you. I took a sort of 
 interest, you know." 
 
 " It is very t kind in a great man like you to be 
 interested in me and my work," I said lamely. I 
 really was at a loss for words, and I began to wish 
 the conversation would take a more business-like 
 turn. It did, for his reply was 
 
 "You've noticed these side-walk artists over here 
 in London, I suppose? Well, now, we don't have 
 anything like that in America. Have you ever 
 written an article about them?" 
 
 " No, I never did," I answered. 
 
 "That's where I'm ahead of you!" he laughed; 
 " for as soon as I saw them I thought they ought to
 
 AN AMERICAN MILLIONAIRE 147 
 
 be written about. I'd like you to write me a magazine 
 article about them, if you will." 
 
 " I'll do it to-morrow," I returned, " but I forgot to 
 ask you which magazine it was that you wished me 
 to work for. What is the name of it, and who is the 
 editor ? " 
 
 " Oh, my magazine ! I'm going to start one, and I 
 haven't got the staff picked out yet." 
 
 Mr. Emmett began looking about the room, ex- 
 amining the pictures and the furniture. 
 
 " Do you like to live in England better than in 
 America ? " he asked. " You wouldn't rather live in 
 your own country, I suppose ? You're quite settled 
 down here ? " 
 
 " Yes, I think so. At least, I want to live in 
 England for several years yet." 
 
 "Yes," he resumed, as though he had not been 
 asking a question, " I was speaking about the maga- 
 zine I expect to start in London. There's a great 
 field for it, I'm told, and I shan't lose any money, I 
 know. There's the staff to be picked out, and the 
 name to be decided on, and then the editor, and all 
 that. Did you ever edit a magazine ? " 
 
 " No, I never did ; but I edited a society page in 
 America. I suppose you will have a very eminent 
 literary man for your editor? And I hope he will 
 like my article about the side-walk artists." 
 
 Suddenly an intuition of what this millionaire in- 
 tended to do came to me like a flash. He was going 
 to start a magazine and I was to be the editor ! He 
 had not said so, but I knew it. 
 
 " I'll have to write some long letters to you when 
 I go back to America, and I'll get these things about 
 the magazine ship-shape when I can find a man for
 
 148 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 business manager who'll look after my interests all 
 right. Now, about that article you are to do for 
 the first number. You'll need cab-fares, and have 
 other expenses, so I'll just pay you this twenty- 
 five dollars now as a little advance on account of 
 expenses." 
 
 He laid a five-pound note on the table and rose 
 to go. I was not accustomed to getting paid in 
 advance for something I had not done, and at first 
 I demurred ; but he insisted that five pounds would 
 not pay nearly all the expenses connected with the 
 article, and finally, much to his amusement, I wrote 
 out a receipt which I had difficulty in getting him 
 to accept "Received from Ebenezer Emmett, Esq., 
 five pounds, the same being some advance money 
 on account of expenses for article about side-walk 
 artists to be done for his magazine." 
 
 "I'll write to you from America," he said, as he 
 bade me good-bye, " and if you want to ask any 
 questions, write to me at my factory and mark it 
 ' personal.' But I'll be back in England before many 
 weeks, and then I'm going to fix up the magazine." 
 
 He was gone, and I, joyous, elated, full of hope, 
 with happiness in my heart and a five-pound note in 
 my hand, stood trembling and laughing when Dinah 
 rushed in to hear the news, with her eyes shining 
 and her streamers flying. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Polly ! He war de millyunaire man, 
 wasn't he? He do put up codfish, don't he? He 
 do hab a magzeen, don't he ? " cried she. 
 
 " Yes, Dinah," I screamed, laughing and crying at 
 the same time, " he is the codfish man, and he gave 
 me five pounds on account for an article about side- 
 walk artists, and he's coming back to London to start
 
 AN AMERICAN MILLIONAIRE 149 
 
 a new magazine, and I'm to be the editor of it, and 
 we shall be very rich ! " 
 
 " Hurray, hurray ! Shout de jubilee ! " cried Dinah, 
 dancing round the room with her hands on her hips. 
 " I done toF yo' so, Miss Polly ! Hi, yi ! I see de 
 money bein' used fer to start kitchen fires wid! I 
 see I bein' yor perfessed cook wid a w'ite trash 
 kitchen-maid underneaf me ! Oh, de time o' jubilee 
 am come ! " 
 
 How we danced about the flat, we three Judge 
 and old Dinah and I ! What promises I made to 
 them both! Judge was to have a winter poodle- 
 coat, made to order by a French dog-tailor, and need 
 no longer disport himself in the home-made one 
 cut out and stitched by his loving mistress. Dinah 
 was to have the purple hat she coveted in the High 
 Street if she would promise not to wear it when she 
 went out with me. I was to wear wonderful gowns 
 from Paris, and have a hat for each gown. I would 
 drive through Hyde Park in a victoria, with Judge on 
 the seat beside me, resplendent in a glowing neck- 
 tie, and Dinah might go too, sometimes, and sit with 
 her back to the horses, and everybody would say, 
 "There goes the editress of the Thingymygig 
 Magazine ! " 
 
 We all three went out that evening and spent the 
 five pounds in the most absurd purchases, and Dinah 
 cooked a nine-course dinner. 
 
 The day following I began immediately on the 
 pavement artist article, interviewing all those who 
 made pictures along the curb, diving deep into the 
 history of the industry. I spent days in the in- 
 vestigation of how the artists lived, and where ; how 
 much money they took in, and all about them. I
 
 150 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 wondered if I should engage an eminent artist to 
 illustrate my article for me, and wrote to Mr. Emmett 
 for his opinion on the subject. I also asked whether 
 I should send my article, when completed, to him, or 
 wait for him to come to London. 
 , Three weeks, then a month, then five weeks, passed, 
 and no reply came. I decided that Mr. Ebenezer 
 Emmett was coming to London and so did not write. 
 I worked hard on other articles. I planned the kind 
 of magazine I would have, I made up my mind to 
 give a position on the staff to a little English 
 journalist I often saw walking in Fleet Street, look- 
 ing very shabby and forlorn. 
 
 One day I opened a package of American papers 
 several weeks old. They had somehow been delayed 
 in reaching me from the other side. On the first 
 page I read a headline " Death of Ebenezer 
 Emmett, the great millionaire " ! He had died soon 
 after I saw him. 
 
 My little dream was over! I was again a strug- 
 gling journalist in London. The romance of the 
 philanthropic millionaire and the poor working girl 
 was, after all, only a story-book occurrence, and I 
 had no right to expect my life to be like a story 
 book. I would not be the popular, much sought- 
 after "girl editor" of a magazine! I must work my 
 way up steadily and gradually, day by day, week by 
 week, year by year, and when youth had gone and 
 middle-age had set in, and I wore glasses and had 
 streaks of grey in my hair, and wouldn't want to 
 wear the bright-hued gowns from Paris, with the 
 gauzy hats to match, why then, perhaps who knew ? 
 might there not possibly come the editorship of a 
 magazine ?
 
 AN AMERICAN MILLIONAIRE 151 
 
 I sobbed, and put my hand on my poodle's head. 
 
 " Miss Polly, de doughnuts am done, an' Oh, I 
 
 do 'clah to goodness ! Somet'ing hab happened. Ain't 
 de millyunaire man writ yet ? " Dinah stood in the 
 door with a dish of American doughnuts in her 
 hand. 
 
 " He is dead, Dinah, and we are poor again," I 
 answered. 
 
 I said " poor again " as one who had first been 
 poor, then rich, then gone back again to poverty. 
 
 " We ain't rich no moah ? Oh, Miss Polly ! But 
 he war a good man, I reckon, an' he done mean what 
 he sayd, but o' oou'se ef he die " 
 
 " Yes, Dinah, he was a good man. He was one of 
 God's gentlemen," I said,
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 THE DEPARTURE OF DINAH 
 
 IT was several weeks after the news of the death 
 of the American millionaire reached me, and I 
 had settled down again to the quiet working and 
 hoping by which, after all, the vast majority of the 
 ambitious must reach their goal, when Dinah got a 
 letter through the American mail. She had five- 
 pence to pay on it, because only a common two-cent 
 stamp had been stuck on it when it had left the 
 little Alabama post office where it had been post- 
 marked. 
 
 I was in the kitchen when Dinah got it. When 
 she read it I noticed only a slight rolling of her eyes, 
 which showed some sort of repressed feeling, and 
 that was all. She went about her work that day as 
 usual, cooking and sweeping and dusting, and fre- 
 quently there burst from her snatches of half-tearful, 
 half-joyous negro melodies. At first I thought that, 
 in her quaint phraseology, " religion had got hold of 
 her," for she sang of the Judgment Day, chariots of 
 fire, and the demand by Moses of Pharaoh that he 
 should " let my people go." Towards luncheon-time 
 the religious songs had ceased, and from the kitchen, 
 drowning the clatter of pots and pans and kettles, 
 there came the sweet strains of the "Dixie Song." 
 152
 
 THE DEPARTURE OF DINAH 153 
 
 Dinah's voice rolled and swelled, though it seemed to 
 me there were times when it almost choked. 
 
 " I'se gwine back to Dixie, 
 No more I'se gwine to wander, 
 My heart's turned back to Dixie, 
 I can't stay here no longer. 
 I miss de ole plantation, 
 My home an' my relation, 
 My heart's turned back to Dixie, 
 An' I mus' go ! " 
 
 There was something strangely sweet and pathetic 
 and sad in the words and the music, and I let my 
 fingers drop for an instant from my typewriter keys 
 in order that I might the better hear it. I had never 
 heard Dinah sing in that way before, except when 
 in an ecstasy of religious fervour she sang the camp- 
 meeting hymns. 
 
 " I'se gwine back to Dixie, 
 I'se gwine back to Dixie, 
 I gwine where the orange blossoms grow, 
 For I hear de chillun callin', 
 I see their sad tears fallin' 
 My heart's turned back to Dixie, 
 An' I mus' go ! " 
 
 She served the luncheon, dutifully and solemnly, 
 and once I thought I saw a tear on her cheek, as she 
 stooped to lay Judge's table-cloth on the floor and 
 give him his plate of bread and meat. 
 
 " Miss Polly ! " she began, as she placed before me 
 one of her wonderful apple-pies. 
 
 "Yes, Dinah," I answered. 
 
 " Oh, nuffin, Miss Polly ; I war jes' goin' to ax ef 
 yo' like de look o' dat pie. Seems how I done got 
 too much shortenin' in it. I don't seem to be
 
 154 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 measurin' right dis mornin', an' done put salt 'stead 
 o' sugar in de co'n sta'ch." 
 
 " The pie's perfect, Dinah, and don't bother about 
 the corn starch ; throw it away. I'm rich to-day ; I 
 earned ten pounds this morning." 
 
 She went to the kitchen, shaking her head sorrow- 
 fully, and bemoaning the "was'eness ob de co'n 
 sta'ch." 
 
 Something was the matter with Dinah. That I 
 knew, yet how question her, how probe to the cause 
 of her sorrow? I did not like to ask her, for it has 
 always seemed to me an unholy thing to demand 
 that others should confide their sorrows to us. I 
 fancied there was something in the Alabama letter 
 that troubled her. Dinah knew me for a friend, and 
 I took it that if she wanted me to know her troubles 
 she would tell me without the asking. 
 
 Late in the afternoon there came to me the strains 
 of the " Dixie Song." With one of the verses the 
 voice broke many times 
 
 " I see their sad tears fallin', 
 My heart's turned back to Dixie, 
 An' I mus' go ! " 
 
 Somehow I knew that Dinah's tears were falling 
 while she sang it. Even Judge noticed there was 
 something wrong with the singing of Dinah, and he 
 looked up at me inquiringly. 
 
 " Go out to the kitchen, Judge ! " I said. " Go and 
 comfort Dinah ! Dinah cries ! " 
 
 He went the sweet comforter ! I knew he would 
 put out his paw to Dinah, and that then he would 
 put his head in her lap, and tell her, with his amber 
 eyes, that he loved her.
 
 THE DEPARTURE OF DINAH 155 
 
 Judge stayed in the kitchen half an hour. The 
 singing had ceased, and there was quiet. Finally I 
 felt I must make an excuse, so I took my type- 
 writer brush out, as though to wash it in the kitchen 
 sink, and there by the deal table sat Dinah with her 
 arms round Judge's neck, sobbing softly. 
 
 " Oh, Dinah ! " I exclaimed, " you must be ill, or in 
 trouble. You needn't tell me what it is, only tell me 
 if I can do something for you." 
 
 "Oh, Miss Polly, I mus' go home!" 
 
 "To America, Dinah?" I asked, aghast at this 
 new misfortune. 
 
 Dinah nodded, and wiped away her tears with her 
 sleeve. " It am dat debil Jim." 
 
 " Jim ? You mean your husband ? " 
 
 "Yes, Miss Polly, I mus' go home to Jim. He 
 needin' me." 
 
 " Now, Dinah, you know very well that's all non- 
 sense, and I won't listen to it. He hasn't been a 
 good husband to you, and you've told me how you 
 used to work for him, and how he beat you and 
 treated you shamefully. You said he was a devil, 
 that you hated him, as you had good reason to do, 
 and that was why you came away to London with 
 the American lady." 
 
 "Yes, Miss Polly, Jim he war a debil, and he 
 beated me an' struck me 'cross de forrad till de blood 
 come, an' he drink up all my sabins in de s'loon, but 
 he are refo'med now, an' he done break he leg, an' he 
 say in de lettah I got dis a mo'nin' dat he needin' 
 me fur to nuss him, an' he not be bad husban' no 
 moah ! " 
 
 " I tell you, Dinah, this is nonsense. I'm sure he'll 
 never reform. Mrs. Saxon told me how badly he
 
 156 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 had treated you, and that he was one of the kind 
 that would make all sorts of promises, never intend- 
 ing to keep them. He's lazy, he drinks, he's cruel. 
 He only wants you to come home and support him 
 again after these three years of shifting for himself." 
 
 " I done think he refo'm dis time, Miss Polly. He 
 say he done got 'ligion, an' he speak an' pray in de 
 camp-meetin', an' get de power an' holler hallelujah 
 when de revivals come on." 
 
 " Fiddlesticks ! He tells you that to get you home 
 because you're so religious. That's just the sort of 
 trick a mean man would play on a religious woman. 
 Dinah, don't you pay any attention to him. He 
 wants you to come home and support him. I know 
 what it will be. You'll have to take in washing and 
 ironing, and go out doing day's work and wear your 
 life away. See what a nice, pleasant place you have 
 here with me ; and things are looking up, Dinah, and 
 I shouldn't wonder if in a few years we could move 
 into a beautiful little house with a garden, and I'll get 
 another servant to do all the harder work, and you 
 can be chef and confidential maid and hair-dresser 
 to her majesty that's me ! I'll pay you the five 
 dollars a week then, sure. Now, Dinah, you burn up 
 Jim's letter and don't answer it. He's a bad man, 
 and he doesn't care a bit about you except what you 
 can do for him supporting him in his laziness." 
 
 " He lub me, Miss Polly. He done say so in de 
 lettah, an' I his lawfu' wife, an' I mus' go." 
 
 " See here, Dinah ! " I exclaimed, trying to think 
 of still stronger arguments, "do you realise that 
 when you get back to America it'll be altogether 
 different from what it is in England? You've got 
 a social position here. You associate with white
 
 THE DEPARTURE OF DINAH 157 
 
 people in England, but in America you'll have to go 
 altogether with the negroes. America is not a land of 
 equality for the negroes, Dinah. You and I know 
 that. Down in Alabama, where your husband wants 
 you to come, the darkeys are as thick as flies. In 
 London there's only an occasional negro, and here 
 you are a curiosity and a novelty. There's Mrs. 
 Brown's white cook had you in to tea with her the 
 other afternoon, and she took you out shopping with 
 her on her last day out, and you rode on the top of 
 a 'bus with Mrs. Green's parlourmaid, and she's in- 
 vited you to the ball she's going to give her servants 
 when they go to the country. You'll be the belle of 
 that ball, Dinah. All the butlers and grooms will be 
 crazy to be introduced to you and dance with you. 
 Think, Dinah, how different it will be when you get 
 back to America ! Why, you couldn't sit down to 
 eat at the table with a white trash washerwoman in 
 Alabama ! " 
 
 Dinah shook her head sadly. "Yes, Miss Polly, 
 I puffickly 'predate I done got a position in s'ciety 
 heah, an' I like de way eve'ybody notice me w'en I 
 go out, an' dey ain't no s'ciety fer niggahs, 'cept 
 niggahs, in Baltimoah or Al'bamy ; but I mus' go 
 back to Jim, Miss Polly. Oh, Miss Polly, I lubs that 
 niggah ! " 
 
 Ah, the truth was out at last ! Dinah loved the 
 man who had ill-treated her, who had beaten her, 
 struck her on the forehead, made her work for her 
 own and his living, and spent her savings for rum at 
 the saloon. Love, in spite of all the brutal black 
 man had done to kill it, had survived, and now it 
 rose uppermost in the heart of this lonely woman of 
 a despised race. She had been happy with me ; she
 
 158 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 loved me and Judge as only those of her skin and 
 nature can love those they serve. She had outgrown 
 her first prejudice against England, and no longer 
 referred to America as " de Ian' ob libe'ty," finding 
 that English freedom was more than sufficient for all 
 her needs. She had made friends among a few white 
 servants whom she had met in the flat building and 
 in the park when she walked with Judge. She had 
 been growing happy and contented, and was looking 
 forward to the time when we should take a house, 
 out somewhere, with a beautiful garden wherein she 
 could hang clothes on a line to dry, clothes washed 
 by her own hands on an American wash-board in a 
 big wooden tub. Neither Dinah nor I ever could 
 approve of the laundry-work that was done for us in 
 London laundries, and Dinah sighed for conveniences 
 to do the washing and ironing herself, vowing that in 
 those happy days to come she would get up at five 
 o'clock and have all the clothes washed and dried 
 before nine o'clock, so the neighbours would not see 
 the clothes-lines of muslins and flannels hanging over 
 the lawn. 
 
 But now nothing counted with Dinah but love 
 foolish, unreasoning, mistaken, undeserved love, yet 
 love ! Why argue with her ? Why try to dissuade 
 her? She was but a simple soul, and yet she was 
 a woman, and the woman loved a man, and was ready 
 to sacrifice herself for the unworthy object. The 
 love that draws all women, whether they be white or 
 black, great or lowly, rich or poor, intellectual or 
 ignorant, to the sacrificial altar, now drew Dinah 
 away from me. It was not for me to blame her or 
 argue with her, but only to pity. 
 
 It was on a Thursday that the letter came, and
 
 THE DEPARTURE OF DINAH 159 
 
 on the Saturday, so near at hand, Dinah deter- 
 mined to sail. She served me faithfully till the very 
 last, packing her humble belongings in between 
 times. Never a song except the " Dixie Song " 
 escaped her during the time that remained. She was 
 not happy at her home-going, at the thought of 
 reunion with the rascal who awaited her on the other 
 side, with a broken leg, maybe, though I myself felt 
 very strongly inclined to the belief that the only 
 thing the matter with his leg was laziness, and that 
 Dinah was now called back to act as a crutch upon 
 which it might depend. Often the tears stood in 
 Dinah's eyes, often she grabbed Judge and buried 
 her black face in his blacker coat during the Friday 
 that preceded the day of sailing. She sang the song 
 of Dixie, sorrowfully, wailingly 
 
 " My heart's turned back to Dixie, 
 An' I mus' go ! " 
 
 Poor Dinah ! I wept at her departure and mourn 
 her still, for she was my friend, and I have lost her !
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 ECONOMY FOR TWO 
 
 WHEN Dinah had taken her second cabin pas- 
 sage for New York I advertised for a "general 
 servant to live in a flat with one lady," and finally 
 picked out from among the applicants one to whom 
 Judge took a particular fancy. I have an implicit 
 belief in Judge's instinct, for he is a far better student 
 of human nature than am I. I trust no one whom 
 he does not trust, and I suspect all those persons 
 who, on being introduced to him, do not give him a 
 friendly pat and tell me he is beautiful. Therefore, 
 on the morning when the aspirants after the position 
 left vacant by Dinah called to see me, I kept Judge 
 close at hand to inspect them and pass his opinion 
 upon them. Whenever there was a rat-tat at the door 
 Judge went with me to open it. One young woman 
 I turned away at the threshold because, seeing Judge, 
 she started back with a frightened look on her face, 
 exclaiming, "Oh, a big black dog! Will he bite, 
 miss ? " 
 
 "There's no use for you to come in," I said. 
 " You wouldn't suit me because you're afraid of dogs, 
 and you must have a bad conscience, for only people 
 who have bad consciences are afraid of dogs ! " 
 
 That girl went her way and others followed, till 
 
 160
 
 ECONOMY FOR TWO 161 
 
 finally two young women called at once. I liked 
 them both, and was wondering which one to take, 
 when Judge went up to the shorter girl, saluted her 
 with his three little barks, which meant, " Happy to 
 see you ! " took her umbrella in his mouth, put it on 
 the floor, and stretched himself out with his head 
 upon it, looking up into her face with those wonder- 
 ful eyes of his, and bringing from the girl the excla- 
 mation of, " Oh, miss, but isn't he beautiful ! " 
 
 I engaged her then, and hunted up her character 
 that day, and the next Monday the place of Dinah 
 was filled. 
 
 Did I say " filled " ? Forgive me, Dinah ! How 
 often hath my very soul yearned for your fried 
 chicken Maryland style, your doughnuts fit eating 
 for the gods, your coffee nectar for the same, your 
 Boston beans done in an earthen pot with the middle- 
 piece pork just rightly browned, your cakes of the 
 buckwheat and " flannel " variety, and your picked- 
 up codfish, made from the tins of our dear, dead 
 Ebenezer Emmett's packing-house, and oh, your 
 potatoes cooked in the thirty-seven different ways, 
 the variety of which made my modest little table 
 ever to provide for me the spice of life ! 
 
 Candour compels me to state that though Judge 
 picked out for me a strictly honest, kind, and re- 
 spectful servant, he selected one whose so-called 
 " cooking " made me weep and waste away. I lent 
 her Dinah's cook-book, I tried to teach her to mash 
 potatoes without lumps, to make a cake light enough 
 for a person of ordinary strength to lift without 
 groaning. I explained to her the way to open 
 American tinned vegetables, and tried my best to 
 convince her that man that is to say I could not 
 M
 
 1 62 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 live on cabbage, cauliflower, and Brussels sprouts 
 alone, but by every vegetable that proceeded from 
 the fertile earth, and that therefore I must have 
 tinned corn and tinned tomatoes and tinned Lima 
 beans. In vain, in vain did I explain to her that I 
 could not approve of her method of boiling her 
 clothes in the soup -kettle, that I liked not such 
 flavour in my consomme, and that it was not her 
 privilege to put in the post office savings bank the 
 two shillings a week wash-money I gave her, and 
 treat my soup-kettle thus. My life became a per- 
 petual worry over the trials of housekeeping, my 
 intellect grew small, my wit got scarce, and I found 
 it impossible to keep my mind in condition for jour- 
 nalistic work. 
 
 So one day I advertised for a situation for Judge's 
 protege, recommended her highly to the lady who 
 came to take up her character, paid her a month's 
 wages, gave her one of my hats and a photograph of 
 myself in housemaid's costume, and one of Judge's por- 
 traits, besides a lock of his hair, and I defied English 
 etiquette by shaking hands with her and wishing her 
 well. I got rid of the flat, sold off the furniture, 
 which was now free of its mortgage, for sixty pounds, 
 and then Judge and I went and took up our abode 
 in a fashionable hotel, and I started a bank account 
 with the sixty pounds, though I knew I must draw 
 it all out the next week, with the exception of the 
 five pounds I had promised always to leave as the 
 very lowest balance that could be allowed. 
 
 I went to live at the fashionable hotel because it 
 seemed to be the most economical way I could live. 
 I knew there were cheap places in Pimlico where 
 board and lodging were offered at the remarkably
 
 ECONOMY FOR TWO 163 
 
 low terms of eighteen shillings a week, but I did not 
 see how I, the " heroine of London," " the most suc- 
 cessful woman journalist living," the "girl who had 
 made her little pile by introducing American journal- 
 ism into England," as the newspapers in several 
 countries were pleased to describe me, could afford 
 to live in a cheap boarding or lodging-house. Besides, 
 there was Judge. At the cheap places they wouldn't 
 have him, and at the expensive apartment houses, 
 where they would have taken him for a consideration, 
 I found my bills would amount to more than they 
 would at the fashionable hotel. 
 
 At the latter place the manager said, when he saw 
 Judge, and had patted him, that they never allowed 
 dogs in the hotel, and couldn't take them at any 
 price. One of the hotel guests passed the office door 
 just at that minute, with three dogs following in his 
 wake, and the manager laughed and I laughed, and 
 he admitted that as they didn't " allow " dogs as 
 guests they, of course, could not make any charge 
 for them, and that there were twenty-seven dogs at 
 present in the hotel, though there had been as many 
 as forty-nine. 
 
 I must say that if there is any particular character- 
 istic of the typical Englishman that I admire more 
 than another it is his smiling and utter disregard 
 for such rules and laws as he considers unjust and 
 unnecessary, and as for his liberality towards other 
 persons who choose to break the rules that he himself 
 lays down for their guidance and government, it is of 
 a sort that I never weary of admiring and taking 
 advantage of. If it be true that England is a land 
 of " red tape," then that tape is made of rubber- 
 elastic that stretches and stretches out until it is so
 
 1 64 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 fine that you really can't see it, and so it does not 
 trouble anybody very much. 
 
 Would that we had some of the same stretchy 
 kind in America ! I tried one day to take Judge into 
 a New York library, passing calmly by the sign, " No 
 dogs allowed." An official stopped me. " Dogs are 
 not allowed in here, madam," he said, frowning. 
 
 " So I have heard," I retorted smilingly, but I went 
 right on. 
 
 The official came after me, looking as ugly as 
 fiery red anger could make him. " Madam ! " he 
 exclaimed, " I say you can't take that dog in ! Can't 
 you read the sign at the door?" He took hold of 
 Judge's chain. 
 
 " Drop that ! " I said. " You might be courteous, 
 at least ! I'll report you for impudence ! " 
 
 " And I'll report you for breaking a plainly written 
 rule ! " he replied, as Judge and I indignantly went 
 out the door. 
 
 Now, at the doors of Mudie's Library, in the 
 Brompton Road, there is also the sign, "No Dogs 
 Admitted," yet Judge and I have gone there regu- 
 larly twice a week for years, and I know of no place 
 in London where such a fine collection of fashionable 
 and thoroughbred dogs can be been as at Mudie's 
 Library almost any morning or afternoon. 
 
 I told the manager of the hotel when I took posses- 
 sion of my apartments that much of the time I should 
 probably take only one meal a day, my breakfast, as 
 I went out a great deal to luncheon and dinner. He 
 took occasion to recommend to me the laundry which 
 the hotel had just started, and I replied that I would 
 have been glad to patronise it, but I had a laundress, 
 a poor, struggling young woman, who did my washing
 
 ECONOMY FOR TWO 165 
 
 at odd moments when she could snatch the time from 
 her other duties, and she was really dependent upon 
 me for her living. 
 
 It was true. When I engaged the suite of apart- 
 ments I saw at once that the private bath-room, with 
 its excellent supply of hot and cold water, would 
 enable me to economise in the direction of laundry 
 bills, for I could do all my own washing right there in 
 the bath-tub, and I bought a supply of starch and 
 blueing and two flat-irons with patent American 
 wooden removable handles, and a spirit stove and 
 fuel wherewith to make it burn, so I became my own 
 laundress and boiled my starch on this convenient 
 little stove placed on a box directly under the hotel 
 rules, among which was a prohibition against washing 
 and ironing in one's rooms. 
 
 There was also among the rules a prohibition 
 against cooking in the rooms, yet believing that 
 needs must when necessity for economy drives, I got 
 up many a nice little luncheon and dinner for myself 
 and Judge. For tenpence I got a new-laid egg to 
 boil for myself (I generally bought two at a time, as 
 I did not like to ask for only one at the shop where I 
 dealt), a mutton-chop for Judge, two halfpenny rolls, 
 an ounce of butter, and pepper and salt. All for ten- 
 pence ! Three shillings was the lowest price at which 
 I could get any sort of luncheon at the hotel, and 
 the dinners were still more expensive, of course. I 
 even found that I could get up a dainty dinner over 
 the spirit-stove, ending with a sweet, dessert, finger- 
 bowls and all, for the low price of one shilling and 
 threepence, and many indeed were the times that I 
 stayed away from the hotel dining-room, faring thus 
 cheaply though plentifully in my own sitting-room.
 
 1 66 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 In this way I kept my monthly hotel bill down to 
 about as low a figure as that for which I had pre- 
 viously lived at the flat with Dinah. 
 
 I found a cape the most convenient sort of out- 
 door wrap for me to wear in those days. My cape 
 was smart and expensive-looking, and as I had to go 
 out shopping every day, it covered a multitude of 
 groceries and provisions. Judge always carried the 
 most genteel and unsuspicious-looking parcels in his 
 mouth, but my potatoes, mustard and cress, chops, 
 bread, and eggs went under my cape. 
 
 One Saturday I was returning from a shopping 
 expedition, having got in double stores on account 
 of the next day being Sunday, and both my hands 
 underneath my cape were absolutely full. Among 
 other things, in a paper bag, I had three-ha'pence 
 worth of potatoes. I was feeling rather rich and happy, 
 for the week had been exceedingly prosperous, two 
 magazine articles having been published for which 
 I had got my cheques. I was wearing my new Paris 
 hat, which, as it was mid-season, I had bought for 
 eighteen shillings and sixpence. It was the delight 
 of my heart, and I am sure that no woman could 
 have desired a lovelier bit of head-gear than that hat. 
 I had on a model dress, too; that also was very 
 cheap mid-season price. The skirt was just as long 
 and sweeping as style demanded, and though I 
 generally held up my trains to save them from wear- 
 ing out, I could not do it that afternoon, because 
 both my hands were full, so my skirts swept the 
 ground. 
 
 Just as I was about to turn into the street where 
 stood my hotel, I saw coming towards me, with out- 
 stretched hand and smiling countenance, the well-
 
 ECONOMY FOR TWO 167 
 
 known and distinguished editor of one of London's 
 high-class periodicals, in the pages of which an article 
 of mine had lately appeared, and for which I had 
 received a most liberal cheque and such a kind and 
 encouraging letter of thanks as only an English 
 editor knows how to write. 
 
 " Ah ! I am fortunate ! " he exclaimed, hastening 
 towards me, " I am saved the trouble of writing a 
 letter to you to suggest a subject which I feel sure 
 that only you can treat in your bright, original style 
 which will make it instructive as well as entertaining ! " 
 
 Great heavens ! There was outstretched to me the 
 hand that held a part of my future literary success 
 in its palm ; yet how could I take it with my own 
 left hand full of eggs and my right hand grasping a 
 bag of potatoes? Consternation seized me, and I 
 thought how utterly stupid was this English custom 
 of hand-shaking. What could I do? Refuse that 
 proffered hand? How dare I? I felt something 
 give it was the potato-bag bursting, and I looked 
 for the potatoes to roll down at the great man's 
 feet, though I pressed hard against them, then got 
 my elbow outside my cape, pressed against that, 
 and, doubting not that now the potatoes would fall, 
 held out my well-gloved hand. 
 
 Truly, Heaven helps those who help' themselves ! 
 The crisis passed, the great man explained what he 
 wanted me to do for him. He required it at once, 
 he said. Would I now put aside everything else I 
 had on hand and do him that article ? Ah ! would 
 I not? Rather! My heart leapt for joy right up 
 against the eggs that were pressed so close on my 
 left. Harder and harder pressed my right elbow 
 against those potatoes.
 
 168 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 " Now, I must hasten. So glad to have a little 
 chat. So much more satisfactory than letter-writing," 
 said the editor, and then again the outstretched hand 
 at parting. 
 
 "Ah, surely the potatoes will take a tumble this 
 time ! " I said in my terrified heart. " Why, why, 
 why needs this delightful Englishman shake my hand 
 thus heartily ? " 
 
 With a pat upon Judge's head and a final farewell 
 nod to me the editor was gone, and, lo ! not one 
 potato had fallen to the ground. Then I grabbed 
 my cape tighter about me, and rushed breathlessly 
 into my hotel, up the stairs, and to my apartments. 
 On to the floor of my sitting-room I let them all 
 drop, and, regardless of my clean new gloves, I 
 played a game of ball with those potatoes, and Judge 
 rushed about, grabbing them in his mouth as I threw 
 them. Then, when the daylight had faded and I 
 heard the guests in my part of the hotel passing 
 down the corridor to the dining-room, I washed and 
 peeled a half-dozen and fried them French style and 
 cooked my chops, and Judge and I fared sumptuously 
 and joyously. 
 
 Judge was of the greatest possible assistance to 
 me in those days of trying to keep up appearances. 
 Though he was a dog with a pedigree of wondrous 
 dimensions, and had all my own love of the things 
 that money could buy, he had a delightful way of 
 accommodating himself to his circumstances. He 
 wore neckties of wash-ribbon which, though it cost 
 more per yard than the ordinary ribbon, I found the 
 most inexpensive in the end without a bark of dis- 
 satisfaction. He submitted to my dismissal of his 
 barber who charged ten shillings and sixpence to
 
 ECONOMY FOR TWO 169 
 
 shave him after the latest poodle fashion without a 
 whine, and kicked his legs in glee when, having pur- 
 chased a pair of poodle clippers and studied the 
 directions for using them, I myself became his 
 barber. I became an expert in the wielding of 
 those clippers, and in taking his promenades abroad 
 Judge had never cause to be ashamed of his appear- 
 ance, for there wasn't a suspicion of the "home- 
 made " about him. I shaved him just as well as the 
 most experienced and high-priced poodle barber in 
 London. What is more, I wrote a magazine article 
 about a new employment for gentlewomen poodle- 
 clippingexplaining the whole matter fully, and I 
 got five guineas for it. 
 
 One of my greatest difficulties was the disposing 
 of my potato skins, egg shells, bread crusts, and bits 
 of bone that Judge left over. I dared not put them 
 in my waste-basket, for fear of discovery by the 
 chambermaid, and as I had a gas grate instead of 
 coal, I had no way of burning them. The only way 
 was to go out in a quiet street or the park and "lose" 
 them. One day I dropped my paper bag of shells 
 and peelings in Hyde Park, and Judge, noticing this, 
 went back and fetched it in his mouth. I explained 
 that it had been " done a-purpose," but he refused to 
 believe me, and when I dropped it a second time near 
 Clarges Street he picked it up again. At the third 
 dropping he picked it up and then refused to deliver 
 it to me. Try as I would, reason and argue with him 
 as I did, I could not make him relax his hold on that 
 parcel, and as I never scold him, I finally allowed 
 him to return with me to the hotel carrying it in his 
 mouth, thinking to take it out the next time I went 
 alone. In the front corridor stood a handsomely
 
 1 70 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 dressed woman, one of the hotel guests, though a 
 stranger. 
 
 " Oh, you beauty ! " she said to Judge. " Will you 
 shake hands with me ? " 
 
 Now, Judge is as French as French can be as re- 
 gards gallantry to the ladies. He held out his right 
 paw, dropped the paper bag out of his mouth, so he 
 could bark his " Happy to meet you ! " and the potato 
 skins and egg shells went all over the floor. 
 
 " Oh ! You droll doggie!" the lady cried. " Where 
 in the world did you get those ridiculous things ? " 
 
 " He picked them up in the. street," I answered 
 hurriedly and truthfully. "I have taught him to 
 pick up parcels and deliver them to their owners ! " 
 Then Judge and I flew up the stairs, he grabbing his 
 burst and empty paper bag, and casting a look of 
 aristocratic disgust at the plebeian contents spread 
 on the tiling, which I paid the hall porter sixpence to 
 brush up at once. 
 
 I am very fond of onions, prepared in the 
 American fashion with butter and cream and pepper 
 and salt, and one day I thought I'd cook some over 
 my spirit-stove. The odour escaped to the halls, 
 went down the corridors, and penetrated into the 
 manager's office. He went investigating, and located 
 the source of the aroma at my hall door. He knocked, 
 said " Good morning," and asked if he were mistaken 
 in thinking I was cooking in my rooms, which, as I 
 knew, was not allowed onions being especially 
 objectionable. It was useless to deny it, but not 
 wishing to confess that I was only a poor journalist 
 trying to live economically at a fashionable hotel, 
 I said, " I'm very sorry, but I am cooking onions for 
 my dog."
 
 ECONOMY FOR TWO 171 
 
 "I have never heard of a dog eating onions!" 
 returned the manager, with a most unbelieving look 
 on his face. 
 
 "Nevertheless," I answered, "Judge has been 
 ordered by his vet. to eat onions, and he eats them." 
 
 The truth was that a noted dog doctor had once 
 told me that onions mixed with soup, or meat, or 
 other food, were good for dogs, especially poodles. 
 I had often tried to induce Judge to eat them, and 
 he had always indignantly refused such fare. Yet, 
 when I saw that the manager did not believe me, I 
 grew desperate and decided that Judge must help 
 me out of my dilemma and save my reputation for 
 veracity. I cooled some of the onions and put them 
 on a plate. 
 
 " Attention, Judge ! " I called out. 
 
 Judge jumped to the middle of the room and 
 gazed earnestly at me, knowing that an important 
 communication was to be made to him. 
 
 "Judge shall go walking," I said, and his tail 
 began to wag. I placed his silver collar and his 
 largest ribbon bow on a chair and pointed to them, 
 saying, " Yes, Judge shall wear these and cut a dash 
 along Piccadilly ! " His tail went a little faster and I 
 walked over to the onions. " Judge shall run in the 
 park and scamper and eat grass ! " His eyes beamed, 
 his ears went back, and his tail went round in a 
 circle. " But, attention ! Judge must first take his 
 medicine ! " and I pointed to the onion-plate. His 
 tail stopped wagging, he walked over to the plate, 
 gave an indignant sniff, and jumped back on the 
 sofa, burying his head among the cushions. Three 
 times I called him to attention, promising him 
 pleasures in which his soul delighted, but when I
 
 i;2 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 said " Medicine first ! " he sadly drooped his tail and 
 walked away. 
 
 There were two ways left, two sure ways, to induce 
 Judge to eat those onions and save my reputation. 
 If I pretended to sob and weep, he would do any- 
 thing I asked of him, but I never resorted to that but 
 once, when he was dangerously ill, and needed to 
 take some very nasty medicine to save his life. It 
 would nearly break his little heart to see me cry, and 
 I could not perpetrate that cruelty on him to make 
 him eat onions, which, though they might be good 
 for him, were not, I knew, an essential part of his 
 diet. As the case was desperate, I tried the other 
 method. 
 
 " Attention, Judge ! " I said again, and he jumped 
 to the middle of the floor. "Judge shall go for a 
 drive in a carriage with horses ! They shall prance 
 and prance (here I suited gestures to my words) 
 along Piccadilly and in the park ! Horse ! Yes ! two 
 horses ! " 
 
 His tail wagged as though it would come off, and 
 he rushed up and down with such delighted barks 
 and antics as made the manager roar with laughter 
 and me tremble to think of the consequences of my 
 rash promise. Again I went over to the onions, and 
 said, "But, first, medicine!" pointing to the floor. 
 He bounded over, and without so much as a sniff, ate 
 up those onions with two licks of his tongue, and the 
 manager departed in high good humour, though from 
 the curious twinkle in his eye I doubted whether 
 even then he was thoroughly convinced of my strict 
 veracity. 
 
 I touched my bell, and Buttons appeared. " I will 
 have a victoria at three this afternoon," I said.
 
 ECONOMY FOR TWO 173 
 
 " Yes, miss. One horse ? " 
 
 I looked at Judge appealingly, and the look he 
 gave back said most plainly, " Don't cheat ! You 
 promised two ! " 
 
 " Two horses," I said, turning to the boy, and from 
 Judge there came a joyous jump and bark. 
 
 " Yes, miss," and the boy was gone. 
 
 In the park that afternoon Judge was admired by 
 all the occupants of the smart carriages that passed 
 us. He sat beside me with his yellow ribbons flying 
 in the breeze, his black silk curls shining in the sun, 
 his amber eyes beaming. Frequently, when the high- 
 steppers which drew our carriage gave an extra 
 prance and toss of their heads, Judge would turn to 
 me and laugh, showing his white teeth. Sweet little 
 rascal ! He has a highly-developed sense of humour, 
 and he knew quite well to what straits I might be put 
 to pay that carriage bill. 
 
 Even after we got home, and I was at work on my 
 typewriter, trying to earn an extra bit in view of my 
 reckless extravagance, he would run over to me, look 
 up, show his teeth, and when I would say, "Did 
 Judge have a good time? Did Judge cut a dash?" 
 his tail would thump the floor most vigorously in 
 reply. 
 
 Ah, well ! As I have said before, I love the follies 
 and vanities of the world, and so does Judge. I 
 earned two guineas for the dog story I wrote that 
 night, and the drive cost less than half of that.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 AN ENCOUNTER WITH MRS. LYNN LINTON 
 
 '"TpHERE goes your enemy !" 
 
 J. I was out walking one afternoon with a friend 
 in the vicinity of St. James's Park, and as an elderly 
 woman with what seemed to me to be a kind, sym- 
 pathetic face, passed us, my friend thus addressed 
 me. 
 
 " My enemy ! " I exclaimed in surprise. " Who is 
 my enemy ? " 
 
 " The lady that just passed." 
 
 " But I don't know her ! Who is she ? " 
 
 " Mrs. Lynn Linton ! " 
 
 " You mean the author ? " 
 
 "Yes. Now don't tell me you didn't know you 
 were her particular well, I'll call it ' objection.' You 
 are a subject upon which she can grow extremely 
 eloquent. Your name comes up rather often, you 
 know, these days, and she never misses an oppor- 
 tunity to speak her mind about you. She views you 
 in the light of the ' scarlet woman ' journalist, I 
 believe." 
 
 " That's ridiculous ! " I exclaimed. " I don't know 
 her and she doesn't know me. I never did anything 
 to her, and it is impossible she should want to injure 
 me!" 
 
 174
 
 MRS. LYNN LINTON 175 
 
 " Oh, she wouldn't injure you, except with her 
 tongue ! When people ask her what she thinks of 
 the new kind of journalism you've been doing in 
 England, she tosses her head, and says, 'Oh, that 
 creature ! Do you call that journalism ? ' Then she 
 goes on to express her opinion of your work and you 
 in no very amiable terms. She thinks you are a very 
 shocking person, a vulgar creature seeking notoriety, 
 and when she hears of your having been invited to 
 the homes of any of her friends, she hopes that they 
 will arrange things so she and you won't come into 
 contact. Some of the adjectives she uses to describe 
 you are really interesting. 'Brassy' is one ci the 
 words she applies to you. She's your very dearest 
 enemy, I assure you ! " 
 
 I went back to my hotel in a very bewildered, not 
 to say highly agitated state of mind. It was all 
 so very strange that I should have gained the enmity 
 of a woman like Mrs. Lynn Linton, a well-known 
 author, a highly successful journalist, who had made 
 her way, as I had heard, through many hardships to 
 the eminence she had attained. She, with all her 
 experience, who had lived past the threescore years 
 and ten, she to be the enemy of one who was young 
 and poor and struggling like myself! The more I 
 thought it over the more absurd it seemed that a 
 woman like Mrs. Lynn Linton, whom I knew only 
 by reputation, and who, so far as I knew, had never 
 seen me, should take the trouble to berate me in this 
 manner, and I concluded that perhaps my friend was 
 either trying to tax my credulity with a rather cruel 
 sort of joke, or that she was repeating things she had 
 heard which had no foundation in fact.
 
 1 76 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 I remembered that I knew a number of people who 
 were well acquainted with Mrs. Lynn Linton, so I 
 made it my business to see them and put to them 
 the question : " Have you ever heard that Mrs. 
 Linton has any particular dislike for me ? " with 
 the result that I got the same information I had from 
 my first friend, and my bewilderment was increased. 
 Indeed, anger took the place of bewilderment after 
 a time, for it seemed to me particularly unjust and 
 cruel that a woman in the position of Mrs. Lynn 
 Linton should hold me up to contempt and give an 
 impression of my personality to strangers who might 
 judge me accordingly an impression that was as 
 silly as it was unjust. 
 
 " I must meet Mrs. Lynn Linton," I said to myself, 
 "If she were a man, I'd find another man to take up 
 my cause and fight her to a finish, but as she's a 
 woman I'll have to see her myself." 
 
 Thereupon I wrote her a letter. 
 
 " DEAR MADAM " (it ran) " I am writing a maga- 
 zine article on the subject of certain aspects of woman's 
 position in England as compared with that in the 
 United States. I have a feeling that you might, if 
 you would, give me certain information which would 
 be of great assistance to me, and I write to ask if 
 you will allow me to call upon you some time in the 
 near future, at any hour you wish to appoint. I 
 have, of course, long known you by name and read 
 and loved some of your books when I was at board- 
 ing-school. I should like very much to know you 
 personally. You perhaps know of me through my 
 work in London during the past three years. 
 
 " Faithfully yours, "
 
 MRS. LYNN LINTON 177 
 
 The letter went, and in the evening came the stiff 
 reply : 
 
 " MADAM, If you will call to-morrow morning at 
 eleven o'clock, I can see you a few minutes. 
 " Yours truly, 
 
 "E. LYNN LINTON." 
 
 When I called upon Mrs. Lynn Linton at the 
 time she had appointed, my heart almost failed me, 
 so stern, so aggressive, so uncompromising did she 
 look as I stood in the doorway. She did not at first 
 offer to shake hands nor ask me to sit down, she her- 
 self standing the while. 
 
 "You wished to see me? What can I do for you?" 
 was her greeting. 
 
 "Yes, Mrs. Lynn Linton," I said, for although I 
 had written the letter on the spur of the moment 
 with no particular questions to ask her, in mind, I 
 had, after receiving her note, formulated a sort of 
 skeleton upon which to build up an article upon the 
 position of working women in England and America. 
 " Yes," I said, " I am writing an article concerning 
 the different occupations pursued by Englisti- 
 women, especially educated Englishwomen, and com- 
 paring self-supporting Englishwomen with self-sup- 
 porting American women. Now take, for instance, 
 journalism. You have been a journalist so long that 
 I feel sure you know the very beginnings of the 
 Englishwoman's work in journalism. Life is some- 
 what different for women journalists in England from 
 what it is in America." 
 
 We were both standing near the door of the sitting- 
 room where Mrs. Lynn Linton received me. I was 
 looking squarely into her face, while she was examin- 
 
 N
 
 1 7 8 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 ing every detail of my appearance and apparel. 
 Finally she murmured, as though she had not heard 
 a word of what I had been saying 
 
 " Your hair is rather pretty and of the fashionable 
 shade, and it is not bleached ! " 
 
 " I don't understand you, Mrs. Linton," I said, with 
 a face that I knew must show both my anger and 
 amusement at this observation, which seemed to 
 be not exactly apropos to the subject which I had 
 hoped to put under discussion. " But my hair is not 
 bleached, and I can't see any reason why you should 
 mention it." 
 
 " But surely you can't consider it an insult to have 
 it thought your hair might be bleached ! Of course 
 you can't blame me for thinking you would be apt to 
 bleach your hair and paint your face too ! " 
 
 I did not answer. I merely looked at this strange 
 woman who, I had been told, was my enemy. 
 
 " I think I did not ask you to sit down. I must 
 also sit down ; I am not well." 
 
 "Thank you," I answered, and I took the sofa to 
 which she pointed. 
 
 " Why did you come here ? " she asked. 
 
 " Do you mean why did I come to see you ? " 
 
 " No ! Why did you come to England and take 
 the bread out of young English women journalists' 
 mouths ? " 
 
 " Surely, Mrs. Linton, I have not done that ! " 
 
 " Yes ! You have done that ! You, with your hor- 
 rible, unwomanly kind of work have demoralised the 
 taste of London editors who at one time were content 
 to fill their papers with good, decent, legitimate litera- 
 ture. Now they have a craving for the sensational, 
 horrible kind of thing you have introduced to them.
 
 MRS. LYNN LINTON 179 
 
 I say you have ruined the English editors. You are 
 responsible for their downfall ! " 
 
 I knew I must not laugh that is, out loud at the 
 thought of poor little me having created such havoc 
 among the hitherto staid and stolid British editors, so 
 I made a tremendous effort at self-control, and said 
 
 " I deny that I have ever taken bread from any 
 woman's mouth, and I also deny having had any such 
 influence as you say I have had upon English editors. 
 Furthermore, I have never done any work of which I 
 have cause to be ashamed. I have never stooped to a 
 thing that was indelicate, unwomanly, or dishonour- 
 able." 
 
 Mrs. Lynn Linton did not answer. She however 
 looked her contempt. 
 
 " I do not wish to appear inhospitable, though I 
 disapprove of you and your work. Will you have a 
 brandy and soda ? " 
 
 " I don't drink brandy and soda," I answered. 
 
 " I supposed, of course, you did. But you smoke 
 cigarettes, do you not ? " 
 
 " No. I never saw a woman smoke a cigarette till 
 I came to London. The first time I ever saw a 
 woman smoke was when I called at the office of a 
 young English woman journalist. She was sitting on 
 her table, smoking. I also never saw a woman drink 
 brandy and soda till I came to England. I find that 
 very nice women do it in England, but in my country 
 it is different." 
 
 "What! You mean to say you do not smoke or 
 drink brandy and soda! Englishwomen have been 
 taking it up so lately. They got it from Americans." 
 
 " No! Not from Americans. Drinking and smok- 
 ing are things from which my countrywomen, as a
 
 i8o A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 whole, are free. Some of them learn these things 
 when they come to England, but as for me, I have not 
 been an apt scholar." 
 
 " We will let that pass," she replied. " I would like 
 to know why you went out as a servant, why you 
 stood at Piccadilly Circus and sold flowers, why by 
 misrepresentations you got into a laundry, why you 
 swept a crossing and did all the other disgusting 
 things you did. Couldn't you have fun in some other 
 way? As I said before, you took bread from needy 
 Englishwomen's mouths ! " 
 
 " I did all these things, Mrs. Linton, to put some 
 bread into my own mouth." 
 
 " What ! Are you poor?" she asked, turning round 
 sharply. 
 
 " Did you think I would do that hard work if I were 
 not poor?" I asked. 
 
 " But do you mean that you earn your livelihood 
 by doing that kind of work ? " 
 
 "1 did earn it that way for a time. I am not doing 
 so much of it now, because I've made a name and am 
 getting on better." 
 
 I had noted that during the last few minutes Mrs 
 Linton's voice had grown more gentle, her face less 
 stern ; yet she spoke again like the accusing judge. 
 
 "You got into people's houses as a servant by false 
 representations ! " 
 
 " Not very false," I returned. " I said that I was an 
 American woman, though of English descent. That 
 I had come to England for personal reasons and sud- 
 denly found myself penniless, with no way of earning 
 my living except by going out to service. I did my 
 work to the best of my ability, I wrote it up in a way 
 to make people laugh, for though I was sad myself, I
 
 MRS. LYNN LINTON 181 
 
 knew there was no market for sad stories, so I made 
 things funny which were, in reality, very horrible and 
 pathetic. When I had done that work, it turned out 
 so successful that a number of editors asked me to do 
 other work of the same sort for them, and I did it 
 but never for a moment have I lost my self-respect. 
 I am not ashamed of any of my actions since I came 
 to England. I have never once forgotten that I was 
 a woman, nor allowed anyone else to forget it ! " 
 
 I looked at Mrs. Lynn Linton as though I chal- 
 lenged her. 
 
 " It is all very strange," she said, half reminiscently, 
 " how I could have made such a mistake, for you seem 
 to be a gentlewoman ! Yet, how could a gentle- 
 woman do the work that you have done ? I thought 
 you were a brazen creature, a sort of wild, adventure- 
 some female, worse even than the shrieking women of 
 England, and they are bad enough ! " 
 
 She came to the sofa. " Have you ever heard that 
 I am a very uncompromising, set, determined old 
 woman, and that I seldom change my opinions ? " 
 
 " No," I answered, smiling. 
 
 " Yes. It is true. I am that. It is very hard for 
 me to say I have made a mistake. Do you know 
 that I fear I have done you many a wrong ? Oh ! 
 The things I have said about you have not been nice 
 things, I assure you ! You've been the talk of Lon- 
 don, you know. My neighbours at dinners and teas 
 have asked me what I thought of your work, and I 
 have not spoken too kindly of you. I have called 
 you brazen, unspeakable. People have laughed and 
 said I was prejudiced, but I would not admit it. I 
 suppose I have read nearly everything you have 
 written, out of merest curiosity and so that I could
 
 182 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 condemn you the more. I have never written any- 
 thing about you for the papers because because once 
 after writing something against you I was advised 
 that it was too harsh, and was asked to take it out. 
 I, an old woman, have perhaps prejudiced people 
 against you, a young woman, trying to make your 
 way in the world.' I want you to forgive me for the 
 injury I may have or might have done you. Of 
 course you did not know till I told you, and you 
 might never have known." 
 
 " Yes, I did know it, Mrs. Linton," I replied. " I 
 have been told, and I determined to come and see you 
 under some pretext, so that I could disabuse your 
 mind of your prejudice against me. It did not seem 
 possible to me that you could go on misunder- 
 standing and feeling as I had heard you felt, and 
 especially speaking as you have done, when once you 
 had an opportunity of realising my position. Though 
 you are so much older and wiser than I, and it may 
 sound almost disrespectful for me to say it to you, I 
 am going to tell you that I came to teach you some- 
 thing a lesson I knew you ought to learn. I have 
 come to you not only for myself, but for all women 
 who must work to earn their bread, to ask you, not 
 for kindness, not for benevolence, nor assistance in 
 any way, but only for justice. Are you angry that I 
 speak like this ? " 
 
 " No, my child," she said, taking my hand, " I shall 
 always be glad you came. I am old and you are 
 young, but you have been the teacher and I the pupil. 
 Did you say you forgave me ? " 
 
 I could not now turn hypocrite and say in the 
 casual, untruthful way that one often does, "Oh, 
 there's nothing to forgive ! " There was something.
 
 MRS. LYNN LINTON 183 
 
 I knew it. Mrs. Linton knew it. And so I said, " Yes, 
 I forgive you." 
 
 Mrs. Linton had written me that she could spare 
 me a few minutes, but it was hours before I left her 
 that day. She invited me to stay with her to luncheon. 
 She showed me some of her most treasured books, 
 she told me of her lonely life, of her religious beliefs, 
 of her girlhood, of her marriage, and of many of the 
 things that made her life a not too happy one. I told 
 her about my own countrywomen, their schools, their 
 universities, their means of helping themselves, and 
 their position in the work-a-day world. She laughed 
 over my recitals of my childhood days on the Wis- 
 consin farm when I told her about the " college cow " 
 and the " college hen " how all the cream that rose 
 on the milk of the " college cow " was turned into 
 butter to be sold at a village store and the proceeds 
 added to a fund called " the college fund," and how 
 the eggs of the " college hen " were put to the same 
 use, and helped materially to send me to boarding- 
 school. 
 
 I told her about the policeman who called me the 
 " little reporter," and how kind were the editors and 
 reporters on the Western and Southern papers where I 
 worked just before I came to England, and the dear 
 old lady laughed, sometimes with the tears rolling 
 down her cheeks, exclaiming, " Very American ! Very 
 American!" 
 
 She was about to go to the country, she told me, 
 and we agreed that when she had come back, and I 
 had returned from the American trip that I was 
 about to make, I should run in often to see her, and 
 not be formal. 
 
 " You have done missionary work to-day," she said,
 
 1 84 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 when I was going. " You've converted a cantankerous 
 old woman, and made her see the necessity of reading 
 between the lines when she picks up books and 
 papers that do not seem to be according to her old- 
 fashioned notions. Don't think I approve of all your 
 work, even yet ! It's not my idea of journalism ! I 
 do not think it ought to be encouraged, and I think 
 it was a very dreadful thing for a gentlewoman to 
 have to sweep a crossing and sell flowers and work 
 among laundry girls, even to write about these things. 
 Don't tell me you came into contact with the kind of 
 people you'd like to associate with when you did 
 those things ! Oh, I used to feel contempt at your 
 doing it, and now it worries me to think you had to 
 do it ! Was there no other way ? " 
 
 " It was the only way, Mrs. Linton," I said. 
 
 "But you've stopped it now? You do not run 
 the danger of having your fingers cut off with the 
 laundry machinery any more, or of dying from 
 picking strawberries in the rain ? " 
 
 " No," I said, laughing ; " I'm getting on now. I 
 write for the magazines and the reviews, and I expect 
 I shall become a really proper person, and perhaps a 
 stately journalist after a while." 
 
 She laughed and bent over me as I went out of the 
 door. Through the years that have passed I remember 
 her words, a kindly benediction, a friendly warning 
 from one who was about to finish her career to one 
 who had but begun. 
 
 "Guard against bitterness and cynicism. Have 
 faith and hope and charity, especially charity, the 
 charity in which perhaps I have sometimes failed." 
 
 It was not my privilege to learn to know Mrs. Lynn 
 Linton very much better than I knew her when she
 
 MRS. LYNN LINTON 185 
 
 bade me good-bye that afternoon. I went almost 
 immediately to America, and just as I returned from 
 my somewhat prolonged stay there, Mrs. Lynn 
 Linton died. It is with a conviction that she would 
 be glad to have me tell this little story of her, that I 
 include it in these reminiscences.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 HOME AGAIN, AND IN "THE WAY 
 OF LIFE" 
 
 THERE are three kinds of workers on the New 
 York press. They are the "regulars," the 
 " space-writers," and the " free-lances." The " regulars " 
 are engaged on salary, and receive their weekly 
 salaries every Saturday night. They always know 
 exactly the amount of money that will be put into 
 their hands when they walk up to the cashier's little 
 window. 
 
 The "space-writers," though they are engaged to 
 work for one particular paper, and are expected to 
 report every day for orders, are paid according to the 
 amount of space they fill up in the paper so much 
 per column, or so much per thousand words. They 
 live by their wits, and the state in which they live is 
 good or poor, according to the state of their wits. If 
 they are especially brilliant and fertile of imagination, 
 inventive, quick at seeing through stone walls, and 
 last, but not least, in good favour with the editors, 
 under whose direction they are expected to work, 
 they prosper exceedingly, and their takings-in at the 
 end of the week are apt to be large, though variable. 
 
 Among the "space-writers" there are two kinds, 
 the ordinary and the special. The ordinary ones are 
 186
 
 HOME AGAIN 187 
 
 paid what are known as the ordinary or regular rates ; 
 the special ones receive the extraordinary or special 
 rates, which may be a third more than the ordinary, 
 or may be double, triple, or quadruple. 
 
 The " free-lances " are not engaged to work for any 
 particular paper for any particular length of time. 
 They flit hither and thither with ideas and articles, 
 getting an acceptance here, a rejection there, or they 
 work entirely on order, which means having their 
 articles ordered and accepted before they are written. 
 
 Of the free-lances there are also two kinds. 
 There are the strugglers, the beginners, who form the 
 one class. They write "on spec'," as it is called. 
 They carry or send their articles to the various papers, 
 and then they wait and watch the papers to see if 
 their contributions appear, for the average New York 
 newspaper editor lacks either the courteousness or 
 the time, or both, to write and tell an unknown 
 outside free-lance whether or not his or her article 
 is useful or useless. In that he differs from the 
 average London editor, who in many cases, even 
 though stamps have not been enclosed, will write, 
 returning the article, or saying he finds it suitable 
 and expects to use it. As for the New York editor, 
 he is apt to pay no attention to the stamps, even if 
 they are enclosed. If the article is useless he throws 
 it into his waste-basket, and, quite as likely as not, 
 the stamps along with it. If he wants the article he 
 puts it on a spindle or in a pigeon-hole. In either 
 case, the sender of the manuscript watches and waits, 
 sometimes for days, sometimes for weeks, sometimes 
 for months, although it is only the beginner, the 
 inexperienced one who waits and hopes after two or 
 three weeks have passed.
 
 1 88 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 In London the free-Tance at least knows of the 
 article's publication in the course of time by the 
 cheque that is received in payment for it. In New 
 York the system of payment to outside contributors 
 who do not go regularly to the office is very different, 
 and most unpleasantly different at that. The editor 
 sends down to the cashier an order for a certain 
 amount of money to be paid to a certain person. 
 The cashier picks out the exact amount of money, 
 puts it in a small envelope, seals it up, writes the 
 name of the person to whom it is due, and the 
 amount on the outside, and puts it away to remain 
 until called for. If the person for whom it is intended 
 does not call, the money remains in the office. 
 
 Now this system of payment is as stupid and as 
 senseless as it is unkind and unfair ; but before going 
 on to explain the extent of its senselessness and 
 unfairness, I will describe the second kind of " free- 
 lance," after which I can tell my own experience with 
 what I found to be the system of paying outside 
 contributors. 
 
 As the one kind of free-lances is made up of the 
 strugglers and beginners, so the second division of 
 free-lances is made up of the well-to-do, or the 
 supposedly well-to-do, the experienced and successful. 
 In a word, the second division of free-lances takes in 
 writers who are prominent, whose names are well 
 known among all editors and to the public, and who, 
 to a very great extent, are able to command their 
 own prices, because of the recognised value of their 
 work, especially if it appears under their names, 
 which is generally the case. They are the ones who 
 work on order, and whose work is accepted before it 
 is written. They suggest their subjects to the editors,
 
 HOME AGAIN 189 
 
 or have subjects suggested to them by the paper 
 which desires their work, and the subject being 
 agreed upon, also the price, they write with the 
 knowledge that what they are writing will appear in 
 print. They carry on their business in the same way 
 as does a merchant who shows a possible customer a 
 sample of ribbon, or lace, or cloth. 
 
 " You like the sample ? " asks the merchant. 
 
 " Yes," answers the customer, " I will take ten 
 yards of it." 
 
 Says the free-lance to the New York editor, " You 
 like this idea ? " 
 
 " Yes," returns the editor ; " write me two columns 
 on that subject at such and such price per column," 
 and the transaction is settled. 
 
 Now it was in such wise, as a free-lance of the 
 second, and sometimes much-to-be-envied, sort, that I 
 at first took up journalism in New York after my 
 four years' stay in England. I had made a stir and 
 a name in London. The notices I had received in 
 the English papers had been copied and commented 
 upon in the American papers. Even much of the 
 work I had done in London papers had been re- 
 produced two weeks after its first appearance in the 
 press of my native land. I returned home a "heroine," 
 as I had been a " heroine " in London, and was met 
 at the dock by reporters to interview me, and 
 telegrams from editors asking me to send them some 
 special articles at the earliest possible moment, and I 
 was in no way averse to complying with the requests 
 of both the interviewers and the editors. 
 
 With the interviewers, being myself an interviewer, 
 I was as good-natured and as tactful as only an 
 interviewer can fully appreciate the necessity of being,
 
 190 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 and they, in turn, treated me with such kindness and 
 consideration as all American interviewers show to 
 interviewees who treat their interviewers in a proper 
 manner. Having been, and being still, myself, upon 
 occasion, frequently called to take first one part and 
 then the other in the interviewing business, I feel 
 that I have had every opportunity of arriving at an 
 impartial judgment upon this subject. With those 
 persons, be they Americans, Englishmen, or foreigners, 
 who have only unpleasant things to say of American 
 interviewers, I have no patience, and if they find 
 themselves "written up " by the American interviewers 
 in a distinctly unpleasant way, I have little sympathy 
 for them, for they have, in nine cases out of ten, 
 brought on their own troubles by their disagreeable- 
 ness and lack of tact. If a distinguished foreigner, 
 visiting America, kicks an interviewer downstairs, 
 he has only himself to blame if he is not described in 
 the next morning's paper as being a polite, gentle- 
 manly, and altogether kind and considerate man. If 
 an author, artist, or actress treats the young American 
 reporter who comes to interview her with unkindness, 
 discourtesy, tactlessness, and hypocrisy, the reporter 
 must be an angel indeed if she heaps coals of fire 
 upon her head when she writes up the account of 
 her visit. 
 
 I have used the word "hypocrisy," for it is 
 frequently that and nothing else that makes a public 
 character say to the interviewer, " I object to being 
 noticed in the newspapers." Public characters may 
 object to having their private affairs aired in the 
 newspapers, object to being interviewed on certain 
 subjects, but they neither object, nor can they afford 
 to object, to newspaper notice in a general way. The
 
 HOME AGAIN 191 
 
 statesman, the author, the artist, the actress who says, 
 " I don't care anything about the newspapers, and 
 don't want ever to be written up in the Press," is 
 either lacking in common sense or is hypocritical. 
 To object, courteously and decently, to being inter- 
 viewed on certain subjects, is one thing, and within 
 everyone's right. To speak in terms of contempt and 
 independence of all the American Press and all the 
 American interviewers is quite another. 
 
 To persons about to be interviewed, I would here 
 venture to give some advice. It is not the well- 
 known advice of Punch " Don't." It is this 
 Remember the Golden Rule and do unto the inter- 
 viewer as you would like him or her to do unto you if 
 your places were exchanged and don't be too sure 
 that they won't be exchanged, some time, too ! Re- 
 member that the interviewer is, after all, working for 
 a living, The young, bright, smart-looking girl who 
 meets you at the steamer as you arrive in New York, 
 or flies after you at your hotel, and says, " I want to 
 interview you for my paper. What do you think of 
 America? Are you in the habit of eating bacon and 
 eggs, or only eggs without bacon or bacon without 
 eggs, for your breakfast ? " may be a space-writer or a 
 free-lance on one of New York's papers, whose very 
 life may depend upon her getting that interview with 
 you. She does not interview you for fun. She does 
 not take any particular interest in you. She would 
 rather be somewhere else than waiting at the dock for 
 your steamer to come in. You are, perhaps, nothing 
 but a stupid, uninteresting, ugly old thing, who hap- 
 pens to be a public character, and her editor has told 
 her to go and interview you and will pay her five or ten 
 dollars, if she succeeds. By discovering the kind of
 
 192 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 breakfast you eat she will be able to provide whole- 
 some food for herself for the coming week. Tell her, 
 in Heaven's name, about the bacon ! Tell her, if she 
 asks you, whether you take one, two, or three lumps 
 of sugar in your tea, and what you think of " our 
 great country" as far as you have seen it. It can't 
 hurt you, and it will help her, and then, even if you 
 are stupid and uninteresting and ugly, you will at 
 least have been kind and helped an honest struggler 
 on her way. And, besides, if you are kind and court- 
 eous, she will "do you up" in the next day's paper in 
 such a way that nobody on the American side will 
 suspect how very stupid and ugly and uninteresting 
 you really are ! 
 
 But to return to my own experience as a " free- 
 lance." I began it under most auspicious circum- 
 stances. Photographed, written about and interviewed 
 right and left, I began myself to write and interview 
 for various papers, thus gaining my first experience in 
 New York journalism. Orders and requests for 
 special articles followed one another in quick succes- 
 sion, and terms considerably higher than those ordin- 
 arily paid were offered me, and I rejoiced exceedingly, 
 for whatever money I could earn was much needed. 
 
 I was, however, greatly surprised, when many days 
 and weeks passed, that no cheques came to me through 
 the post. Some of my articles I had seen in the 
 papers, others I had not happened to see, though I 
 knew they must have been printed, since they had 
 been ordered for certain days. 
 
 " Have you used such and such an article yet ? " I 
 asked of an editor who had given me a large number 
 of orders, and from whom I had as yet received no 
 cheques.
 
 HOME AGAIN 193 
 
 " Of course ! " he replied. " I've used all your stuff, 
 and I'm ready for more suggestions from you for sub- 
 jects. You must have known they were used, any- 
 way, when you got your pay, for we never pay till 
 after publication." 
 
 " I haven't got any pay, and that's the reason I've 
 been wondering if you didn't use them," I answered. 
 
 " Now, see here ! You can't collect twice, even if 
 you are ' the American girl from London,' " he re- 
 torted. " We only pay once for articles on this side 
 of the water, and you needn't tell me they do any 
 better by you on the other side ! " 
 
 " I haven't got paid once ! " I declared. " And it's 
 not only your paper; I've had the same experience 
 with several papers. They order articles and publish 
 them, after offering me special terms, and that's the 
 last I hear of them. The papers in London send out 
 cheques once a week or once a month. In this 
 country you are slower. I judge you send them out 
 once in six months or once a year, and I don't mind 
 telling you that I've got down to my last fifty cents 
 waiting for my various returns from the newspapers." 
 
 " I wasn't talking about cheques," said the editor. 
 " I asked you if you'd got your pay, and do you mean 
 to say you haven't got your money for any of the 
 articles you've done for me ? If they didn't give it to 
 you the first Saturday, why didn't you let me know ?" 
 
 " If who didn't give it to me ? " 
 
 " Why, the cashier. What did he say when you 
 asked him ? " 
 
 " I never asked the cashier. I'm not on your staff, 
 and have no acquaintance with the cashier." 
 
 " That's just it ! If he'd known you, he'd handed it 
 out to you on sight, but as he didn't know you, I
 
 i 9 4 A -NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 don't see that it would have been such a breach of 
 etiquette for you to speak to him without an introduc- 
 tion. That may be English, but it isn't American." 
 
 " Do you mean to say I'm expected to call at 
 the cashier's office and ask for my money?" I 
 asked. 
 
 " Yes. You can't expect him to call on you with it. 
 If you go to the cashier now, and tell him who you 
 are, and that you want your pay, you'll get it." 
 
 Sure enough, when I went to the cashier and 
 asked for my pay, he handed me out various little 
 envelopes, which he had kept stored away for several 
 weeks. 
 
 " I've been wondering when you'd call for it," he 
 said good-naturedly. " Thought you couldn't need 
 it as much as the rest of them do." 
 
 It was in this way that I learned the system by 
 which many of the American papers pay their 
 outside contributors. Again I say it is unkind, 
 unfair, and absolutely senseless. One's first thought 
 would be that the system obtained favour among 
 newspaper proprietors because it gave them the use 
 of the money until the contributor called for it ; that 
 the money was drawing interest while it waited to be 
 called for. Not so. If that were the case it would 
 be unfair, though not stupid. The money owing to 
 each contributor is put in an envelope directly it is 
 due. The contributor may not call ; yet the money 
 remains in the envelope, no matter if it is for three or 
 four or five or six weeks. For the next article that 
 contributor sends, another bit of money goes into 
 another envelope, and so on for any number of weeks 
 and months. I do not say that every American or 
 every New York paper is managed in this way, but I
 
 HOME AGAIN 195 
 
 know from my own experience that many of them 
 are, and that it is a system that should be abolished 
 in every newspaper office. For the members of the 
 staff, employed in the office, the little envelope method 
 of payment is quite satisfactory, but certainly it is not 
 right to expect the occasional contributor, who lives 
 in the uppermost parts of Harlem, to go down to 
 Newspaper Row, spending two hours' time and ten 
 cents car fare, to collect the two dollars and seventy- 
 five cents that is coming to him for the last joke he 
 sent to the paper. I am not sure what is the exact 
 number of miles' residence away from Newspaper Row 
 that 'entitles a contributor to have his payment sent 
 to him by cheque or money order, though I believe 
 that London is "outside the circuit," and therefore 
 contributors residing in London are not expected to 
 call and get their envelopes. 
 
 Free-lancing, even of the most successful kind, is 
 but an unsatisfactory and irregular way of earning a 
 living, unless one has an income aside from journalistic 
 work. I had not been back in my native land more 
 than a few months when a financial catastrophe came, 
 which I knew no amount of free-lance work could 
 tide me over. I looked from my high window one 
 morning at the spires and the sky-scrapers of great 
 New York with eyes full of terror and a heart full of 
 despair. So great and urgent was my need of money 
 that the days of hard-up-ed-ness that I had known in 
 London counted as nothing in their insignificance. 
 There was, to be sure, some money waiting for me at 
 various offices, in little envelopes, but when I had 
 spent a morning in collecting it, that was but a drop 
 in the bucket of my needs. 
 
 " I can't be a free-lance any longer ! " I said to rny-
 
 1 96 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 self. " I must get a place as a ' regular,' so that I can 
 count on a certain amount of money every week. 
 Nothing else can save me ! " 
 
 I called on the editor of one of New York's high- 
 class newspapers. He had taken work from me and 
 called it " good stuff." 
 
 " Give me a position on your paper at a regular 
 weekly salary ! " I said to him. 
 
 " Ridiculous ! Ridiculous ! " he exclaimed. " Re- 
 main a free-lance and you'll make a great deal more 
 than you would get on salary." 
 
 "But I want something regular something sure 
 to come every Saturday." 
 
 " You say you want a salary. How big a one ? " 
 
 " I must have at least forty dollars a xveek," I 
 replied. 
 
 " I don't say you're not worth it, but I do say I 
 couldn't engage you at half that amount. I couldn't 
 even take you on space, though you know I'm always 
 glad of special articles from you. Must you have the 
 forty, sure, every week ? " 
 
 " I must have that positively, and as much more as 
 I can make. I've got obligations to meet which 
 demand it. If I don't get a regular salary I shall go 
 under." 
 
 He looked at me in a half surprise that was wholly 
 kind, and, going over to the window, said 
 
 " See here ! I'll show you the way," and, pointing 
 to some buildings in the distance, went on 
 
 " There, in one of those buildings you will find a 
 salary, bigger than forty, waiting for you. I happen 
 to know that you have but to ask, or rather, to hint 
 that you are open to engagement, and your difficulties 
 will be over."
 
 HOME AGAIN 197 
 
 I looked, and the sunlight, sparkling on a dome of 
 gold, almost blinded my eyes. 
 
 " You mean," I said in amazement, " that I must 
 become a ' yellow journalist' ? " 
 
 " Yes," he returned. " Why not ? " 
 
 " Oh, I couldn't ! You don't know how hard I've 
 worked over in London to get up the few rungs of the 
 ladder I've already climbed. Why, I write for the 
 best magazines and reviews ! I look forward to a 
 career in the literary world ; even to the time when I 
 may be able to stop writing ' pot-boilers/ I've heard 
 of this terrible ' yellow journalism ' of my own country, 
 and have been ashamed. I could not be associated, 
 even anonymously, with a ' yellow journal.' It would 
 ruin my whole future career." 
 
 " No, you couldn't anonymously. Of that I can 
 assure you. They'll want your name. But let me 
 tell you that your attitude is not that of a sensible, or 
 even an honest woman. I gather that if you don't 
 get this money you need, others will suffer as well as 
 yourself. I have told you the way to get it, and you 
 will not take that way. Therefore, I say, you are not 
 acting the part of an honest woman." 
 
 " Yes, you have shown me a way, but it is the way 
 of death death to all my ambitions ! " 
 
 " No ! It is the Way of Life ! Listen ! I have no 
 liking for sensational journalism. I'm sorry we have 
 so much of it in this country. I wish great million- 
 aires would use their money to start high-class maga- 
 zines, academies of literature and art, and things of 
 that sort; but I can't govern the millionaires, and 
 neither can you. 
 
 " In starting these ' yellow journals,' however, they 
 haven't done all evil. For one thing they have
 
 198 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 raised the price of all newspaper work, not only in 
 New York, but in other large cities of America, and 
 I'm not sure they haven't had an effect upon the 
 prices paid in England and on the Continent. By 
 paying high fees and large salaries to their people, 
 the ' yellow journals ' have forced the other papers to 
 increase their rates, or lose all their best men and 
 women. That's one good thing they've done, and, as 
 a newspaper man, I thank them for it. 
 
 " Why, what sort of writers do you think are work- 
 ing over yonder? They are writers of the highest 
 talents. Some of the most brilliant, most honest, 
 most pure and upright women I have ever known 
 have been employed on the ' yellow journals.' Some 
 of them left papers like this to join the 'yellow' 
 ranks. They were like you. They needed more 
 money than we could afford to pay them, but unlike 
 you they went and did their duty, without so much 
 as a whimper. Some of them can write things 
 worthy to be handed down to the coming genera- 
 tions, prose that should be bound in fine leather and 
 kept among the standard works. They have brilliancy 
 and wit and humour. But they've got to have money 
 just now. I expect they've got obligations to meet, 
 and they're honest women." 
 
 It does an American woman good sometimes to 
 be talked to by one of her own countrymen, " right 
 out," as they say, " straight from the shoulder." No 
 English editor, though he were a friend of many 
 years' standing, would have talked in that manner 
 to me or any other woman towards whom he had no 
 special responsibility. This man was only a business 
 acquaintance, an editor who had published some of 
 my work, but there was that honest, blunt, brotherli-
 
 HOME AGAIN 199 
 
 ness in him, so common among American men, that 
 made him, seeing one of his own countrywomen 
 starting in the wrong way to right things, immediately 
 become the comrade, the " good fellow " to put her 
 on the right track. I have a fancy that in the eternal 
 scheme of things that was perhaps what American 
 men were made for in the very beginning to be 
 brothers to all women. 
 
 " I will go ! " I said. 
 
 " That's right ! " he exclaimed heartily. " My sister, 
 these are the things you must do to be saved. That 
 way lies your salvation salvation from pride and 
 self-sufficiency and narrowness, salvation from a 
 stunted heart and a stunted intellect. As I have told 
 you, it is for you the Way of Life." 
 
 So it was that 1 entered into the Kingdom of the 
 Yellow.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 SOME QUESTIONS OF JOURNALISTIC 
 ETHICS 
 
 I STARTED my career as "yellow journalist " on 
 a salary of fifty dollars per week, and some months 
 afterwards, changing from one paper to another, I 
 took a position on what is known as the " guarantee- 
 space " system, by which means a member of the staff 
 is guaranteed a stipulated sum of money every week, 
 and as much over that amount as he or she can make 
 by writing at ordinary or special space rates. This 
 latter is probably the most profitable way of working 
 on the staff of a newspaper, for though one's income 
 may, indeed must, fluctuate, it fluctuates never below 
 the guaranteed amount, which in my case was in 
 itself a liberal salary, and during weeks when news 
 and happenings are plentiful and one's wits are at 
 their best, it is by no means an uncommon thing for 
 a smart " guarantee-space " staff writer to make be- 
 tween one hundred and a hundred and fifty dollars 
 per week. 
 
 Out ;of my income I laid aside fifteen dollars 
 each week for living expenses. By practising strict 
 economy I made that sum suffice for all my personal 
 needs, and the rest of my income went into the bank, 
 and so, week by week, as I worked and saved, I saw 
 my financial troubles gradually disappearing.
 
 JOURNALISTIC ETHICS 201 
 
 There are, I know, both in England and America, 
 many working women who would laugh at the idea 
 of one having to practise very great economy in 
 order to live comfortably on fifteen dollars a week, 
 but these women to whom fifteen dollars a week 
 would seem a fortune know nothing of the life which 
 the average New York woman journalist, engaged 
 on the staff of a paper, must lead, and of the con- 
 stant calls upon her purse. What are known as 
 " expenses " are, of course, always paid by the paper, 
 but there are many necessary outlays which the 
 management of the paper would not pay, and could 
 not be expected to pay, that the woman journalist 
 must continually take into account, if she aspires to 
 success and promotion, or even to retaining the 
 position she has. 
 
 Now, the most important and necessary expendi- 
 ture of the ambitious woman journalist is for clothes. 
 One of the great requisites of the newspaper woman 
 is that she shall dress well. When I say " well," I do 
 not mean mere neatness of dress. The newspaper 
 woman, if she would be successful, needs not only 
 to be neat. She must be stylish and smart. It is 
 also as necessary for her to understand " dressing her 
 part" as it is for the actress on the stage. And the 
 woman who can do this, besides paying her board 
 and other expenses, on fifteen dollars a week, must 
 be possessed of no little ingenuity and cleverness, 
 besides practising economy in such ways as many 
 another woman, or man either for that matter, with 
 a much smaller amount per week, would never 
 dream of. 
 
 On the staff of a great American daily there are 
 numerous " plums " to be plucked, prizes to be won,
 
 202 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 by the women workers ; and all other things being 
 equal indeed all other things, such as intellectual 
 brilliancy, etc., being very unequal at times many 
 of these plums and prizes fall to the lot of those 
 women who best know how to "dress their parts." 
 Now, the editor who thus distributes the great prizes 
 shows neither injustice nor partiality in doing so. 
 He shows only that he understands good business 
 methods. The woman who is dressed smartly and, 
 of course, in good taste, can gain admittance, get a 
 hearing, and obtain an interview where her intellectual 
 superior, dressed only "neatly," and looking sternly 
 prim, will fail. The woman who continually fails to 
 get what she is sent for will, if she is on salary, either 
 lose her position or never get her salary raised, and if 
 she is " on space " will soon find the editors with " no 
 work on hand to-day sorry hope something will 
 turn up to-morrow " attitudes. Therefore, it is good 
 business for the newspaper woman to establish the 
 reputation of being a "good dresser." 
 
 I had not been long engaged in American jour- 
 nalism when I heard two of the leading members of 
 the staff discussing the probabilities of obtaining an 
 interview with a very great and eminent personage, 
 and a man very difficult of access to the newspapers. 
 
 "Better send Miss ," said one of the men. 
 
 " She's got the style of writing that'll do him up to 
 perfection ! " 
 
 " Great heavens ! what are you thinking of ? " re- 
 turned the other. " She's absolutely useless in an 
 emergency like this. She's such a dowdy in dress 
 that she couldn't get beyond the office boy. No ; 
 the only woman who can haul this thing off is 
 Miss X. She'll get through the three outer offices
 
 JOURNALISTIC ETHICS 203 
 
 of clerks straight into the holy of holies, and 
 into the presence of the old man himself, just on 
 her appearance. I'd like to see one of the clerks 
 try to turn her down ! She's got a new Knox and 
 a tailor-made on this morning that'll beat the whole 
 ' four hundred ' when it comes to dressing. I'm going 
 to send her." 
 
 Miss X. went to the personage, and, in newspaper 
 parlance, "brought off" the interview. In discussing 
 the affair afterwards with some of her women friends, 
 she said, " Girls, I couldn't have done it if it hadn't 
 been for the clothes. I had that confidence in myself 
 that only comes when I know I've got a stunning 
 costume on. I carried my alligator card-case and 
 my ivory-handled umbrella, and with them I waved 
 aside the office boys and the clerks, and got to the 
 door of the great man's office. I tell you what, if 
 clothes don't make the interviewer, they give her a 
 vast amount of confidence. Now, my rig-out, silk 
 foundations and all, cost me sixty dollars, and I was 
 paid one hundred for bringing off this interview. I 
 therefore say I have made forty dollars to-day, and 
 it's not a bad taking-in ! " 
 
 Miss X. was a " space-writer." She lived in a little 
 flat with her mother, who was slowly dying of an 
 incurable disease. The forty dollars she made that 
 day went to a physician, who was trying, not to save 
 the mother's life since that was impossible but 
 only to lessen for the coming weeks the pain of 
 dying. 
 
 It was very early in my career as "yellow 
 journalist" that I learned how truly my editorial 
 friend had spoken when he told me that the path 
 which I chose, though perforce and so protestingly,
 
 204 A -NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 would prove to be to me " the Way of Life," and that 
 there I should find salvation from faults and failings 
 and much short-sightedness, which, if unarrested, 
 would be but stumbling-blocks to progress. Not for 
 all women could the career I then entered upon have 
 become a means of grace, nor did I find it a school 
 which I could indiscriminately recommend all aspiring 
 young women journalists to attend. Better far it 
 would be for some young women to struggle always, 
 never succeeding, to suffer cold and hunger, and in 
 the end to die, failures, than to become part and 
 parcel of American sensational journalism. All 
 women must go to school, it is true, but the same 
 school is not good for all women. There are varieties 
 of schools as there are varieties of women, and the 
 teachers from whom one woman learns what will 
 save her soul may be the means only of showing 
 another how to damn hers. 
 
 For myself I can thank the fate that sent me back 
 to my native land after my four years' residence in 
 England, and made it absolutely necessary for me to 
 become a " yellow journalist." But I also thank the 
 fate that endowed me with a certain kind of reasoning 
 power that helped me to distinguish between what I 
 could and could not do as a "yellow journalist," and 
 still retain my womanhood and self-respect, and I can 
 especially thank the fate that endowed me at my 
 birth with a particularly prominent self-assertive and 
 combative disposition that enabled me always to 
 recognise my rights, and then to fight, to the death if 
 necessary, to maintain them. These things, combined 
 with the very important fact that I had made for 
 myself something of a name in England, and had 
 returned to my own country as a " heroine," made my
 
 JOURNALISTIC ETHICS 205 
 
 position a far more independent and endurable one 
 than it could possibly have been under other 
 circumstances. 
 
 The very first thing I was asked to do in the line of 
 " yellow " work was to walk along Broadway at 
 midnight and "allow" myself to be arrested and 
 sent to the lock-up as a disreputable character all 
 this in order to bring about a reform in certain laws 
 that were obnoxious to many New Yorkers, and to 
 prove, without a doubt, that a respectable woman 
 walking quietly to her home late at night, was liable 
 to be pounced upon and arrested. 
 
 " I can't do that sort of work," I said to the editor 
 who had suggested this brilliant " scoop." 
 
 " You can't do it ? " he exclaimed in surprise. " It s 
 something that ought to be done, and you're the 
 woman to do it. You've got a name and a reputation, 
 and your name to an article exposing this great 
 wrong would lend prestige." 
 
 " I'm afraid I think rather too much of my name to 
 make use of it for that purpose," I returned. "If my 
 name would lend prestige to your scheme, I'm sure 
 the scheme wouldn't lend prestige to my name. Now, 
 what other work have you got on hand which you 
 would like me to do ? " 
 
 " Other work ? You mean to say that you refuse?" 
 
 " Certainly. It is indecent, and I refuse to do 
 anything that I consider indecent." 
 
 "Well!" exclaimed the editor, tilting back his chair 
 and eyeing me with great curiosity. " We took you on 
 this paper to help us make things hum ! I under- 
 stood you made things hum over in England." 
 
 I laughed. " Perhaps it doesn't need such an im- 
 petus to make things hum in London as it does in
 
 206 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 New York. At any rate, I never did any work there 
 of which I need be ashamed. I'm ready to do any 
 work for you that an editor has a right to ask of 
 a woman, and I don't mind if it is very hard, and 
 even unpleasant, Now, what is there for me to start 
 on to-day, or do you want me to think up a subject ? " 
 
 "Why, you're a puzzle. I'd like to know what 
 kind of work you are willing to do. I don't exactly 
 know where to place you." 
 
 " I'll tell you, then," I answered. " I'll do any work 
 on this paper that you would be willing to ask your 
 sister to do if she were employed on it." 
 
 "What!" he exclaimed, turning round with an 
 amused look of astonishment on his face. 
 
 "Yes, that's the only kind of work I'm willing to 
 do," I said, laughing, for I was not to be outdone by 
 him in good nature. " You're an American man and 
 I'm an American woman, though we are both 
 'yellow journalists.' I demand from you the re- 
 spectful chivalry that every American man is bound 
 to show his countrywomen. The fact that you are 
 my editor, and I your subordinate in a business 
 sense, makes no difference. I am not sure, though, 
 but I must modify what I said about the sister. If 
 your sister were employed here you would try not 
 to send her out on assignments that would be apt to 
 endanger her health and break her up physically. 
 You needn't think about that in my case. I'll take 
 whatever risks are necessary in that respect, but I 
 look to you to see that I am not asked to do any 
 work that's immoral, or what is worse than immoral 
 disgusting." 
 
 " Well, speaking for myself, I won't ask you to do 
 any work that you can object to hereafter, but of
 
 JOURNALISTIC ETHICS 207 
 
 course you know there are other editors on the paper 
 who will suggest subjects to you." 
 
 * I'll refuse them the way I have refused you," I 
 answered, and I went back to my own desk. 
 
 For the next few days I was kept rather busy re- 
 fusing, until the nickname of "the great objector** 
 was given to me in a good-natured sort of banter by 
 the editors and reporters. 
 
 Finally, one afternoon I was sent for by one of the 
 leading editors, who said 
 
 " I'm going to give you a very important commis- 
 sion. You are to take charge of the Holland boat." 
 
 It was just before the beginning of the war with 
 Spain, and all New York, indeed all America, was 
 greatly interested in the little submarine to which the 
 inventor had given his name. 
 
 " How take charge ? " I asked. 
 
 "You know where it's stationed?" inquired the 
 editor. 
 
 " Yes," I returned, naming the little village a few 
 miles outside of New York which Mr. Holland had 
 chosen as the place from which to make his experi- 
 mental trips. 
 
 " I want you to go there every day, or a dozen 
 times a day, and discover exactly when the first trip 
 is to be made, for Holland has been very close- 
 mouthed on the subject. Then make your arrange- 
 ments to be inside that boat the first time she goes 
 under the water." 
 
 " You mean, to sneak in ? " I asked. " I don't be- 
 lieve it's possible to get in there as a stowaway. 
 There's nothing but a little funnel that you've got to 
 climb down to get into the boat." 
 
 " Of course you'll have to get Holland's consent,
 
 208 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 for there's no other way, but you must get it. He is 
 not much of a talker about his intentions, and the 
 men we've sent to him can't get anything out of him ; 
 but you understand, you are not only to find out 
 when that boat's going under water, but you're to go 
 under with it" 
 
 " Very well," I answered, and then I noted that he 
 was looking at me curiously. 
 
 " You know you're rather a hard one to find assign- 
 ments for, with your English notions of what's correct 
 and lady-like in journalism," he said meditatively. 
 
 "I've only demanded decent work that a decent 
 woman might do," I answered. 
 
 " That's what I thought," he said musingly, " that 
 you'd rather do the dangerous than the well, we'll 
 say, unlady-like work. Still, I don't say this is 
 dangerous." 
 
 I looked quickly at his face, and saw there an ex- 
 pression that startled me, and I knew at once that 
 this commission was, if not a dangerous, at least a 
 very risky one. But I pretended not to have noticed 
 either his words or his face, for I determined very sud- 
 denly what course I should pursue, and I only an- 
 swered quietly 
 
 " I'll go and see Mr. Holland." 
 
 That was the only time that I ever started out on 
 a mission with the full determination to make a 
 failure of it I had been asked by my editor to climb 
 down a funnel into a boat not much larger than a big 
 fish, that was going out experimenting. If it did 
 what its inventor intended it to do it would rush 
 through the water and come up in good time on the 
 surface. Otherwise it would not come to the surface 
 at all, but go down to the bottom. If I were in it, I
 
 JOURNALISTIC ETHICS 209 
 
 too would go to the bottom. I valued my life, not so 
 much for my own sake, as for the sake of others, and 
 I argued it out with my conscience that I was not, 
 according to the eternal fitness of things, justly 
 called upon to run the risk of losing it or even of in- 
 capacitating myself for future work, merely for the 
 sake of trying to get an article on " How it felt to go 
 down in a Sub-Marine Boat." 
 
 I had become rather tired of refusing to do so 
 many things that I had been asked to do since I had 
 taken my position on the paper, and I decided it was 
 not worth while again to refuse. Rather, I deter- 
 mined, Mr. Holland must refuse to let me go in the 
 boat ! 
 
 Had the occasion been an ordinary one, I would 
 have gone off on my commission wearing the cloth 
 skirt, striped shirt-waist, Eton jacket and sailor hat I 
 was wearing at the time I was called to the editor's 
 room. It was the proper costume for a working 
 journalist under ordinary conditions, knocking about 
 among docks and boats, getting news for her paper. 
 It also, so I fancied, helped to give me a strong, 
 healthy, athletic, don't-care-what-happens-to-me look. 
 That was the reason I would not wear it, for I did 
 not want to impress Mr. Holland as a journalist 
 worth my salt. 
 
 I went to my room and put on a light dress, with 
 ruffles and ribbons, all white, at the neck. I donned 
 a hat with a particular shade of green facing that gave 
 my already pale face an unhealthy, ghastly hue, and 
 then I looked in the glass and smiled at my frail, 
 delicate, feminine appearance. 
 
 " If Mr. John Holland will allow a poor little thing 
 like me to risk her life in his submarine boat, why, 
 p
 
 210 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 then he's a brute, that's all ! " I said to myself. I had 
 "dressed my part" that of the small, delicate, 
 nervous, half-frightened woman that I wished to 
 appear, and, as I am not, I believe, without a saving 
 sense of humour, I could not help laughing over the 
 ludicrous aspect of my position when, an hour later, I 
 had seated myself on a plank near the tiny iron boat, 
 waiting for Mr. Holland to come and make one of his 
 daily visits of inspection. 
 
 "What!" exclaimed Mr. Holland when, having 
 arrived and listened to my explanation of what I had 
 been sent down to do, he looked me over with 
 astonishment. " You go down in my boat ! Climb 
 down a funnel ! It's ridiculous ! " 
 
 " But my paper says I must." 
 
 " It's useless to talk about it. I wouldn't allow 
 the risk." 
 
 " Is there a risk? Is it dangerous?" I asked, turn- 
 ing a frightened-looking face upon him. 
 
 " For me, no ! For you, yes ! " 
 
 "Are you afraid the boat will never come up 
 again ? " I asked. 
 
 " No. I know it will come up again. I'm the 
 inventor. I love it. I know all about it. I am 
 going down in it without fear, because I understand. 
 You would have fear because you do not understand. 
 You'd not die of the going down, but you would die 
 of the fear! You would be actually and literally 
 frightened to death ! " 
 
 Mr. Holland ceased speaking and looked at me 
 curiously. " You are not the sort of newspaper 
 reporter I would expect to come and ask for such 
 an experience, anyway. Even the most strong- 
 minded and healthy woman journalist in the world
 
 JOURNALISTIC ETHICS 211 
 
 would get my refusal for many reasons, but it cer- 
 tainly would be criminal to allow anyone like you to 
 try the experiment." 
 
 A horrible thought crossed my mind. Suppose he 
 were only refusing me on the ground of my apparent 
 unfitness for the task, and suppose another woman 
 journalist, of the big, fearless, athletic kind, should 
 demand to go down and be permitted to do so ? 
 
 " Mr. Holland," I said, " since you will not allow 
 me to go in your boat, will you promise that you will 
 not allow any other reporter, man or woman, to take 
 that trial trip ? It would be a serious thing for me if 
 any other reporter should be allowed to do this for 
 another paper, when I have failed." 
 
 "Yes, I'll promise you that, upon my honour. 1 
 wouldn't let any reporter take the trial trip, anyway. 
 Be assured you won't be beaten by anybody else." 
 
 " I'm much obliged to you. I shall tell my editor 
 that you absolutely and finally refuse, and insist that 
 the matter be dropped." 
 
 " That's it, and if he wants me to put it stronger, 
 I can do it." 
 
 I went away with a sense of relief. 
 
 "You'll have to give up that scheme about the 
 Holland," I said to the editor when I had returned 
 to the office, after again donning my working 
 costume. 
 
 " You don't mean to say you've failed ! You'd 
 better try it again to-morrow. It isn't likely he'll 
 make his trip for several days." 
 
 " It is useless to approach him again on the subject. 
 He was very indignant and said he wouldn't allow 
 any reporter, man or woman, inside the boat I got 
 him to promise that, of course, when he so positively
 
 212 A -NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 refused me, for I didn't 'want any other woman to get 
 for another paper what I couldn't get for mine." 
 
 " That settles it, then." He bent over some copy 
 paper and looked up again. "You had grit to try, 
 anyway. Were you shaky at the idea ? " 
 
 " I, shaky ? " My cheeks burnt angrily, as I faced 
 him, and then I was sorry, for he again bent over 
 his copy paper, and as I went out of the door I 
 thought I heard him mutter 
 
 "Thank God!"
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 "... AND HAVE NOT CHARITY" 
 
 THE days and the weeks and the months passed 
 on, and, first on one paper, then on another, 
 I gradually made a particular and individual place 
 for myself in New York journalism. That place was, 
 I think I may say, a somewhat important one, for 
 when it finally became understood what work I would 
 and what work I would not undertake to do in the 
 interest of the paper, the kind of work that I had 
 neither the cause nor the right to refuse, seemed to 
 rise like a mountain before me, a mountain over the 
 summit of which I must climb, though the climbing 
 were laborious, unpleasant, and painful. 
 
 More especially my duties took me among the 
 lower class of working girls on the East Side of New 
 York. I worked among the Polish and Russian Jews 
 in the sweat-shops, writing up the lives they led and 
 the life I led among them. I picked over refuse with 
 the rag-pickers, made artificial flowers for the adorn- 
 ment of the hats of the working girls. I worked as 
 a dressmaker's apprentice, applied myself to the 
 tailoring business. I visited those public schools 
 where the poorer children predominated, and made 
 house-to-house visitations among New York's most 
 squalid and lawless inhabitants. For some time I hired 
 213
 
 2i 4 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 a room in one of the poorer districts, and, furnishing 
 it up cheaply, started out to live on three dollars per 
 week, telling each day in the paper just what I had 
 to eat, and describing all my comforts and discom- 
 forts. There were times, too, when I was obliged to 
 visit the Morgue, looking at the bodies of the un- 
 fortunate unknowns and listening to the stories of the 
 finding of their bodies, told by the keepers. Among 
 the hospitals, too, I went, and sometimes to the jails. 
 A great deal of my work was very horrible, very 
 loathsome to me. I was obliged to run risks and 
 encounter dangers which, even now that they are 
 long past, make me shudder and wonder how I got 
 through them. I had always to carry with me spirits 
 of camphor and smelling-salts, for I was continually 
 feeling ill and faint from the foul odours that assailed 
 me, and there were times when my heart almost 
 stopped beating from fear. I remember that this was 
 especially the case one night when, in order to write 
 up what the cheap women's lodging-houses of the 
 city were like, I slept in one where I gained admission 
 for the price of fifteen cents. The sleeping-room was 
 a sort of dormitory where some thirty or forty women 
 slept, each having a cot of her own. I awoke in the 
 night and saw a woman sitting on the edge of her 
 bed, not far from mine. She was looking at me in a 
 strangely-staring way, and my first thought was that 
 she was a mad woman who was going to kill me. Of 
 course she was not mad. She was only sitting up 
 and thinking of her troubles, poor thing ! But that 
 made no difference so far as my state of mind was 
 concerned. I worked myself into a frenzy of fear, 
 and early the next morning I left the place, to write 
 up my experience a day or two later.
 
 "... HAVE NOT CHARITY" 215 
 
 " The Way of Life " ! Truly I now began to walk 
 in that way. Truly I began to grow. As the days 
 and the weeks went on I could even feel myself 
 growing, growing in grace, growing in charity, putting 
 aside such narrow creeds and prejudices as had been 
 a part of my up-bringing, and were, perhaps, in their 
 place and time, good and wholesome for the girl, but 
 cramping, distorting, warping to the woman. Life ! 
 Life ! Seething life was all about me ! The life of a 
 great city its riches, its poverty, its sins, its virtues, 
 its sorrows, its joyousness there it was, and I was in 
 it. This life was no longer like a panorama spread 
 out for me to look at simply, to smile or weep over, 
 and then to turn away my eyes from beholding it. 
 I entered it, and, while I studied, became a part of it, 
 learning how akin was all humanity, and how large 
 a place had environment and circumstance in the 
 making of character and the moulding of destiny. 
 
 One day I talked with a murderess. The woman 
 had killed a man. At first I felt I could not go to 
 her, see her, speak to her. There was blood upon 
 her hands, and to me there was something terrible in 
 the thought of the shedding of blood. I had then, 
 and have now, so great a horror of inflicting physical 
 pain upon any creature, that the thought of coming 
 into contact with a woman who had sent a soul into 
 the Unknown, was somewhat akin to the horrof I 
 would have at allowing my hand to touch tkat of 
 a vivisector, and that horror is one I have never 
 attempted nor desired to control. I was going to see 
 a woman who had killed ! I who stooped and picked 
 up worms from my path and put them in secluded 
 places that they might not be trod upon ; I who daily 
 carried wounded kittens and lame dogs to the Society
 
 216 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, to have 
 them healed or painlessly put to sleep ; I who would 
 not go fishing ; I who would not cage a bird ; I to go 
 and talk with a murderess ! 
 
 Yet I went. I looked into her face, I took her 
 hand the right hand that had killed. I talked with 
 her, and while we talked my tears fell upon that right 
 hand of hers, as I said 
 
 " You are not a bad woman. Oh, how could you 
 kill ? How could you kill ? " 
 
 "No," she said, "I am not a bad woman. If 
 anybody had told me a year ago that I would do 
 murder I would have laughed. Believe me, none of 
 us can know what we can or will do until the 
 temptation comes. Why," she exclaimed, looking 
 into my face scrutinisingly, "even you might kill, 
 under provocation." 
 
 " I ! " 
 
 Her eyes met mine as I made the exclamation, 
 and then I went away and wrote never a word 
 concerning my visit to the woman. I had not been 
 sent by an editor. I had gone of my own accord, or, 
 rather, of my own impelling. 
 
 There was a time in after years when suddenly 
 those terrible, warning words of the woman came back 
 to me, when they rang in my ears, and in their 
 ringing made me humble, teaching me anew the 
 lesson of charity.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 IN THE NAME OF CHRIST" 
 
 ONE day, during my career as a New York 
 journalist, I made the acquaintance of a young 
 Englishwoman who had brought to me from London 
 a letter of introduction from a mutual friend. " I want 
 you to know and take an interest in my good friend," 
 the letter ran. " She is an English gentlewoman, the 
 
 daughter of . She is not happy in England, and 
 
 for personal reasons she desires to make her home in 
 your country, and it will be necessary for her to earn 
 a livelihood there. She is very intellectual, very 
 bright and clever. When I tell you that she has won 
 my friendship, you will understand that she is worthy 
 of yours." 
 
 How delightfully English, pretty, stately, yet gentle, 
 was the bearer of this note ! She came into my office 
 one afternoon when I was quite alone, and sitting at 
 my desk preparing a synopsis for a new series I 
 wished to begin. The girl was perhaps twenty-four 
 or twenty-five, with wonderful eyes, and that beautiful 
 English complexion one so often hears about but so 
 seldom sees. She was smartly dressed, but with that 
 unmistakable air of gentility that one learns to know 
 when one has lived some time in London. I knew 
 she was English and belonged to the ranks of gentle- 
 217
 
 2i8 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 women when I saw her standing in the office door, 
 and before I heard her speak in her low, musical 
 voice. We shook hands and became friends, and 
 during the week that followed we lunched together 
 at the restaurants in the neighbourhood of Newspaper 
 Row ; we went to a matinee ; she accompanied me 
 on some of my journalistic jaunts, and several times 
 stopped for me at the office when I was kept there 
 late. 
 
 For a time she said nothing in relation to the 
 subject of gaining a livelihood, and I, thinking she 
 would speak in her own good time, waited for her to 
 approach the subject. 
 
 " I've had a rest now," she said laughingly one day, 
 when she had been in New York about two weeks, 
 
 " and now comes work. Did not Mrs. tell you 
 
 in her letter that I was poor, and must go to work to 
 earn my daily bread in a new country ? " 
 
 "Yes," I answered, "she said something like that. 
 Now let us go into the subject. What are your 
 assets? I mean, what can you do?" 
 
 " I've got some talent for writing, and I had thought 
 of journalism," she answered. " I have been watching 
 you at your work, and wondering whether I could not 
 go into it. Can you not help me on this paper ?" 
 
 " You think you would like to be a journalist, and 
 on this paper?" I asked, looking at her in bewilder- 
 ment 
 
 " No ! I expect I should hate it, but I must try 
 something." 
 
 "If there's anything else, you mustn't try it," I 
 said. " I cannot conceive of you as being able to 
 make headway against the fearful odds. I can't 
 explain myself perhaps clearly, but somehow I feel
 
 "IN THE NAME OF CHRIST" 219 
 
 I ought to warn you not to attempt it. Don't think 
 it is for any personal, selfish reasons. I am going 
 back to London soon, and you would have a clear 
 field, so far as I am concerned, but sensational jour- 
 nalism is no calling for you. It has been proving a 
 good thing for me. I needed it ; you don't need it, 
 or, rather, you can't stand it. Now journalism, or let 
 me say writing for the newspapers of a different kind 
 from this, is something of another nature. But with 
 the newspapers at present there's no chance for you 
 to make even the smallest kind of salary, because you 
 have no reputation, no experience, and are English, 
 which will be not at all in your favour as a beginner. 
 The only way to get a start in writing for the papers 
 is first to have a position of some other sort, by which 
 you are assured of a salary to live on. Then, as I 
 know you are brilliant and have a clever pen, you 
 could write for the American papers from the point 
 of view of an English girl, and after a while you 
 would get your start." 
 
 "Yes, of course that is the ideal way, but what 
 could I do to get the sure salary ? You know what 
 my education has been how I play the piano, speak 
 French and Italian, and have the usual accomplish- 
 ments of the Englishwoman of my class." 
 
 " I have it ! " I cried. " Though English journal- 
 istic beginners are not at a premium in New York, 
 English governesses are all the rage. The fashion- 
 able New York mothers like to have their daughters 
 under the care of English gentlewomen. They pay 
 them good salaries and treat them as members of the 
 family, treat them even deferentially. Why, I believe 
 I know of a place for you to step right into. A 
 prominent Churchwoman, interested in charities and
 
 220 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 all that sort of thing, you know, was telling me that 
 she intended to go to England this summer to find a 
 suitable governess for her two daughters. They are 
 fifteen and seventeen. She knew I'd lived in Eng- 
 land, and she asked my advice as to how to proceed 
 to get what she wanted. I'll recommend you. She'll 
 pay sixty dollars a month and board at the family 
 table, where I understand they haven't as gentle 
 manners as they might have, but perhaps you can 
 teach them something in that line too." 
 
 The girl's face was radiant. " Oh, if you could get 
 it for me ! " she said. "It is very necessary that I 
 earn something very, very soon. It is not so hard 
 for me, but, you see, I have a child " 
 
 " I did not know you had been married," I said. 
 
 " I have not been married, but I have a child ! " 
 
 The girl looked at me steadily, defiance in her eyes 
 and in her voice. Then she added, half bitterly, 
 " This will make a difference, will it not ? " 
 
 " Yes," I replied, turning to my pen and paper, " it 
 will make a difference, because if you have a child to 
 support it is all the more necessary you should have 
 this place." 
 
 " What ! " she exclaimed. The bitterness gave way 
 to a pleased surprise ; her eyes filled with tears, and 
 her hands trembled. Then I turned to my desk, and 
 wrote : 
 
 " MADAM, A little over two weeks ago you told 
 me of your intention of taking an English governess 
 for your daughters, and asked if I could give you 
 any advice or assistance in the matter. I now find 
 
 I am able to do that My friend, Miss , lately 
 
 arrived in New York, is desirous of securing a posi- 
 tion as governess in an American family. She is
 
 "IN THE NAME OF CHRIST" 221 
 
 highly educated and accomplished, and, besides 
 being fitted in every way to act as teacher to your 
 daughters, she is, because of her birth, breeding, and 
 manner, suitable to act in the capacity of companion 
 to them. Her father and mother, both dead, were 
 English gentlepeople, and when I say to you that 
 she herself is a thorough typical English gentle- 
 woman, I feel that I can say nothing higher in her 
 praise. I am mailing this letter to you this evening 
 to say that my friend will call upon you to-morrow 
 morning at eleven o'clock." 
 
 This letter and the visit of the English girl on the 
 following morning resulted in her engagement as 
 governess to the daughters of the New York woman, 
 whom, for convenience-sake, I will designate as 
 Mrs. Smith-Jones. The place she had obtained was 
 an easy and, in the main, a pleasant one, including 
 among its many enjoyments the Wednesday and 
 Saturday matinees every week, in company with 
 her charges, who were bright, good-hearted, though 
 slightly vulgar, young American girls, whose manners 
 began gradually to improve under the example of the 
 Englishwoman's always perfect address and deport- 
 ment. We saw one another frequently. She began 
 to write delightful little stones of English life, which 
 she submitted to me for criticism and advice as to 
 the best methods of trying to dispose of them. I 
 knew most of the American newspapers and periodi- 
 cals, and so was able to put her in the way of those 
 for which her contributions seemed most suitable. 
 
 There came a time when she told me her story, 
 the sad, commonplace story of innocence betrayed, 
 different only from those stories which are more fre- 
 quently made public by the fact that she, instead of
 
 222 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 being a peasant girl, 'or one of lowly origin, was a 
 girl of gentle birth, who loved not wisely. 
 
 Once, during the first month of the girl's engage- 
 ment, I had a letter from Mrs. Smith-Jones, thanking 
 me most enthusiastically for having sent my friend to 
 her, and describing her success, not only as governess 
 to her daughters, but in a social way. " She helps me 
 so much in entertaining my guests," wrote Mrs. Smith- 
 Jones, " and she is quite the rage with her beautiful 
 English ways. She seems a little sad sometimes, but 
 that, I think, will wear off as she becomes accustomed 
 to America and American ways." 
 
 Mrs. Smith-Jones was one of our enthusiastic 
 women philanthropists. She was interested in many 
 charities, and, being prosperous in this world's goods, 
 was able, as she once informed me, to give a tenth of 
 her income as " tithes to the Lord." She subscribed 
 liberally to newsboys' and boot-blacks' funds, gave of 
 her money to the hospitals and the various homes for 
 the poor and the aged, and was particularly interested 
 in what she denominated " rescue work " among New 
 York's unfortunate women. She paid a large sub- 
 scription every year to several institutions founded 
 for the object of helping the class known as " fallen 
 women." Mrs. Smith-Jones used often to tell me 
 about the institutions in which she was interested, in 
 order that I might give them "write-ups." Besides 
 all this, Mrs. Smith-Jones was a member of a 
 fashionable church. For her life and for all her 
 actions, so she once told me, she had a motto. It 
 was this : " In the Name of Christ." Such was the 
 woman with whom I sent my friend to reside as 
 governess. 
 
 One afternoon I looked up from the "special
 
 "IN THE NAME OF CHRIST" 223 
 
 feature " article I was writing upon my typewriter to 
 see Mrs. Smith-Jones entering my office door. One 
 glance at her face almost took my breath away red, 
 distorted, fiendish ; her hand trembled as she held it 
 out to me, not for a friendly greeting, as had hitherto 
 been her custom, but menacingly, threateningly. 
 
 " Did you know ? Did you know ? I say, did 
 you know?" she almost shrieked, as she came to- 
 wards me. 
 
 " Did I know what ? " I asked in astonishment. 
 
 " Did you know that you sent to me a disreputable 
 character, a woman of loose morals, to live in my 
 house, to teach my daughters, to associate with them, 
 to contaminate them ? " 
 
 I sprang from my desk and confronted her. 
 
 " How dare you speak to me like that ? " I cried. 
 " The woman I sent to your house was my friend, 
 and I do not make my friends among disreputable 
 characters." 
 
 " Oh, I don't believe you ! " screamed Mrs. Smith- 
 Jones. " You must have known it. Do you mean to 
 say you didn't know why she left England, that you 
 didn't know she had a child ? " 
 
 " Yes, I knew she had a child. What then ? " 
 
 " What then ! " repeated Mrs. Smith-Jones. " Do 
 you consider that nothing ? Do you consider that no 
 reason why you should not recommend her as a tutor 
 for young girls ? " 
 
 " I consider it a very unhappy circumstance," I 
 replied. 
 
 "Yet you recommended her to me as a lady, a 
 'gentlewoman,' as they say in England, fit not only 
 to be a governess, but a companion to my daughters!" 
 
 " Certainly I did ! She is all that I said ! "
 
 224 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 " Oh ! There shoufd be a law to prosecute you for 
 so endangering the morals of pure young girls like 
 mine ! It might have gone on for years, had I not 
 found out last night and sent her away the wicked 
 creature ! " 
 
 My heart gave a throb of terror, as I mechanically 
 repeated the words after her "Last night! Sent 
 her away!" Then I clutched Mrs. Smith-Jones's 
 shoulder. " Do you tell me that you sent her away, 
 and at night?" I exclaimed hoarsely. "I am her 
 only intimate friend in New York, and she did not 
 come to me. Where did she go ? " 
 
 " How do I know ? Why should I care where she 
 went, so long as I got the terrible creature out of my 
 house and away from my darlings? I noticed her 
 crying over a picture one day, when she didn't know 
 I was looking. I supposed it was a picture of her 
 father or her mother. Yesterday I got hold of the 
 picture. It was that of a child a little girl that 
 looked the image of her. It was suspicious, but still, 
 I was charitable, and desiring to give her the benefit 
 of the doubt, I thought it might possibly be the 
 picture of a little sister who was dead. Last evening 
 I went to her room when she was out, and found 
 lying on the floor a letter which she had dropped. 
 It seemed to be from someone who was taking care 
 of the child for her. I knew the whole disgraceful 
 tale then. When she returned I confronted her, and 
 what did she do? Weep? Repent? Say she was 
 sorry for having deceived me? Confide in me? No! 
 She brazened it out ! Admitted the existence of the 
 child, but when I reproached her, she begged me to 
 remember that although I was not a lady myself I 
 was speaking to one, and would I kindly lower my
 
 "IN THE NAME OF CHRIST" 225 
 
 voice and use proper language? It was half-past 
 ten. I gave her just half an hour to pack her trunk, 
 and told her to go ! " 
 
 " Told her to go ! " I cried. " At eleven o'clock at 
 night! An Englishwoman who doesn't know New 
 York ! How much money did you pay her ? " 
 
 " I did not owe her anything. Her last month's 
 wages were paid to her two days ago." 
 
 "You mean you did not pay her a month's salary 
 in advance when you turned her out ? " I exclaimed. 
 
 " Certainly not ! " 
 
 " Then she hadn't more than two or three dollars, 
 for she sent her last month's salary to the child. I 
 went with her to the post office when she got the 
 money orders." 
 
 A faintness and a horror were coming over me. 
 " Where do you think a young woman alone in New 
 York without any money could go at eleven o'clock 
 at night?" I asked. 
 
 " She could go to a Rescue Home," replied Mrs. 
 Smith-Jones. " Unrepentant as she was, they would 
 have taken her in there. She knows the addresses of 
 several, as she has written letters for me in regard to 
 them." 
 
 "Rescue Home ! " I cried, " Rescue Home ! She, 
 an English gentlewoman, to go to a Rescue Home 
 with the picked women of the streets and the East 
 Side joints, and wear a plaid dress or is it a brown 
 and grey stripe? with a scarlet letter 'A' upon her 
 bosom ! I had forgotten that you were interested in 
 those pathetically funny institutions those places 
 where they herd women together and tell them the 
 story of Mary Magdalen, and pray over them, giving 
 them to understand that the crime they have com-
 
 226 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 mitted is the one that takes the largest amount of the 
 blood of Christ to wash out, if it can be washed out 
 at all, and they teach them to sew and scrub and iron, 
 and then, branding them with a mark, send them out 
 to work against such odds as few women can combat. 
 They take pains to tell the employers that the 
 women have sinned, and to keep a watch on them ! 
 The last state of the poor things is worse than the 
 first. Oh ! for sending girls to hell, commend me to 
 a Christian woman like yourself interested in ' rescue 
 work'!" 
 
 " Oh ! You are a terrible person ! Why did I ever 
 take anyone upon your recommendation ? Why did 
 I allow myself to forget that you were employed on 
 this sort of newspaper? How could I even allow 
 myself to come here this morning to a woman like 
 you, surrounded probably by dozens of others of your 
 sort, forgetting that you were not of my kind?" 
 
 " No, we are not of your kind. We are all decent 
 women here. You are the only disreputable person 
 on these premises ! " 
 
 An exclamation of horror escaped from Mrs. Smith- 
 Jones as she moved toward the door. 
 
 "Don't go yet," I said, going to the door before 
 her, " I have a little more to say to you, and as it is 
 early, there will be no one here to disturb us for an 
 hour or so." 
 
 She stared in anger, yet said nothing. 
 
 " You call yourself a Christian, do you not ? " I 
 asked. 
 
 " What impertinence ! Certainly, I am a Chris- 
 tian." 
 
 "Well, I'll just tell you what, as a Christian, you 
 have done ! You have turned a young woman who
 
 "IN THE NAME OF CHRIST" 227 
 
 was honourably supporting herself and her child, out 
 into the street of a strange city at eleven o'clock 
 at night. Had she come to my boarding-house 
 she could have stopped with me, but she was too 
 proud to do that. What do you suppose has become 
 of that young woman, Mrs. Smith-Jones ? " 
 
 " I have already told you I do not know, and care 
 less, for she left me unrepentant and brazen to the 
 last." 
 
 "No, not brazen! She couldn't be that, for she 
 was a lady to the tips of her ringers. Possibly un- 
 repentant, because she had nothing to repent of. But 
 let that pass. Have you ever heard, Mrs. Smith- 
 Jones, that in this city of New York there are places 
 where such girls are always made welcome, at any 
 hour of the day or night ? Now, it is sad, but it is 
 strangely true, that into the mind of almost every 
 woman who knows herself to possess the attractions 
 of youth and beauty, and finds herself in such a posi- 
 tion as that in which my friend found herself last 
 night, there comes suddenly the devil -inspired 
 thought that her body is an asset, and there are not 
 wanting those who can direct her to marts where it 
 may be sold. Sometimes, just as the dreadful 
 thought comes to her, there is a hand stretched out 
 to help her, and snatch her as a brand from the burn- 
 ing. It is usually the hand of a man, Mrs. Smith- 
 Jones, a man of the world, a man of honour, a man 
 who knows life and so feels pity in his heart Not 
 often, Mrs. Smith-Jones, do women engage in this 
 work of salvation. Many of them, like yourself, are 
 too much interested in Rescue Homes to pay any 
 attention to tragedies like this that are occurring all 
 around them. But often, often, Mrs. Smith-Jones,
 
 228 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 there is no one near with the will or the power to 
 save them, and then, and then " 
 
 I was on the verge of breaking down, but I rallied 
 and turned to her with bitter hatred in my face and 
 in my heart. 
 
 "This is what I, knowing women and life as I 
 do know them, believe that you have done to my 
 friend. I do not believe I shall ever find her, though 
 I shall try. You who say you live by the motto ' In 
 the Name of Christ/ you have done this ! Now you 
 may go." 
 
 I moved away from the door and Mrs. Smith-Jones 
 passed out of the office. I went to my desk, trying 
 to again compose my thoughts for my work, but it 
 was not easy. I had been preaching a sermon, and 
 sermons were not in my line. Too wrought up for 
 ordinary occupation, I closed my desk, put on my 
 hat, and went out into the street The great sky- 
 scrapers, the crowds of people, the loud jingle of the 
 cable cars greeted me and seemed to laugh, in all 
 their bigness, at me in my littleness and powerless- 
 ness. I suddenly realised the futility of searching, 
 and I went back to the office despairing, baffled, 
 defeated. 
 
 "Just been inquiring for you," said one of the 
 editors, as I returned to my desk. " See what there 
 is in this charity entertainment for next week, will 
 you? Something to do with providing homes for 
 orphan children, I believe. Go and see some of the 
 women that are interested in it. Here's the list." 
 
 I looked it over, and prominent among the names 
 was that of Mrs, Smith-Jones,
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 A LITTLE JOYOUSNESS AND SOME 
 TRAGEDY 
 
 IT has always been my fortune, when employed 
 upon American newspapers, to be associated 
 with men, as co-workers, who could be aptly de- 
 scribed by the term " jolly good fellows." 
 
 As they were so " out West " and " down South," so 
 I found them in New York. There existed between 
 the men and the women who worked together on the 
 staff a spirit of comradeship and good fellowship 
 that was altogether delightful. I know of no pro- 
 fession in which men and women can work together, 
 side by side, so pleasantly and, I may add, bene- 
 ficially, one to the other, as in that of journalism. 
 At least this can be said of America, where no news- 
 paper staff is complete without its quota of women 
 reporters and editorial workers. It says much for 
 the American method of bringing up boys and girls 
 and educating them at mixed colleges, that when 
 they are thrown together in such work as that known 
 as " yellow journalism," the women can retain their 
 womanliness, the men their manliness and attitude of 
 free and easy comradeship, yet respectful deference 
 towards them. I am not sure whether such a state 
 of things could exist in England. Probably it could 
 229
 
 2 3 o A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 in the next generation, when the conditions of the 
 education and the up-bringing of English girls have 
 become similar to those which form a part of the 
 average American girl's surroundings. 
 
 Most especially was the spirit of American chivalry 
 exhibited by the men space-writers towards the 
 women space-writers, and many a noble act of self- 
 sacrifice among the men to help the women along 
 was done quietly and unobtrusively away up at the 
 top of a many-storied newspaper building, where I 
 was employed during my stay in New York. Such 
 a kind, tactful, jolly way, too, had the men of per- 
 forming these little deeds of kindness to us women. 
 
 " Say ! " said one of the men reporters coming over 
 to me one afternoon, " I saw a hat up on Twenty- 
 Third Street that'd suit you to a T ! It's exactly 
 made for you, turn-up on the side and all ! Marked 
 down, too, cheap as dirt ! Seven dollars and ninety- 
 eight cents ! " 
 
 I laughed. " I don't see anything very original in 
 that remark," I said ; " I've seen lots of hats I knew 
 would suit me, which were cheap as dirt, but I couldn't 
 afford to buy them ! " 
 
 " But I can tell you how to get that hat ! " 
 
 "How?" I asked. 
 
 " Why, down at the canal there are a lot of canal 
 boats that are just getting ready to put out for the 
 spring trip. The house-boat kind, you know, where 
 the families live all the time, year in and year out. 
 A story made up of a description of how those canal- 
 boatwomen keep house, and how they stow away 
 things in the little bits of rooms they have, would be 
 good stuff, I know. You could work it into a ten- 
 dollar bill at space-rates, sure, which'd more than buy
 
 JOYOUSNESS AND TRAGEDY 231 
 
 the hat. You'd better go and do that canal-boat 
 story. The city editor would just jump at it." 
 
 " See here ! Why don't you do that story yourselt 
 and make the ten dollars ? " I asked suspiciously, for 
 this same young man was not above playing a mild 
 practical joke occasionally. 
 
 " Oh, I've done well this week, and besides, that's 
 a girl's story. I can't write up house -keeping 
 matters." 
 
 I could do very well with an extra ten dollars that 
 week, so I went to the canal and got my story in for 
 one of the evening editions of the next day's paper. 
 I didn't get the wonderful hat. I do not fancy there 
 was such a bit of head-gear as that which my co- 
 worker so enthusiastically described, but he was 
 behind me when I got my pay the next Saturday 
 afternoon, and he smiled good-naturedly. 
 
 There was another time when an American man- 
 o'-war was in New York harbour, and one of the 
 reporters informed me that the " way those sailors of 
 Uncle Sam's scrubbed and cooked and did their own 
 washing and ironing was worth two columns if it was 
 worth a stick," and I went to the man-o'-war and got 
 my two columns. 
 
 These men were not editors suggesting subjects, 
 but reporters who might have done the extra work 
 themselves, but the desire to " help along the girls " 
 came as natural to them as breathing. There were 
 always pleasant little experiences of this sort coming 
 up, so that while my plunge into "yellow journalism" 
 gave me a greater knowledge of the " seamy side " of 
 life than comes to the ordinary woman, it also gave 
 me an insight into the lovelier, kinder, more human 
 characteristics of mankind, especially the mankind of
 
 232 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 my own country, which I shall always thank God I 
 have been permitted to know. 
 
 I was present one day at the great trial of a 
 notorious female criminal, having been sent there 
 by my editor to make a character -sketch of the 
 prisoner as she stood at the bar. 
 
 " Aren't you Miss Banks ? " I heard a man's voice 
 from behind me asking. 
 
 "Yes," I answered, turning round to a smart- 
 looking young fellow. 
 
 " We're on the same paper," he whispered, handing 
 me his card. " We haven't met yet, though. I'm art 
 and you're literary, you know. What are you doing ? " 
 
 " I'm making a character -sketch of the woman," 
 I answered. 
 
 "You ought to have a picture of her," he said. 
 " It would add a lot to your word-sketch." 
 
 Before I could answer he had pulled a bit of card- 
 board and pencil from his pocket, and when he had 
 taken a few rapid strokes I saw that the vicious- 
 looking countenance of the woman in front of us 
 was beginning to appear, strangely real and lifelike, 
 upon the cardboard. In ten minutes it was done, 
 and, rising to leave the court-room, he handed it to 
 me. 
 
 " There, I'll make you a present. Four dollars ! 
 Double-column cut, you know ! " 
 
 " It's perfect ! " I answered. " But what shall I do 
 with it ? " 
 
 " Why, hand it to the city editor with your stuff, 
 and it'll make your story worth four dollars more 
 than it would be without it ! " 
 
 " Oh, all right ! " I answered, my impression being 
 that the young man was "on space," and that by
 
 JOYOUSNESS AND TRAGEDY 233 
 
 illustrating my story he would make four dollars 
 extra, " I'll tell the city editor we did it together." 
 
 "No! You don't catch on at all! That's be- 
 cause you're from Lunnon, I suppose. I'm on salary, 
 and all the work I hand in is paid for by the salary, 
 and the story I came here to illustrate has nothing to 
 do with the one you're writing. Space artists get 
 paid two dollars a single-column cut This'll go in 
 as a double one, and that's four dollars added to the 
 value of your story. What's your length ? " 
 
 " A column," I replied. 
 
 " At seven dollars and a half? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, then, instead of your bill for this thing 
 being seven dollars and a half, you make it eleven 
 fifty. Be sure you get it, now ! It's got nothing to 
 do with my salary. I didn't do it for the paper ; I 
 did it for you ! You hand it in just as you would a 
 photograph with a story, and say, ' Four dollars for 
 the photograph.' See? Good-bye. I'm off to the 
 art-room now. Three sketches to finish up in no 
 time ! " 
 
 What is it they say in England about the Ameri- 
 can men? "The American women are altogether 
 fascinating, vivacious, and well educated, but the 
 American men give so much thought to pursuing 
 the ' almighty dollar ' that they haven't time to put 
 on culture and polish." That is the way the descrip- 
 tion runs, I believe. Well, they did work in their 
 shirt-sleeves in that newspaper office ; they did take 
 emphatic, not to say occasionally profane, methods of 
 expressing themselves to politicians and others who 
 refused to be interviewed, or went out of their way to 
 give the newspapers false information ; they did often
 
 234 A -NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 work "overtime," making many extra dollars over 
 and above what they actually needed for the necessi- 
 ties of life ; they did consider it an unpardonable sin 
 to " get left," or get " scooped," or be in any way be- 
 hind the times. They were, indeed, in many ways 
 different from many of the eminent London jour- 
 nalists with whom I had then and have since been 
 thrown into contact. But then, perhaps, one needs to 
 be an American working-woman, thrown upon her 
 own resources, engaged in a terrible struggle against 
 fearful odds, eating bread one day only because she 
 has earned it the day before, working side by side 
 with American newspaper men, in order to thoroughly 
 understand them and to know that America is indeed 
 a Land of Chivalry ! 
 
 It was while I was engaged in New York journalism 
 that the Spanish-American war came on. During 
 the lives of most of us on the paper our country had 
 never known a war. I was one of the few on the 
 paper who, because of my horror of war, could not 
 take part in the great enthusiasm that was felt by 
 the members of the staff at the thought of " smashing 
 Spain to a jelly." I was very sorrowful during those 
 days, and could not contemplate the monstrous 
 headlines that our paper was continually getting out, 
 telling of victory, sickness, and slaughter without a 
 shudder. I could not rejoice nor laugh at anything 
 connected with the war, till one day a warlike 
 message I found on my desk sent me into such a fit 
 of merriment as I had not known for many a week. 
 
 "NOTICE TO QUIT! 
 "WEARING THAT RED AND YELLOW NECKTIE! 
 
 " It having been observed by the male members of 
 the staff that you did yesterday appear upon these
 
 JOYOUSNESS AND TRAGEDY 235 
 
 wholly and purely American premises, with your 
 neck bound in colours red and yellow, like unto the 
 otyle of the hated flag of Spain, it is hereby ordered 
 that you take it off, and that right quickly, substituting 
 for it the necktie herewith presented. Otherwise " 
 
 Here followed a pen-and-ink sketch of a woman, 
 looking remarkably like myself, stabbed through the 
 throat with the Stars and Stripes, underneath which 
 was written, " SIC SEMPER Traitoress ! " 
 
 Heaven knows that the compromising colours of 
 the new necktie I had worn the day before, and which 
 I had on the morning when I found this notice upon 
 my desk were the result of accident. It was a really 
 beautiful and artistic bit of neck-wear which I had 
 bought at a very high price on Broadway, but I 
 speedily replaced the red and yellow thing with that 
 of the male reporters' choosing. It was one of the 
 " patriotic neckties " so popular at that time, and so 
 cleverly and artistically designed, that though it had 
 in it the colours red, white, and blue, they were not 
 made to appear conspicuous, it looking like an 
 ordinary pretty fringed tie. As an evidence of good 
 faith, I sent the objectionable and discarded necktie 
 to the reportorial room, and the office-boy who 
 carried it there reported that it was turned into a 
 huge lighter for pipes. 
 
 I have spoken of the enthusiasm that attended the 
 beginning of this, the first war of our generation. 
 There came a time a few weeks later in that news- 
 paper office, as well as in many others throughout the 
 country, when the prolongation of the war became a 
 tragedy in the lives of many of the writers for the 
 Press, and especially was this so among the space- 
 writers, who had no fixed income, taking in money
 
 236 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 only according to the amount of acceptable work 
 they did. Those who, like myself, had a certain 
 guarantee in lieu of salary every week, did not feel 
 the tragic effects as did those who were but ordinary 
 space-workers. 
 
 " War ! war ! war ! Get up something about the 
 war ! No use writing about other subjects. People 
 may be born and married and buried, may commit 
 suicide or murder ; they may starve, they may steal, 
 they may corrupt and be corrupted and betrayed and 
 blackmailed ; but let you these things alone and write 
 about the war ! " was the cry of the editors. 
 
 " What's that ? A baby found dead in the East 
 River? Thrown there by the mother, you say? 
 What ? A new hospital scandal ? Strike ? Did you 
 say a thousand men were on strike at the mills? 
 Oh ! But I tell you there is no room ! Give every 
 one of those subjects a stick, and not a bit over a 
 stick apiece. That's it ! Now you're talking sense ! 
 That's the ticket ! Write a column telling how all 
 the society girls are going in for studying at 'The 
 First Aid to the Injured' classes. Certainly! That's 
 another good subject. All the boys in the public 
 schools forming into companies and regiments, and 
 being drilled by the teachers, to keep the spirit of 
 patriotism and love of the flag in their little souls. 
 Great ! Column and a half, and pictures of the boy- 
 captains and colonels. Oh ! Did you ever ! Mrs. 
 Vere de Vere doing a turn at a society function as a 
 skirt-dancer, with the legend ' To Hell with Spain ! ' 
 pinned on her skirt. Yes, head it ' Petticoat Warfare,' 
 and send it up." 
 
 Thus went the day and the night, and those who 
 could not do "war stories" fared not sumptuously,
 
 JOYOUSNESS AND TRAGEDY 237 
 
 but sneaked around the corner to the restaurants 
 where they got a " stand-up luncheon " for ten cents. 
 Oh, the scramble after inspirations that had in them 
 the hint of blood and war! The religious editor 
 became a war-poet, and rhymed " battle" with "cattle" 
 and " gore " with " bore." The sports-editor devoted 
 his hitherto undiscovered talents to evolving allitera- 
 tive headlines, wherein the public were informed that 
 " Hell Haunts Hispano." Special editions followed 
 one after the other every three or four minutes, and 
 five minutes after a bit of news came "from the 
 front" the newsboys were selling it, all printed and 
 headlined, in the street. More than ever in those 
 days space-writers "lived by their wits," for it was 
 no easy matter for men and women living in New 
 York, far away from the actual war, to get up a 
 column, or two or three columns every day on some 
 subject appertaining to the war that nobody else had 
 thought of. Originality and quick thinking were at 
 a premium, and God pity those who could not, at 
 command, turn their thoughts warward and dip their 
 pens into blood ! 
 
 While battles were being waged in Cuba and the 
 Philippines, battles also were fought in the New York 
 newspaper offices, battles in which, if blood was not 
 shed, hands trembled, hearts and heads ached with 
 the fearful strain put upon them of thinking, always 
 thinking, how to get the means of living, since live 
 one must. In Cuba they died ; in New York they 
 lived, and how much more painful and horrible was 
 the living than the dying could possibly have been, 
 none but those who struggled through that time can 
 tell. 
 
 One day I met a brilliant young newspaper man
 
 238 A -NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 near the City Hall Park. He was loitering, as one 
 who had no aim in life, no object in view. 
 
 " I can't walk with you if you dilly-dally along 
 like that ! " I said. " I'm in a hurry and I've got to 
 hustle. I've got work to do." 
 
 "Then you're lucky, and I'll bet you're not on 
 space," he answered. 
 
 "Well, I suppose I am lucky, for I've got a 
 guarantee, and I just earn that and nothing more. 
 Some of the girls that only do space are in awful 
 straits these war times, so I feel as if I were one 
 of the elect to have a guarantee." 
 
 " I should say so ! I used to make a hundred and 
 fifty a week, just hopping about as a free-lance on 
 space. This week I've made seven dollars. Last 
 week I got three dollars and a half for a joke. My 
 God ! And you know I got married just before the 
 Maine went down. I'd volunteer, but the little girl 
 won't hear of it. Oh, war is hell on us ! " 
 
 " Yes, War is Hell ! " I answered, hurrying into the 
 office, leaving him standing at the door. What need 
 for him to enter? Over it was the warning "All 
 hope abandon, ye who enter here without the wit to 
 write of war ! " 
 
 There seemed to be nobody in particular to blame 
 for this state of things, least of all the editors of the 
 different departments of the different papers, who 
 were mostly kind, big-hearted men, feeling sorry for 
 the contributors who could not write of war, yet not 
 daring to take anything that did not deal with it, 
 because their readers wanted war, and war they must 
 have. Only war itself was to blame for all the 
 miseries brought in its train. War was Hell ! 
 
 Some of the joyousness and some of the tragedy of
 
 JOYOUSNESS AND TRAGEDY 239 
 
 the newspaper office I have told here, for we of the 
 Press are glad and sorry like unto the rest of the 
 world, and in respect of this, our lot is " the common 
 lot of all." Yet, sometimes it has seemed to me 
 that women who live the newspaper life, because, 
 perhaps, their experience is wider and broader and 
 takes in more than does that of the average woman, 
 are often called upon to bear a little more heart- 
 ache, and to show it less, than the average woman. 
 I have heard some women of my profession de- 
 scribed as "icicles," "heartless," knowing not what 
 it means to suffer, caring only for their work, their 
 ambition, becoming almost " sexless." To the ranks 
 of the women so described belonged a young woman 
 journalist whom I once knew. I will tell her love- 
 story in the following chapter, and will call her 
 " Miss Johnstone."
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 THE LOVE-STORY OF MISS JOHNSTONE, 
 JOURNALIST 
 
 IN the first corner, facing the entrance door of the 
 city room, sat the city editor of the Daily Bugle, 
 his desk piled high with telegrams, proof-sheets 
 and first editions of the rival papers. At the sides 
 and in the middle of the room were arranged other 
 desks, somewhat smaller and less important-looking, 
 as became the subordinate positions of the men 
 behind them. Long tables, besplashed with ink, 
 and with blue pencils continually rolling from them 
 to the floor, were surrounded by young men, turning 
 out page after page of manuscripts, and smoking 
 their pipes the while. The office-boys were running 
 hither and thither, as the cry of " Copy ! copy ! " 
 rang out from different parts of the room, grabbing 
 from the writers a page here and a page there, 
 darting upstairs to the press-room, then back again, 
 with hands full of proof-sheets, to be distributed 
 over desks and tables. 
 
 At the farthest corner from the door, where there 
 was an attempt at separation from the rest of the 
 room by a couple of Japanese screens, there were 
 signs of femininity in the shape of a smart fur cape 
 hanging on the wall beside a cheap little looking- 
 240
 
 MISS JOHNSTONS, JOURNALIST 241 
 
 glass, depending from a nail by a string. A nobby 
 hat with a green velvet bow and a red feather, a 
 spotted veil in a high heap, a pair of gloves and 
 a silver-handled umbrella, had been thrown carelessly 
 down upon the back part of the roll-top desk. 
 
 " Miss Johnstone, the city editor wants you quick ! " 
 called out one of the small boys, stopping on his way 
 to the press-room, with his hands full of corrected 
 proofs. 
 
 " All right, Bobbie," came the answer from behind 
 the screens, and then the occupant of the exclusive 
 corner could be seen as she rose from behind the 
 high desk. She was what would be called a " tailor- 
 made girl," of twenty-two or possibly twenty-five. 
 The men in the office spoke of her as being " some- 
 thing on looks," meaning thereby that she was not 
 unattractive, that she carried herself well, and dressed 
 in a style that they denominated " smooth." She 
 was not tall, so she wore her hair done high to keep 
 her from appearing too insignificant. She had a 
 good figure, so she affected tailor-made gowns, which 
 showed it off. She had not much colour in her 
 cheeks, therefore she wore a bright red necktie, 
 knotted in the fashionable mode, which appeared 
 to give a ruddiness to her face. It was not exactly 
 what could be called a sympathetic face. Once it 
 might have been, but now it was rather one that had 
 been schooled to stolidity and concealment by a 
 necessity which knew no sentimental law. Surely 
 not out of the abundance of the heart dared the 
 mouth nor the face of this woman speak ! 
 
 Her long green cloth skirts, with their silky rustle, 
 swept over the floor among the pieces of waste-paper, 
 " flimsy," and broken lead-pencils. 
 ' R
 
 242 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 " Bobbie said you wanted me," she said to the city 
 editor, when she had reached his desk. 
 
 " Oh yes, I do," he responded, without looking up. 
 He was critically examining some type-written copy, 
 and drawing his blue pencil mercilessly through 
 words, sentences, and sometimes whole pages of it. 
 
 " Yes, I want you," he repeated, as the girl stood 
 waiting. 
 
 "Hello, Bobbie! Here, fire this upstairs, and tell 
 them it's to go into the early edition," he called out, 
 throwing the bundle of sheets into the outstretched 
 hands of the boy who hurried towards him. Then 
 the editor continued blue-penciling other pages, as 
 he said, still without looking up from his work 
 
 " It's not in your line, I know, but I've got to ask 
 you to do a funeral, a lying-in-state, floral tributes, 
 and so on. What with that murder over in the east 
 and being head over ears in political work and that 
 city corruption expose, I haven't a man I can spare 
 for this thing. So, do your best with it, will you ? 
 And don't try to get anything humorous or even 
 bright and catchy into your account of the affair, 
 as you are wont to do in everything you handle, 
 though, of course, I've never tried you on funerals." 
 He added this half bantering, half kindly, as though 
 to let the girl know he was not complaining. 
 
 "John Black, the young politician, died suddenly 
 last night. He was one of our particular protege's, 
 you might say, so we want to give the poor chap a 
 good send-off, now he's gone. You know of him, of 
 course ? Sharp as a whip, but good as gold. Rising 
 young fellow. If he'd lived, he'd been senator, 
 governor, and even president, or I'd missed my 
 guess ! Just go to his mother's house this afternoon.
 
 MISS JOHNSTONE, JOURNALIST 243 
 
 Take a train. It's out in the suburbs and here's the 
 address. About seven o'clock would be a good time, 
 I should say. There ought to be plenty of floral 
 tributes by that time. Get all the names, you under- 
 stand, and then " 
 
 "Yes, I understand exactly what you want," inter- 
 rupted the young woman, as though in a hurry to 
 conclude the interview, " and I have no idea that I 
 shall see anything humorous in the situation. If I 
 should happen to, I promise you I shall not put it 
 into the paper." 
 
 As she said this, she was leaving the editor's desk, 
 when he resumed 
 
 " Oh, say, Miss Johnstone, will you allow a mere 
 man to make a suggestion to you ? Would you 
 mind changing that flaring red neck-tie for something 
 a little more sombre, when you go to poor Black's 
 house this afternoon ? I've always found it paid for 
 women reporters, and men, too, for that matter, to 
 bear in mind these little diplomacies. Look as quiet 
 and unobtrusive as you can, when you go. You may 
 run across his mother, or some of his relations who 
 will talk for publication." 
 
 A slight nod, and a murmured " Very well ! " was 
 the answer. 
 
 Once back at her desk, Miss Johnstone dived deep 
 into her cape pocket for her purse, and emptied its 
 contents in front of her. 
 
 " Eighty-seven cents," she said to herself, " and it's 
 Thursday. I've already drawn ten dollars on account 
 of this week's salary, and I dare not ask for any 
 more in advance. Money ! money ! How can I get 
 it?" 
 
 Suddenly she pulled out some copy paper and
 
 244 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 began to write. " This is the only way," she 
 murmured, " a column for the Humorist, and collect 
 on delivery ! " 
 
 Page after page passed from under her pen. Then, 
 clipping a dozen sheets together, she read them over, 
 made a correction here, an addition or an omission 
 there, laughed grimly, as though pleased with her 
 work, pushed back her chair, and left the room. 
 
 The Humorist was a weekly paper, published by 
 the same proprietor as the Daily Bugle, though of 
 course under altogether different editorial manage- 
 ment. A number of the regular members of the 
 Bugle staff were among the contributors to the 
 weekly periodical, and were paid for that work at 
 space rates, so that they were thus able to add 
 materially to their weekly salaries. Miss Johnstone 
 was among the funny paper's most valued con- 
 tributors, and often when work was slack in the city 
 room of the Bugle she occupied herself with turning 
 out tales for the delectation of the Humorisfs 
 readers. A little private arrangement existed be- 
 tween her and the editor, by which she was paid 
 immediately on the delivery of her manuscript, and 
 when she now entered his office with a parcel of 
 paper in her hand, he exclaimed, " What ! Broke 
 again ? Well, let's read your stuff! " 
 
 Throughout the reading, the man smiled the 
 pleased smile of the editor who finds himself in the 
 possession of a " scoop" that no hated rival has any 
 means of obtaining. 
 
 "It's great!" he exclaimed, when he had finished. 
 "I like it better than any political caricature you've 
 ever done for me. I declare," he went on, with an in- 
 sinuating grin on his face, "you must have a pull with
 
 MISS JOHNSTONS, JOURNALIST 245 
 
 some garrulous statesman, or you wouldn't be able to 
 get hold of these stories ! " 
 
 An order for ten dollars passed from the editor to 
 Miss Johnstone, who, with a hurried " Thank you ! 
 You're a friend in need ! " left the office. She had 
 donned her hat and cape before leaving her desk, and 
 after stopping at the cashier's office, the doors of the 
 great building swung behind her, and she passed into 
 the street, which was rapidly filling with men and 
 women going to luncheon from the various offices. 
 She was passed by numerous street cars, but neg- 
 lected to hail them. As she walked rapidly along, 
 her shoulders back, her head erect, a woman whis- 
 pered to a companion in the crowd, " Look ! There 
 goes that Miss Johnstone, of the Bugle! They 
 say her salary's something immense! Of all the 
 unsympathetic, cold-looking faces I ever saw, hers 
 is the worst ! I wouldn't be surprised to know that 
 ice-water, and never a drop of blood, ran in her 
 veins ! " 
 
 Miss Johnstone halted before a florist's window. " I 
 want a wire frame, the kind they use for making 
 wreaths," she said, when she had entered the shop. 
 
 " Now some ' Jack roses.' Give me some buds as 
 well as full-blown roses. No, I don't want any green, 
 except the rose leaves. Eight dollars, did you say ? " 
 
 She passed over the ten-dollar bill, and taking the 
 two dollars' change and the parcels of flowers and 
 wire, turned again into the street, then round a corner, 
 then into a lofty, red-brick building, made up of 
 flats. 
 
 It was a pretty, dainty, feminine-looking room into 
 which the girl entered. Bright draperies, soft 
 cushions, pictures on the walls, easy chairs, books,
 
 246 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 and magazines, a small piano with specimens of the 
 latest popular music scattered about it all proclaimed 
 the artistic, well-paid American professional woman. 
 Flower vases filled with roses, such as the girl had 
 just brought from the florist's, were on the tables and 
 the mantel. 
 
 The room was heated by pipes, after the American 
 fashion, but as she seated herself upon the velvet 
 carpet, with the roses and the wire frame, she 
 shivered, and sharply shut her teeth together to keep 
 them from chattering. Then among the roses deftly 
 flew her fingers, carrying them to the wire frame, one 
 by one, till only a circlet of crimson loveliness lay 
 finally in her lap. 
 
 " Copy ! Copy ! Proof-sheet ! Proof-sheet ! " rang 
 out upon the smoky, midnight air of the Daily Bugle 
 office. 
 
 "Where's that headline I just wrote ? Here, take it 
 upstairs, and tell them it's to be used with Miss 
 Johnstone's account of John Black's death, which 
 she'll have ready to send up in a few minutes. What's 
 that, Miss Johnstone? Oh, you've got the first five 
 pages done already ? Good. Here, then, Bobbie, take 
 the headline and this part of the stuff up together, 
 and say the rest will be done in ten minutes." 
 
 Miss Johnstone bent over her desk, writing, her 
 face white, but as immobile and as incomprehensible 
 as ever. 
 
 " Miss Johnstone, the night editor wants to know if 
 you brought back from the village a photograph of 
 John Black? He thinks we'd better use a picture,
 
 MISS JOHNSTONS, JOURNALIST 247 
 
 even if we have to cut down the write-up to make 
 room for it." 
 
 One of the copy-readers stood at her desk speaking. 
 
 " What did you say ? Oh, a photograph ? Yes, I 
 did, or at least I think I brought it away with me. 
 It was a little picture. Go away a minute, so I'll 
 have room to move about and hunt for it among my 
 papers." 
 
 Miss Johnstone took out her purse, and with 
 trembling fingers felt among the compartments, till 
 she pulled forth a small photograph, evidently cut 
 down to make it go into the purse. It was somewhat 
 soiled, as though from much handling. 
 
 " Here is the photograph," she said, handing it over 
 to the copy-reader. " I have written on the back that 
 it's to be returned to me without fail, as I am 
 responsible for it, and here is the rest of the copy, and 
 I think my day's work is done." 
 
 She got up slowly, donned her hat and cape, and 
 as she left the desk a large black Newfoundland dog 
 crawled from under it and followed her from the 
 room. 
 
 " I never saw that dog before," said one of the men 
 to the night editor ; " but he went after her as though 
 he'd belonged to her all his life. He looks like a 
 knowing and valuable animal, and it's queer she 
 never spoke of him, even as she went out." 
 
 "Speak!" reiterated the night editor, throwing a 
 bundle of " flimsy " on to the floor. " Miss Johnstone 
 isn't one of the speaking kind. She's been here four 
 years, and nobody but myself ever so much as knew 
 she had a family to support." 
 
 " You don't mean to say she's married ? " exclaimed 
 the other editor in surprise.
 
 24 8 A -NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 "Married! Certainly not! She's got an invalid 
 mother, a little brother, and a sister about seventeen 
 who goes to boarding-school, to support, besides 
 herself to keep. How the devil could a girl like that 
 get married, if she wanted to ? " 
 
 " Well, her salary and all the extra she makes on 
 the Humorist wouldn't be too much to do all that 
 on," returned the other; "but what puzzles me is 
 where that animal came from how he got into 
 the office." 
 
 " Oh, I can enlighten you that much," said the 
 night editor. " I saw him come in with her when she 
 came back to do her writing, and he went under the 
 desk and waited till she got through. As they passed 
 my desk I said, ' Fine dog that. Is he yours ? ' and 
 she said ' Certainly,' with such a fierce look in her 
 eyes that I didn't think I was expected to say any- 
 thing more." 
 
 While this conversation was going on, Miss John- 
 stone was walking home to her flat, the dog at her 
 side. 
 
 " Here, Comfort, we are home now," she said, as 
 she turned into the lighted entrance to the flat- 
 building, and the dog followed her in. 
 
 A few years ago a visitor to the little village of , 
 
 which is a few miles out from one of the largest 
 of our American cities, was looking through the 
 beautiful little cemetery attached to the newly-painted 
 wooden church. 
 
 " Yes," said the old man who tended the graves and 
 kept the grass cut, as he showed the visitor through,
 
 MISS JOHNSTONE, JOURNALIST 249 
 
 "it's as pretty a little cem'try as I ever see, and 
 there's folks buried here as this town not only loved 
 and respected, but as was more than common in 
 intellec'. See that there grave over there with the 
 red roses on it ? They're ruther faded now, it bein' 
 the last o' the week, but on a Sunday there'll be 
 another bunch, bright an' fresh. Oh, I could tell ye 
 a tale o' them roses ! " 
 
 " What tale ? " asked the visitor, " and who is buried 
 there ? " 
 
 "Well, ye see, we had a young townsman by the 
 name o' Black John Black, to speak by the book, 
 an' he war a great orator an' politician, an' a member 
 o' the State Legislater. He was brought up amongst 
 us, an' he was that anxious after larnin' that he sawed 
 wood in the summer-time to get money to pay fer 
 schoolin' in the winter, an' he got through the State 
 University that way, an' supported his old mother 
 into the bargain. He tuk to law an' then to politics, 
 an' afore he war thirty he'd made a stir, an' there 
 warn't nobody what didn't believe he'd be sent to 
 Congress, an' after awhile git to be president, jest as 
 soon as he got old enough. Well, the campaign of 
 1 8 , you remember what a tough thing that was 
 
 over in , of course? John Black tuk a great 
 
 interest in that, an' he tuk off his coat an' went to 
 work to defeat the other fellers, an' he made ten an' 
 twelve speeches a day. He rushed first from one 
 meetin' an' then to another, an' always with his black 
 dog along with him, w'ich war a mighty intelligent 
 beast, an' used to set on the platform with Black, an' 
 bark fit to kill when his master got through an' the 
 folks was a cheering him. He tuk great stock in that 
 dog, did Black an' called him by the name of
 
 250 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 ' Comfort.' Well, poor John Black, he fell down with 
 a stroke of appoplexy, an' died just as he was going 
 to a meetin' of his party, an' that war a hard day for 
 this village, an he had such a funeral an' laying-out 
 as a governor might be proud of. 
 
 "Flowers was sent from all over, an' delegations 
 from all the big towns came on, an' John Black was 
 buried as befitted the great man he was, and the 
 greater man he would ha' been. 
 
 " O' course, there war lots o' reporters from the big 
 papers sent down to write about the funeral, an' as we 
 afterwards larned there war a young woman reporter 
 from the Daily Bugle, a paper that set great stock by 
 John Black, an' him by it, too, that went to the house 
 an' made a particular request to go into the front 
 room alone where the corpse was, as she said she 
 could do her work better if she war alone, an' she 
 wanted to write down names and make a picture of 
 all the flowers, or something. They let her do as she 
 liked, an 1 besides the rest of the reporters hadn't 
 begun to come yet, an' she was in the room something 
 about three-quarters of an hour. Late that night 
 they couldn't find the dog nowhere, though John 
 Black's cousin, what let the young woman into the 
 room, said the dog was under the trestle where the 
 coffin was, when she went in, an' she couldn't get him 
 to go out, an' his howlin' was that pitiful when they 
 tried to drag him away, they hadn't the heart to do it. 
 They found a wreath o' red roses pushed way down 
 to the foot inside the coffin, an' they didn't know how 
 it got there, an' some was for takin' it out, as red 
 flowers wasn't suitable for the dead, but only white, 
 but nobody seemed to dast take it out, an' John
 
 MISS JOHNSTONS, JOURNALIST 251 
 
 Black was buried with em' on his feet the same as 
 they was left. 
 
 " Black's mother went out of her head an' died in 
 a few days, an' after that the story got round, I don't 
 know exactly how, that the young woman reporter 
 from the Daily Bugle was Black's sweetheart, an' 
 they was waitin' to get some more money afore they 
 could get married, Black havin' his mother to support, 
 an' so they kep' the matter quiet. Some o' the vil- 
 lagers said they remembered seein' her an' John 
 Black goin' ridin' in a sleigh in the winter-time, an' 
 they always tuk the dog along, an' another man said 
 he see Black an' the gal an' the dog eatin' dinner in 
 a restaurant." 
 
 "It was the young woman reporter that put the 
 wreath in the coffin and took the dog, then ? " asked 
 the visitor. 
 
 "Yes," returned the old grave-tender, "but the 
 sorrowful thing to my mind is this : They say the 
 young woman she seed Black at her office the very 
 afternoon before he died, an' she never knowed a 
 thing about his death till her editor told her to go 
 out and report a funeral, tellin' her John Black had 
 died sudden like, an' the editor he didn't know neither 
 that John Black was anything to the young woman, 
 an' she was a quiet, close-mouthed sort o' woman, so 
 she never so much as cried out when she heard it, an' 
 she went an' made a wreath an' brought it with her, 
 an' she wrote up the laying-out for her paper, jest 
 the same as if her heart wasn't a breakin', an' never 
 told nobody at the newspaper office a word about it. 
 The dog, he knowed her, and followed her out o' the 
 French winder that opened on to the piazzar, an' 
 when Black's cousin went to see if the young woman
 
 252 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 war through with her writin' and drawing, her an' the 
 dog war gone, as I said. 
 
 " It's a couple o' years now an' more, but every 
 Sunday the young woman comes out to the cem'try 
 with a lot o' roses an' puts 'em on the grave, an" she 
 brings the dog along of her, an' they sits by the 
 grave a while, an' then goes away. The village 
 florist he says the roses is what you call ' Jack roses,' 
 an' a kind John Black always bought plenty of every 
 week when he was alive, an' carried 'em to the city 
 with him. I s'pose he tuk 'em to the young woman. 
 
 " I used to think the young woman had a hard 
 face w'ich warn't exactly lovin' when I see her come 
 on a Sundays, but once about ten o'clock at night 
 I come through the graveyard as the short cut home, 
 an' the moon was up an' I see her and the dog settin' 
 by Black's grave. I watched awhile, an' she put her 
 head down on the grave an' clawed at it with her 
 fingers, an' then the dog he scratched an' whined, 
 an' the young woman kep' a sayin' ' Oh, Jack, Jack ! 
 If it wasn't for the rest of 'em that I have to look 
 after, I'd come to you with Comfort But I must 
 stay here, Jack, to take care of 'em all ! ' 
 
 "They say as how she's got a sick mother an' 
 other folks to support, an' when I see that an' heard 
 her a crying so pitiful, I knowed how it war. It's 
 what you'd call a sorrowful tale, this here, ain't it ? " 
 
 And the old grave-tender went his way.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 THE STORY OF A "FAILURE" 
 
 " "T) EMEMBER ! Let no obstacle stand in your 
 
 XV way. You are to move heaven and earth 
 to get this information. Don't let anything like 
 trouble, time, or expense be taken into consideration. 
 If you need ten times the amount of money you 
 have with you, telegraph for it Put forth every 
 effort, expend all your energy to make this thing 
 succeed." 
 
 "And if I should fail?" 
 
 " Don't think of it Don't use the word. You 
 must not fail! I've picked you out for this delicate 
 job because it has seemed to me you had in you all 
 the qualities that were needed to bring the thing 
 to pass. You've got diplomacy, tact, shrewdness, 
 discretion, and, above all, you are absolutely feminine, 
 and you haven't got ' newspaper woman ' and ' inter- 
 viewer ' placarded all over you. I want this informa- 
 tion, and I believe the man I am sending you to 
 is the only one who can or will give it, and I believe 
 you are the only person who can get him to give it. 
 Don't you dare to fail ! " 
 
 Thus was I sent one day to Washington to pene- 
 trate into a secret of State, to get certain most 
 valuable information from a very eminent personage 
 253
 
 254 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 who resided at the nation's capital. It was at a 
 time when the getting of money was a matter of 
 very great importance to me, and I went upon the 
 mission as a sort of " free lance " that is, I was to 
 be paid all expenses and have a handsome fee if 
 I succeeded, which it was impressed upon me by the 
 editor that I must do. If I failed well, I would 
 not get the fee, but I would be allowed what was 
 known as "expenses." 
 
 It was with a large amount of self-confidence that 
 I set out upon that mission. The editor had declared 
 that I had all the elements of success in my own 
 person. Why, then, should I not succeed? Why 
 should not the eminent personage give me the 
 information I sought? Why should I not get hold 
 of a State secret? I had heard that other women, 
 in present days and in days gone by, under 
 monarchical governments, had become possessed 
 of valuable information concerning affairs of State. 
 Now, what those hampered women under mon- 
 archical rule could accomplish, should not I, an 
 American woman, in free-and-easy Washington, 
 with its ready access to government buildings and 
 government officials, do ? 
 
 I arrived in Washington, took residence at one 
 of the best hotels, ordered whatever I wanted for 
 comfort and even luxury, without having to take 
 expense into consideration, changed my travelling 
 costume for one more smart and fashionable-looking, 
 and took a cable car for Capitol Hill. I had learned 
 that at the Capitol I would find the eminent 
 personage. 
 
 My card bore the name of a London paper, as well 
 as that of the American paper in the interests of
 
 STORY OF A "FAILURE" 255 
 
 which I had gone on the mission, but I drew my 
 pencil across the name of the London paper. It 
 showed quite plainly, however, and the word 
 " London " looked large and important. 
 
 In one of the luxurious waiting-rooms of the 
 Capitol I waited while a boy hunted up the great 
 man with whom I desired speech. It took three- 
 quarters of an hour to find him and another half- 
 hour before he could come to me. 
 
 When he finally came and I saw him, I experienced 
 a feeling of pleasure that the man I had been sent 
 to interview was a gentleman of more than ordinary 
 refinement and culture, for I always hated coming 
 into contact with vulgar, common politicians. 
 
 This man, who approached me with my card in 
 one hand and holding out the other, was the polished 
 gentleman, with dignified yet pleasant face, of easy, 
 yet irreproachable manner. He shook hands with me. 
 
 " You've been in London, I see ! " he said, turning 
 to my card. 
 
 " Yes," I replied, " but, as you see, I have not come 
 from the London paper to you, but from the " 
 
 He took one of the upholstered chairs near me. 
 " Of course, you want to interview me, and I have no 
 notion for being interviewed," he said ; " but first, 
 before we come to that, I can't help telling you that 
 your name and face are very familiar to me. I seem 
 to know you, and, now, where did I know you ? " 
 
 " It must have been in the other world, during our 
 previous existence !" I laughed. "Perhaps we were 
 great friends in that other existence. Brothers, I 
 shouldn't wonder, for in the other existence I'm sure 
 I was a man, and in punishment for some crime 
 was condemned to be a woman in this ! "
 
 256 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 "No, that's not it!" exclaimed he, laughing, 
 " because, you see, I don't remember you as a man at 
 all. Oh, I think I know now! Did you not some 
 years ago get an appointment to go to Peru as 
 private secretary to the American minister?" 
 
 "Yes," I replied. 
 
 " I remember now," he went on. " You were in 
 Washington just before you left your country. You 
 were doing the Capitol, and somebody pointed you 
 out to me and said, 'There's the little girl that's going 
 to be a diplomat.' I had heard about you, of course, 
 for it was so extraordinary for a young woman to 
 get a place in any of our legations, or any other 
 legation, for that matter. I was curious to see what 
 sort of person was going to start us in for female 
 diplomacy. I particularly noticed you, and the 
 whole thing struck me as ludicrous. You seemed 
 very young, very ignorant and innocent-looking, and 
 very bright and happy-looking, too. I vaguely 
 wondered what was going to become of you, whether 
 you would ever come back to your own country 
 again, and whether you would become a woman with 
 a career. How did you make out as a diplomat? 
 Did you penetrate into State secrets, learn all about 
 Peruvian affairs, and serve your country well and 
 nobly ? " 
 
 He sat back in his chair and laughed softly, and 
 I laughed too, but I felt more sad than gay, because 
 this man's remembrance of me brought back to me 
 the memory of something of happiness, and ignor- 
 ance, and youth, which I knew I had left behind me, 
 and then I liked not his reference to " State secrets." 
 It annoyed me, because for the moment I had for- 
 gotten why I had come to Washington. However,
 
 STORY OF A "FAILURE" 257 
 
 for a few minutes we talked over Peru. I told him, 
 much to his amusement, about the earthquake and 
 the fleas, and we chatted about indifferent subjects, 
 till he said 
 
 "But you have come to interview me, and I haven't 
 another minute to spare now till dinner-time. Since 
 we are such old friends suppose we dine together this 
 evening, and, while dining, we will get down to the 
 business of interviewing, which, if not nearly so 
 pleasant to me as chatting about England and Peru, 
 will be, I suppose, more profitable to you. Now, 
 
 what do you say to seven o'clock at the 
 
 Restaurant ? Till then, good-bye ! " 
 
 This easy meeting, easy approach, and this getting 
 upon a footing of such pleasant acquaintanceship, not 
 to say friendship, was something I had not counted 
 upon. It was, I knew, a very advantageous beginning, 
 one that my editor would look upon as a great piece 
 of luck. I felt assured of success, as I walked all the 
 way back to my hotel, walked because I wanted to 
 think out the whole interview carefully, and lay all 
 my plans for getting the " scoop " that was to delight 
 the editor, astonish the public, not only in my own 
 country, but in other countries, and bring me in a 
 goodly sum of money. 
 
 That evening, as I sat opposite the statesman at 
 dinner, our conversation took in many subjects. He 
 was widely travelled, and talked most entertainingly 
 and instructively of all that he had seen. He was 
 interested in certain English affairs which I, because 
 of my late residence in London, could give him 
 information upon. He knew all the embassies and 
 legations of foreign countries, and talked familiarly of 
 the different diplomats accredited to Washington. I
 
 258 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 asked an occasional question, and suddenly the in- 
 formation I wanted came to me in the most natural, 
 informal way in the world. Not only that ! I was 
 told far more than any editor could dare to hope any 
 reporter would discover, and I learned things I had 
 not tried to learn, but valuable things, from the 
 newspaper point of view, nevertheless. Both this 
 man and I were interested in the great subject of 
 peace peace, not only in our own country, but in all 
 the countries of the world. We talked of the necessity 
 for an international court of arbitration ; we deprecated 
 the cruelty that war brought about, the hardness of 
 heart, the deadening of sympathy for human and 
 animal suffering; we shuddered at the thought of 
 horses left wounded and dying in slow agony, untended 
 and lonely on the battlefields. 
 
 " I am glad to find that our opinions are in perfect 
 accord upon this subject," he said. " For the present 
 I am obliged to keep quiet upon certain matters of 
 my belief. It is policy for me to do so. I would not 
 have talked to you as I have done, if you had been 
 the ordinary newspaper woman. One cannot speak 
 frankly to many representatives of the Press. Now, 
 you are a woman of discretion, and I expect you, in 
 writing up your interview with me, to use your own 
 judgment, and, of course, your judgment will tell you 
 what must not go into the paper." 
 
 He walked with me back to my hotel. 
 
 " Good night," he said. " Good luck to you, and be 
 careful with your interview. I wouldn't have trusted 
 that innocent little girl that went to Peru as a 
 diplomat with some of the information I have given 
 to you to-night. I am inclined to think you are more 
 of a diplomat now than you were in those days."
 
 STORY OF A "FAILURE" 259 
 
 He laughed again, half sadly. "Remember," he 
 said, " you and I might be the cause of somewhat 
 disturbing peace, if we talked too much. Good night 
 again." 
 
 He was gone, and I took the elevator to my rooms. 
 I turned on all the electric lights and made the place 
 a brilliant blaze. I put my hand dazedly to my head, 
 I looked blankly at the great pads of copy paper 
 supplied by the telegraph office for newspaper 
 correspondents. There was a knock at my door. 
 
 " Come in," I said. 
 
 "Telegram," said the boy, thrusting a silver tray 
 out towards me. 
 
 " Any answer ? " he asked, as I read the message. 
 Now, the message was this : 
 
 " Any news yet ? Urge every effort " 
 
 " Yes, there's an answer," I said to the boy, and on 
 a telegraph form I wrote one word, " Wait ! " and 
 handed it to him to despatch to the paper from which 
 the telegram had come. It gained me time, that 
 was all. 
 
 Then up and down the room, up and down for 
 over two hours I walked, righting such a battle with 
 myself as I had never before been given to fight. 
 I knew that not one single word of what the great 
 man had said to me ought to be put in print. It 
 might do harm harm to him, harm to the country, 
 harm to another country, harm, perhaps, to a cause 
 in which we both were interested, the cause of peace. 
 
 " I must not write it ! I must not write it ! " I 
 said again and again as I continued my journey up 
 and down the room. "I will not let journalistic 
 instinct get the better of my discretion, my honour, 
 my judgment."
 
 260 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 But there was another side to the question. There 
 was a duty one owed to one's paper, to one's editor. 
 To be sent after a thing, to get it, then to refuse to 
 deliver it up, was not that a sort of theft on my part, 
 a dishonourable act, a trifling with the best interests 
 of my paper and my own best interests as well? 
 Why did not great men keep silence if they did not 
 wish their remarks, their fears, their hopes, their 
 aims to get into the papers ? Why had not this man 
 refused to talk with me? Ah! "You and I might 
 be the cause of disturbing peace if we talked too 
 much." That was what he had said. Then why had 
 he talked to me, a reporter? But, had he said the 
 more important things to a reporter? Had he not 
 rather talked to the woman who was in accord with 
 his sympathies, his views, his aims ? When a woman 
 was a newspaper reporter, where was the dividing 
 line between herself as woman and as reporter? 
 Should she govern her womanhood and her honour 
 by her journalistic instinct, or should she govern that 
 journalistic instinct by that honour and that woman- 
 hood? Honour? Yes. But what about the duty 
 she owed to her employers ? What about withhold- 
 ing that which they would consider theirs by right ? 
 And there was the money I was to receive. J am 
 glad to remember that when at first I began to fight 
 that battle I did not take the large fee I was to have 
 into consideration. Not until I had nearly decided 
 what to do, did this phase of the matter occur to me. 
 I needed that money. I had earned it. No, I had 
 not earned it I had not worked hard to obtain it. 
 The success of my mission was due to an accident. 
 The man had first become interested because he saw 
 by my card that I was from London ; then he re-
 
 STORY OF A "FAILURE" 261 
 
 membered having seen me in what now seemed to 
 me that long-ago time when I was a nine-days' 
 wonder, going away to a far country as a member 
 of the American Legation. He had not cared any- 
 thing about the paper I represented. He had talked 
 to me personally. We both desired peace, therefore 
 he did not expect me to write anything that might 
 help to bring about war. 
 
 I went to the telegraph forms, tore off one, and 
 wrote : 
 
 " Absolutely impossible. Refuses even to see me. 
 Useless to try. E. B." 
 
 It was past midnight, but I was known to be a 
 newspaper woman, and there was nothing surprising 
 in the fact of my ringing the bell and asking the boy 
 to send this telegraphic message at once. He started 
 down the hall with it. I stepped out, and as I saw 
 him disappearing, I called after him "Wait a minute !" 
 He turned back to come to me, and I said, "No! 
 Go on ! Nothing ! Send it off instantly ! Don't let 
 anything delay you ! Get away with it ! Get away 
 with it!" 
 
 I went back to my room. Two minutes had 
 gone. I rang the bell. The boy was delayed in 
 answering. 
 
 " That telegram I gave you ! Quick ! Has it 
 been sent ? Can't you get it back ? " I asked. 
 
 " No. It's just gone. I saw the telegraph operator 
 tick it off." 
 
 "All right. It doesn't make any difference," I 
 said. 
 
 But it did make a difference. What difference 
 I knew not, but I have sometimes since thought 
 it might have made a very important difference,
 
 262 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 that perhaps it was given unto me at that time to in- 
 fluence certain events which quickly followed. At 
 the instant when I called the boy back I would have 
 recalled the telegram. When I rang the bell, again 
 I would have recalled it, but I could not, for it was 
 on its way to the editor of the paper. 
 
 When it was fairly gone I knew I was safe. I had 
 lied, saying I could not see the man, and I did not 
 intend to confess myself a liar. I laughed over the 
 way I had caught myself in my own snare. I had 
 told a good lie, and I was going to stick to it. I 
 argued that if all was, as they said, fair in love and 
 war, I had a right to my belief that some things also 
 were fair in peace. There was lying in war. Indeed, 
 it was often brought about by lies. Why, then, 
 should not I add my little mite in the way of a lie 
 for the sake of Peace ? 
 
 Very early the next morning I wrote a note to the 
 man I had interviewed : " After leaving you, I 
 decided it was best not to send anything of our 
 conversation to the paper. You told me to use my 
 own judgment and discretion, and they have warned 
 me that much harm may be done by the repetition 
 of any of the important statements you made. 
 I have telegraphed to the paper that you absolutely 
 refused to see me, because if I said I saw you, I 
 would be required to explain how I had been so 
 stupid as not to make you talk, and I cannot bear 
 to be thought stupid. I am sure that if it should 
 ever become necessary for you to bear me out in my 
 statement that I ' know not the man,' you will do so 
 by insisting that you know not this woman, because 
 for me to be caught in a lie would be almost as 
 embarrassing as for me to be thought stupid."
 
 STORY OF A "FAILURE" 263 
 
 I sent this note by special messenger, and took the 
 first train out of Washington. 
 
 "You mean to say that you -you, with all your 
 heralded originality of resource couldn't so much 
 as get a look at that man ? " asked the editor, when I 
 had returned from my trip. 
 
 " Yes, I mean to say it. I never failed to see any- 
 one before but Gladstone, so don't be too hard on 
 me. You said if / couldn't get to him, nobody 
 could." 
 
 " I don't know when I swore so hard as I did last 
 night when your telegram came saying you had failed. 
 I felt so sure you would succeed when I got your 
 first telegram of 'Wait!' that I had my headlines 
 ready. What did you say ' wait ' for ? " 
 
 " Oh, that was before I entirely gave it up. I was 
 trying to see what I could do." 
 
 " Well, I'm sorry for your sake as well as ours. It 
 would have been worth a pretty sum. But make out 
 your expense account, so I can send it in, and I'll 
 add ten dollars for your trouble; that's the best I 
 can do." 
 
 " I shall pay my own expenses, and I don't 
 want the ten dollars. I got nothing ; you owe me 
 nothing." 
 
 " Oh, say, that's nonsense ! We always pay the 
 expenses and time rates when you go off on a job 
 like that. Don't you go to doing anything of that 
 sort, and establishing a dangerous precedent for the 
 other poor devils that fail. Your expenses must have 
 been twenty dollars, weren't they ? Make them out, 
 now." 
 
 But I did not make out any bill of expenses, and I 
 took no time rates on that occasion of failure. The lie
 
 264 A ''NEWSPAPER GIRL' 
 
 I had told rested easy upon my conscience. I did not 
 regret it ; I never shall. But I had, in a way, cheated 
 that paper out of something, and I was not going to 
 make it pay for the privilege of being cheated, and I 
 lost thirty dollars by that " failure."
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 SOME PROPOSALS AND SOME 
 LOVE-LETTERS 
 
 " TV /[" Y DEAR YOUNG LADY, I am reading all your 
 1VX letters to the paper telling how you try to 
 live on three dollars a week. Sometimes I dream 
 about your being cold and hungry. You do not say 
 where you are employed at that price, and I suppose 
 you dare not for fear you will lose your place. You 
 must have suffered very much before you was willing 
 to write to the paper all about it and tell what you 
 have to eat, and how you have to cook it to make 
 it last. It makes me feel bad that an American 
 woman should have to do that. I hope you will not 
 think I am impudent, but I wish we could keep 
 company together, and if we liked each other as I 
 think we would we could get married, and you would 
 have a nice home. I have looked at your picture in 
 the paper and was very sorry you should have let 
 them put it in. I cannot tell much how you look, 
 and I would like you to get a tin-type taken if you 
 could afford it, but I know you cannot, and so I 
 would like to come and see you. Tell me how you 
 look, and if you are light or dark, and how old you 
 are. I am thirty and I make three dollars every 
 day at carpentry and sometimes as high as three 
 265
 
 266 A -NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 dollars and a half, so you see I have plenty of money 
 to support a wife, besides having four hundred dollars 
 in the Dime Savings Bank. Will you let me know 
 when I can come to see you, and give me the address, 
 or maybe you would like to meet me at my sister's, 
 who lives in New York. I have to send this to you 
 care of the paper, and I hope they will send it to 
 
 " Your sincere friend and admirer, 
 
 "J.T " 
 
 This was one of the many hundreds of letters of 
 all kinds that came to me while I was engaged on 
 a series of articles in New York entitled " How I 
 Live on Three Dollars a Week." I have already 
 mentioned this experiment in a former chapter. I 
 was making the experiment with the idea of telling 
 New York's working girls how to live as economically 
 as possible, and to discover whether or not a working 
 woman could live, without suffering and privation, 
 on those wages. Before the series began, an ex- 
 planation of who I was, what I had done in England, 
 and why I now proposed to do this thing in New 
 York was published in the paper. This issue of the 
 paper, I fancy, did not fall into the hands of the 
 writer of the above letter. He probably began read- 
 ing the opening chapter in which I stated that I had 
 three dollars a week, and proposed to tell people 
 how I lived upon it. Then, from day to day, there 
 appeared instalments of my story from real life, 
 telling what I had for breakfast, for dinner, for 
 supper, how my room was furnished, how I cooked 
 my food over my little oil-stove, and every day an 
 artist or photographer from the paper was sent to 
 the room to make pictures of me and it as we
 
 SOME PROPOSALS 267 
 
 progressed. One picture represented me peeling 
 potatoes, another sweeping up my tiny room, another 
 grouped my cooking utensils together, most of which 
 I had bought at a " five cent store." The series was 
 an interesting and a very successful one, and for 
 doing it I received liberal space rates, so that I 
 counted some of the privations I suffered as of small 
 account. 
 
 Not so the young man who wrote to me from 
 Brooklyn and signed his full name. As I have said, 
 he had not read the introduction to the series, and 
 he did not understand that a woman-journalist was 
 making the experiment. He understood that the 
 writer of the sometimes bright, sometimes pathetic 
 tale was really a girl who had only three dollars a 
 week to live on, and that she was writing to the 
 papers about it, in order, perhaps, to gain the sym- 
 pathy of the public, and, by telling of her own 
 troubles, to help others to bear theirs. And the 
 pathos of it all had touched his great big heart. He 
 had dreamed of me, dreamed that I was cold and 
 hungry, and determined, if agreeable to me, and if, 
 after going through that period of courtship known 
 in England as " walking out," and in America as 
 "keeping company," we loved each other, to marry me. 
 
 Many another woman journalist would have hunted 
 the man up, posing as the unhappy, ill-paid working 
 girl he imagined her to be, and, perhaps, have got 
 material for another series far more interesting and 
 strikingly sensational than the one that was then 
 appearing. But to me there was something sweet 
 and beautiful and noble in the letter, and I could not 
 use the writer as the subject for a joke. I answered 
 the letter, to be sure. I thought it well that his mind
 
 268 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 should be eased, that he should not worry over the 
 trouble of an imaginary person, so when the series 
 was finished I wrote to him that my letters to the 
 paper had helped me to get a nice position, where I 
 had ten dollars a week out West, and that I was 
 going out there to live with an aunt. 
 
 This letter was very similar to one I received in 
 London, just before I began publishing my ex- 
 perience as a housemaid. It was published at the 
 time, but I here repeat it to show that kind and 
 sympathetic hearts are to be found among the young 
 mechanics of England, as well as those of America. 
 
 It came in answer to the advertisement I inserted 
 in the Daily Telegraph, for a situation as housemaid, 
 and it ran as follows : 
 
 "DEAR Miss, Seeing your advertisement, I am 
 moved to write and say that I admire your pluck and 
 am glad to know there is at least one young woman 
 with sense enough to see that there is no disgrace in 
 domestic labour. I would like to marry a girl like 
 you, if you are not too old, or ugly, which I do not 
 believe you are. Please state age, complexion, 
 height, temperament, and personal appearance, and 
 tell me if you would accept for a husband an honest 
 mechanic, aged 28, and earning 200 a year. If so, 
 give me your address and I will come and see you 
 with all honourable intentions. It is much better for 
 a girl like you to be married and have a protector, 
 than to be a housemaid." 
 
 But these proposals, like some I got during my 
 masquerade as an American heiress, when, had I 
 possessed the bank account I was imagined to have, 
 there was no reason why I should not have become 
 "my lady" several times over, were gained under
 
 SOME PROPOSALS 269 
 
 what may be called " false pretences." The young 
 English mechanic desired to marry a housemaid; the 
 young American aspired to the hand of a factory girl 
 who was starving and freezing on three dollars a 
 week, and the Englishmen of noble lineage paid 
 their courtly devotions to a supposed Miss Money- 
 bags, who had dollars to burn. I take no credit to 
 myself on account of them. They were not intended 
 for me, but for the person I misrepresented myself 
 to be. 
 
 It was to myself, in my own proper person in my 
 humble capacity as journalist, that the following 
 highly inflammatory and amorous epistle was ad- 
 dressed. I found it on my desk one morning when I 
 was a "yellow journalist" in New York : 
 
 "ADORED MADEMOISELLE, I read always what 
 you write in the papers with vivacity, and I watch 
 you sometimes when you go from the door, and see 
 that you are chic. I follow you in the cable-car when 
 you do not know, and I walk before your home, up 
 and down, up and down, on the sidewalk. I know 
 you not, but I would your friendship be glad to 
 make, when I would love you and have the felicity to 
 hold you in my arms. I am in a strange country, 
 and like not the New York women only you. I 
 read the paper always, and watch for your name ; but 
 you have not travelled enough, and I would take you 
 to my dear France. I am a gentleman and noble, as 
 you see by the card. I have been in diplomatics, but 
 not now. My name you may have heard, for we are 
 very proud. I do implore you, mademoiselle, to let 
 me pay my respects at your residence and tell my 
 adoration, Adieu ! 
 
 " Most respectfully, ."
 
 270 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 According to the card enclosed my admirer was 
 "le Comte," and had at one time served his country 
 as a diplomat. I did not answer the letter, and two 
 days later there came another love-lorn epistle, along 
 with a huge bouquet. " I send you the roses," it ran. 
 " They are la France and American Beauty. Will 
 you not wear them, and let me know that you return 
 my devotion ? I will marry with you and take you 
 to France, and you shall be la belle American. I had 
 no thought to insult you, which you may think ; I 
 love you for the vivacity." 
 
 The roses adorned my desk for many a day, but 
 I wrote not to my would-be wooer until my life 
 became a burden, for a dapper little dark-eyed, 
 moustachioed Frenchman haunted my footsteps, and 
 jumped on to cable and elevated cars after me, 
 on one occasion losing his balance at the Park Place 
 station, and. being pushed back violently by the iron 
 gate as it swung to. I knew, of course, that the man 
 who followed me so persistently must be the writer of 
 the letters and the donor of the beautiful flowers, but 
 whenever I saw him I tried to appear as though I did 
 not know it, and put on as unconcerned an air as 
 possible. Once I met him on Fifth Avenue, and he 
 doffed his hat and said, " Ah, mademoiselle, you are 
 too cruel ! " and I rushed up a flight of brown stone 
 steps and rang the bell violently, inquiring for some- 
 one I knew did not reside there, to get rid of him. 
 But the next day a letter, more violently lover-like 
 than ever, came to me, all scented with heliotrope, 
 and along with it a box of bon-bons. I was heartless 
 enough to eat them up, and then I wrote presenting 
 my compliments, and expressing thanks for the 
 honour he doubtless desired to do me, but begging
 
 SOME PROPOSALS 271 
 
 him to cease his attentions, as my heart was other- 
 wise engaged. In reply to this there came a pas- 
 sionately-protesting letter, to which I replied that 
 any further letters he wrote me would be turned over 
 to my editor for insertion in the paper. I never saw 
 nor heard from " le Comte " again ! 
 
 I once went to interview a large landowner and 
 wealthy cattleman from the far West. I wanted his 
 opinion on the subject of girls being employed to 
 herd cattle in the West. A very interesting and 
 unique American was this man. He was possibly 
 forty, tall, athletic, tanned brown by the sun. There 
 was no pretence of polish about him, and his speech 
 showed him to be a man of little book learning. He 
 had been a cowboy in his youth, and now he was 
 worth an immense fortune. I had never lived so far 
 West as the state from which he came, and I had 
 never met this manner of man before. He was blunt, 
 bluff, brusque, yet underneath it all there seemed a 
 kindness and respect for women which could not but 
 put me at my ease. 
 
 " Say ! " he exclaimed, stretching out his long legs 
 from his chair and pushing back his large, broad- 
 brimmed hat from his face, " do you know I like you, 
 and I've got a notion that you and I ought to be 
 hitched?" 
 
 " What ! " I exclaimed in amazement. 
 
 " See here ! Do you like money ? I mean do you 
 like to spend it on flummeries and silks and sech 
 like?" 
 
 " I certainly do," I answered frankly, " but what 
 of it?" 
 
 " I thought so. Now, you listen to me, and don't 
 you interrupt or get scared, fur I've got no idee
 
 272 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 about you but what's just right. I've been living out 
 West all my life, grubbing away for ' the stuff,' and 
 I haven't had time to think about fallin' in love, and, 
 of course, you needn't think I'm goin' to make love 
 to you, for I've just met you. But I want to make 
 an honourable, business proposition to you. I'm not 
 a gentleman that is, on the outside, because I haven't 
 had time to learn when to bow and scrape and take 
 off my hat and when not to, and don't get round 
 quick enough to pick up a woman's handkercher 
 when she drops it, and things of that sort. You're 
 educated, and I'm not. I didn't have no chance 
 when I was a kid, and, as I said, I've been grubbing 
 ever since. I always thought I'd like to have money, 
 and now I've got it. If it ain't a million, it's so near 
 it there ain't any use calculatin' how much less it is. 
 Now, I took a notion to you because you set about 
 your work quiet-like to interview me, and I says to 
 myself, 'Here's a hard-workin' girl. She'd make 
 money fly if she had it, and wear satin dresses with 
 ruffles and flutings every day, if she could afford it. 
 She'd appreciate playing a pianny and she'd know 
 how to help a fellow improve and make something 
 of himself. She'd know an honest man when she 
 laid eyes on him even if he wasn't a dude.' 
 
 " My proposition to you is this : Will you marry 
 me, and if we fall in love afterwards, all right, and 
 if we don't, we'll be good friends, anyway. I'll treat 
 you on the square. I'm no fool, and I learn things 
 quick enough when I set my mind to it You could 
 teach me, and I'd be a good scholar. I'm a young 
 man yet. I want to rub myself up now, stop the 
 money-grubbing and be a Congressman. Oh, I'd get 
 there right enough, if you'd help me. I wouldn't
 
 SOME PROPOSALS 273 
 
 expect you to live on the ranch, not more'n three 
 months in a year, anyway. We'd travel around the 
 country and go see furrin parts. You wouldn't have 
 to do any more work, but just have a good time. 
 I'd be good to you, I would, little woman. What do 
 you say to it ? " 
 
 I caught my breath. I had had many a strange 
 encounter with men in my career as an interviewer. 
 I had thought I had met all kinds and varieties, and 
 that my experience was wide enough to take in every 
 sort. I had met honest men, dishonest ones, gentle- 
 men, boors, men who openly insulted me, men who 
 tried to cover up their insults in the polished phrases 
 of the courtier. Here was a new sort, a man pathetic 
 in his honesty, yet grand and noble of character, the 
 kind of man one would fancy God might make when 
 he put forth every effort to do His best. I shrank 
 from hurting his feelings. I wanted to let him know 
 that I felt he had honoured me, that I did not see 
 anything ridiculous in the situation, that I would not 
 go away and laugh about it. 
 
 "I thank you more than I can tell you," I said. 
 " You have done me an honour I shall never forget. 
 Don't ever say again you are not a gentleman. You 
 are. Good-bye." 
 
 I put out my hand. 
 
 " I suppose it's no go, then ? " he asked. 
 
 I smiled. " I believe that would be the short way 
 of expressing it," I said. 
 
 " Well, I'm glad I spoke to you about it, anyway. 
 I couldn't know until I mentioned it, could I ? Say, 
 if you ever come out my way, you just send me a line, 
 and if I'm there, I'll see you don't want for nothing. 
 But I'm goin' travelling, I am. You may hear of me
 
 274 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 in Congress, or governor, or something yet. You 
 
 wouldn't be sorry then ? " 
 
 " No," I answered, " I wouldn't be sorry then." 
 
 I left him standing on the rug. A kitten had come 
 
 into the room while he was talking, and he had 
 
 stooped and picked it up, allowing it to play with his 
 
 watchchain. 
 
 One of Nature's noblemen in the rough, I thought 
 
 him,
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 AN "EDITORIAL BOUQUET" 
 
 IT is four years ago now since back again to 
 London I came, having finished up my work as 
 " yellow journalist." I have already told what " good 
 fellows " were those members of the different staffs 
 upon which I was employed, helping me over the 
 rough places, and making easy many a road that 
 would otherwise have been hard to travel. They 
 were " good fellows " to the end, up to the hour of my 
 sailing away from my native land. Loud and severe 
 indeed were their comments of disapproval upon 
 what they denominated my determination to be a 
 " regular, right-down Johnnie Bull," and when I was 
 about to take my farewell of the office where I was 
 last employed, they sang out sonorously and in unison 
 a paraphrase of dear old Dinah's " Dixie Song" : 
 
 " Her heart's turned back to Lunnon, 
 And she must go." 
 
 Nevertheless, to show their good- will, and to 
 prevent my forgetting them, as they declared I would 
 surely do, "writing for dry, high-toned English 
 papers," they took up a collection of various knick- 
 knacks among themselves, which one of their number 
 brought to the steamer just as it was about to sail. 
 Each member of the staff had contributed something 
 275
 
 276 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 from his own personal effects at the office to such a 
 " farewell testimonial for remembrance " as I fancy no 
 other woman ever brought with her to London. 
 
 One contributed his pen, one his brand-new pipe, 
 one a band from his straw hat, one a necktie, one his 
 pencil, one a half-used blotting-pad. There was a 
 Japanese doll, known as the " office baby," an 
 almanac, a paste-pot and brush, snatched up from one 
 of the reportorial tables in all its state of much-used 
 stickiness, a jack-knife, a pair of scissors, a ball of 
 twine, a box of pins, a box of cigarettes, an empty 
 ink-bottle that was far from clear and clean, a flash- 
 light photograph of several members of the staff taken 
 in their shirt-sleeves, a French novel, a box of candies, 
 one orange, and a bouquet of flowers. These things 
 were piled in great confusion on to the sofa in my 
 state-room, and on the top of the miscellaneous heap 
 was a wire spindle, stuck through a paper, on which 
 was written, " You'll miss us when you're gone." 
 
 Miss them ! Certainly. Good friends they were. 
 And yet, not to a " foreign " land, nor to strangers did 
 I return when I came back to London to work for 
 English editors upon English newspapers and 
 magazines. I have sung the praises of my American 
 editors and journalistic co-workers, and shall I not 
 now sing those of the English members of the Fourth 
 Estate with whom my work has brought me into 
 contact? Most conscientiously and most truly let 
 now this chapter tell of the virtues of London editors 
 I have known and still do know. 
 
 I keep always upon my desk what I call " My 
 Editorial Bouquet." It is a book containing the 
 names of those English editors that I love best On 
 the pages devoted to each individual name I jot down
 
 AN "EDITORIAL BOUQUET" 277 
 
 notes of subjects for contributions that I have in mind 
 to offer them. I turn over those pages now, as I 
 write this chapter. 
 
 Ah ! here among the first I find the name of him 
 whom I have named my " hard-up editor." By this I 
 do not mean that the gentleman in question, himself 
 is " hard-up," for such is not the case. I mean that 
 he has a predilection for stories of hard-up-ed-ness. 
 Whenever I am particularly "hard-up" I write a 
 story about it and send it to this editor, and he 
 always sends a cheque back by return of post. He 
 says that he depends upon me to keep him supplied 
 with articles and stories of this description, and I have 
 always been able to let him have as many as he could 
 use. Only once during my several years' connection 
 with his periodical has he been under the necessity of 
 writing to ask me for a contribution. That was when 
 I was writing a book which book does not matter. I 
 had not sent him any story for the space of two 
 months, when there came a short note from him, 
 saying, " I have not had anything from you for some 
 time now. I take it you are very prosperous these 
 days." 
 
 I immediately responded with a story of " A Man 
 in Possession," for which I received the next day a 
 cheque with this injunction, " Get him out." 
 
 I turn over a page or two and come to the name of 
 one eminent, venerable, highly-honoured and widely- 
 renowned editor for whose pages I sometimes con- 
 tribute. I went to his office one foggy, winter day to 
 consult him upon a most important subject. I have 
 said the day was foggy, but it was not an ordinary fog 
 of the half-light, half-dark variety. It was absolutely 
 thick and absolutely black. I fell over myself several
 
 278 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 times stumbling up the stairs to the great man's 
 office. When I walked in, the fog had in no way 
 dispersed, yet when he rose from the leader he was 
 writing, to shake hands with me, he exclaimed 
 
 " Ah, the sun has come out ! " 
 
 And yet they say that Englishmen are lacking in 
 gallantry, and the art of saying pretty things to 
 women ! 
 
 A few more pages, and I see the name of a smart 
 young editor, whose acceptances from me are many, 
 and whose cheques are liberal. He would be such a 
 perfect editor were it not for one habit that of 
 marking up the manuscripts of rejected articles in 
 such a way that I have to write them all over again 
 before submitting them to any other editor. The 
 first article of mine that he rejected he kept for 
 several weeks, finally returning it to me with this 
 note : " You cannot feel as much regret as I do at my 
 finally having to return this article. I like it better 
 than anything of yours I have read, and I tried to 
 make up my mind to use it, but I know it is not in 
 our line, and now, therefore, I am obliged against my 
 will to send it back. I assure you I did intend to 
 use it up to the last minute." 
 
 Intend to use it ! I should say so ! Why, the 
 appreciative man had it all paragraphed, newly 
 punctuated, and marked with a blue pencil with 
 such observations as "Excellent!" "A little tall!" 
 "Doesn't have the ring of truth here!" "Write 
 her about this." "Not so good!" "Might be im- 
 proved!" "That's it!" 
 
 Now, it happened I did not see any of these 
 pertinent, blue-pencilled remarks until my attention 
 was called to them by another editor who helps to
 
 AN "EDITORIAL BOUQUET" 279 
 
 make up my editorial bouquet, and to whom I sent 
 the article off, post-haste, when it had been returned 
 by the first editor. The second editor wrote me 
 to come and see him, and then held that queer-look- 
 ing manuscript before my eyes. 
 
 " Now," said he, " I don't agree with the remarks 
 you have been to the trouble of putting on this 
 manuscript In the first place, I don't call that 
 particular paragraph ' excellent,' nor do I think that 
 there is anything ' tall ' in this statement. Where 
 you have written 'might be improved' I find your 
 construction altogether blameless, and I rather like 
 the whole article. But now tell the truth about this 
 manuscript. What does it mean ? " 
 
 I saw a twinkle of large suspicion in the second 
 editor's eye, and so, without any hedging, I said 
 
 " I expect it means it went to another editor before 
 it came to you, and the other editor intended to use 
 it and changed his mind. But I didn't know the 
 marks were on it. The first page was quite clean, 
 and as I thought it was just in your line, I sent it 
 as soon as it was returned." 
 
 The second editor accepted and published the 
 article. If he had not, he would not have been brought 
 into my editorial bouquet. But that does not make 
 the offence of the first editor any the less serious. 
 He has rejected three of my articles after marking 
 them up in the same manner, and I have had to 
 copy them over, as I have informed him. I now 
 make duplicate copies of everything submitted to 
 that particular editor. 
 
 Again to the book of names I turn, and I see the 
 name of an editor who is always asking me to " try 
 a little fiction " for him. He says he believes I
 
 2 8o A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 would succeed with fiction, although I have never 
 yet got out of the habit of writing only of things 
 that really happened. For several years this editor 
 has been urging me to "make up things" for his 
 paper, and I have never yet done so, though I am a 
 frequent contributor to his pages. 
 
 Now, I have mentioned that in the earlier part 
 of my career in London I purchased a typewriter 
 on the instalment plan. Well, as the months went 
 by, I managed with much economy and trouble to 
 get the succeeding instalments paid till I got to the 
 last one, and for that instalment, which was to make 
 the machine my very own, I could not get the money. 
 The people from whom I bought it waited most con- 
 siderately for some time after the payment was due, 
 but finally they sent a man to take it away. That 
 was in the days of Dinah and the flat. The man 
 was a very nice sort of person and truly sympathised 
 with me, I think, when I told him I could not make 
 my living if he took the typewriter away. Never- 
 theless he declared he must obey orders. 
 
 " It is now," I said, " twelve o'clock. Will you go 
 away and let me use the typewriter till six o'clock, 
 or even five? I promise you that you shall then 
 have the machine or the money." 
 
 " Certainly ! " he answered, and he left the flat. 
 I sat down and rattled off a story of a young woman 
 who bought a typewriter on the instalment plan. 
 She earned her living by doing work for the news- 
 papers. She could not pay the last instalment, there- 
 fore she wrote a story about her troubles, and took 
 the story to an editor, and he paid her for it on the 
 spot, and so she saved her typewriter. 
 
 I had my story finished at two o'clock, and I
 
 AN "EDITORIAL BOUQUET" 281 
 
 carried it to the editor who is always asking me to 
 " try fiction." He was very busy, but I insisted that 
 the story was of a kind that must be read on the 
 spot. He read it. 
 
 " That is a capital story ! " he exclaimed when he 
 had finished. " I always knew you could do fiction. 
 I'll send you a cheque next week for it." 
 
 " But that will be too late," I said. " The typewriter 
 will be gone then." 
 
 " What typewriter ? " he asked surprisedly. 
 
 " Why, the typewriter that the story tells about. 
 The man's waiting for the money, and if I don't carry 
 it back to him he'll take the machine." 
 
 The editor sat back in his chair, gave me one stare, 
 and then laughed long and heartily. " I don't know 
 if I'd advise you to try fiction, after all," he said, and 
 then he took his pen and wrote a cheque, and I went 
 back and paid off the final instalment on the type- 
 writer. 
 
 Another editor on my list is one I call my "serious 
 editor." He is a very busy man and always in deadly 
 earnest I went to his office shortly after my return 
 from America. 
 
 " Where have you been all this time ? " he asked, 
 " and what are you going to do for me now ? Some 
 really good work you ought to do." 
 
 " Yes," I answered, taking a seat. " I've been on 
 the music-hall stage, but now I shall try to get into 
 high-class drama and play Shakespeare." 
 
 " What ! " he exclaimed, frowning terribly. " You've 
 been on at the halls ! " 
 
 He looked very pained, very serious. He is one of 
 those who have always encouraged me to do " better 
 things."
 
 2 82 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 "I only meant I have been doing 'yellow journal- 
 ism/ and now I want to write for your high-class 
 magazine," I answered. 
 
 " Then why didn't you say so ? Why mention the 
 halls ? Why frighten your friends ? " 
 
 He is the typically serious Briton, this editor. 
 
 There is one editor on my list whose great kindness 
 to me at a very trying time in my London career will 
 always be one of my happiest recollections. He had 
 asked me to write on a certain American subject for 
 his periodical, and I had asked him whether on the 
 completion of the article it would be convenient for 
 him to pay me before publication. 
 
 " Certainly," he said, " I will do it with the greatest 
 pleasure." 
 
 When I was writing the article I found the subject 
 a most difficult one to manage. I was to have con- 
 demned certain American things, certain American 
 customs. I had not been in England vefy long at that 
 time, and I found it more hard than I had imagined 
 it would be to criticise with a sharp-pointed pen any 
 institution, however bad, that was a part of my own 
 country. I feared also to offend certain persons in my 
 native land. As a result, the article I wrote was use- 
 less for the purpose for which the editor had intended 
 it It was deplorably weak. I had "hedged," and 
 in " hedging " I had spoiled my article. Yet, when 
 I handed it to the editor I did not know of these 
 faults. He sent me a cheque immediately, and then 
 several weeks and a few months went by and I heard 
 nothing of it, though I knew he had expected to 
 make early use of it. Finally I wrote asking if 
 anything were the matter with the article, and he 
 asked me to call on him.
 
 AN "EDITORIAL BOUQUET" 283 
 
 Was ever a great and distinguished editor so kind 
 to a struggling contributor ? "I found it would not 
 do at all," he said, ever so gently. " I wanted some- 
 thing very strong and condemnatory, and you have 
 written a bright article, but you have been afraid to 
 say what you thought. You have ' hedged ' terribly ! 
 It has seemed as though you were afraid to offend 
 some of your countrymen. Now, let us read over 
 some of these pages, and see if you don't agree 
 with me." 
 
 We read it over together. He pointed out the 
 mistakes, the weaknesses, the truly awful " hedging." 
 
 " Yes, I see it all now," I said. " I was afraid, as 
 you say. I was afraid some of the papers in my 
 country would pitch into me and hurt me in some 
 ways. But I shan't mind it now. I'll take the article, 
 now I see the mistakes, and I know I can make it 
 what you want. I'll re-write and revise it all. You 
 have paid fof a certain kind of article, and you have 
 the right to demand it." 
 
 " I think I will not let you do that, though you 
 offer," he returned, smiling. " I believe the kind of 
 article I want is not the kind of one you ought to 
 write in your present circumstances. You write for 
 some of the American papers. You will not want to 
 gain their enmity by criticising your own country's 
 institutions. It may do you irreparable injury for 
 this article to be printed. I hope the time will come 
 when you will be independent enough to use your 
 pen for principle for the sake of principle, whether or 
 not it offend certain classes. But the time is not yet. 
 You are not old enough, nor advanced far enough 
 in your career to take such a stand. I will not
 
 284 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 publish the article I so desired, even if you write it 
 for me." 
 
 I started back in horror. " Oh, but you have paid 
 for it ! " I exclaimed. I did not add that I had used 
 the money to pay a very pressing debt, and that I 
 had no means of giving it back to him, but I think 
 he suspected it. He answered laughingly 
 
 " That money is safe well invested ! Never fear ! 
 You will one day write for me such an article on this 
 subject as will make us both glad that this one was a 
 failure. I want you to feel that I have paid you that 
 money as one pays a lawyer a retaining fee to 
 secure myself for the good, strong, non-hedging 
 article you are going to write for me on this subject 
 some time in the future, perhaps within the next five 
 or six years, when you are in such a position that 
 you can and ought to write it." 
 
 Three or four years afterwards I wrote the article 
 he desired. I did others on different subjects for 
 him in the meantime, for which I was paid as 
 though I were not largely in his debt " I now pay 
 you my debt," I wrote to him, when I finally felt 
 that I was able to do what he wanted. " Thank 
 you, thank you," he wrote back. " I find in reading 
 your manuscript that you have paid me a very good 
 rate of interest on my little loan ! " 
 
 Good friends, indeed, I left in America, and good , 
 friends I came back to in England. Would that all 
 struggling, half-discouraged women journalists might 
 fall into the hands of such whole-souled Anglo- 
 American editors as many of those for whom it has 
 been my good fortune to work ! 
 
 Again I turn over some of the pages of the book 
 of remembrance on my desk. I can only mention
 
 AN "EDITORIAL BOUQUET" 285 
 
 a few of them out of the many. Here is the editor 
 who always writes to me in a hurry. His letters are 
 somewhat like telegrams, so brief and so to the point 
 are they when he sends me an order for a "rush 
 contribution." 
 
 "Can you not write me some typical American 
 love-letters ? I would not wish them to run to more 
 than four or five pages. Faithfully yours " 
 
 This was the startling communication that came 
 to me from the " editor in a hurry," about a year ago. 
 I considered it altogether too terse and abrupt, not 
 to say brutal, even for an editor, to write thus on 
 such a subject, even limiting one to the number 
 of pages on which she might express her feelings, 
 so I despatched the following answer : 
 
 "I'm afraid I cannot. Your request is altogether 
 too sudden. I had no idea that you would desire 
 anything of this sort. Even if I attempted it, I 
 greatly fear I could not suit you, and I certainly 
 would not wish to be limited in this peremptory 
 way. I would advise you to try an Englishwoman, 
 who would be more apt to meet your peculiar 
 requirements, than an independent American 
 woman. Faithfully yours " 
 
 Of course, a somewhat more lucid and enlighten- 
 ing epistle followed. It seemed that people of all 
 nations were writing love-letters for publication, and 
 he desired to print some samples of American 
 literature of that sort. He added, " Of course, you 
 see, I'm rather pressed for space, but if you can't 
 manage it in four or five of your type-written pages, 
 I could grant you a little more perhaps, but do be as 
 brief as possible."
 
 286 A -NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 Certainly. But, as my "serious editor" asked 
 in regard to the music-halls, why didn't the "editor 
 in a hurry " say what he meant in the beginning ? 
 
 There are many others. These are but sample 
 blossoms from my " editorial bouquet."
 
 CHAPTER XXVi 
 ON INTERVIEWING AND SOME INTERVIEWS 
 
 IT is one of my chief ambitions as a journalist to 
 become a really excellent interviewer. That goal 
 I have not yet reached, but it is one towards which I 
 strive. Interviewing, or doing what in newspaper 
 parlance is known as " personal write-ups," is, it seems 
 to me, the most pleasant, interesting, and edifying 
 branch of journalistic work that can be taken up by 
 a woman. It throws her into contact with the great, 
 the extraordinary, and the interesting people of the 
 world. 
 
 I consider that, other things being equal, women 
 make much better interviewers than men, for the 
 reason that they are usually more tactful, and have 
 well, yes, I feel that candour compels me to admit it 
 a far greater amount of adroitness among their natural 
 characteristics. They are also quicker and more apt 
 at observing and taking account of the little things of 
 life, and more capable of making " much ado about 
 nothing" when they return to their offices after 
 having been in conversation with a prominent per- 
 sonage. If a woman knows herself to have no tact, 
 no adroitness, and has not the talent for turning small 
 and apparently unimportant things into interesting 
 " copy," then she should never attempt the " personal 
 287
 
 288 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL' 
 
 write-up" department of journalism, for she cannot 
 succeed in doing anything but boring her readers. 
 
 In the days when I was a " heroine " a young Eng- 
 lish woman journalist called to write me up after I 
 had several times been interviewed by other papers. 
 She found me sitting at my typewriter, but not 
 writing, for there were four kittens, three weeks old, 
 in my lap whose mother had forsaken them, and I 
 was warming milk for them over a spirit stove, and 
 feeding them with the milk, each in its turn, from an 
 after-dinner coffee-spoon. Judge stood beside me, 
 eyeing the proceedings with great interest, and as 
 each kitten was sufficiently fed he would take it gently 
 from my lap and carry it in his mouth across the 
 room to the sofa, just as he had seen its mother do. 
 
 " I can't rise and shake hands with you properly," 
 I said, laughing, to the young woman as she entered, 
 "because, you see, I'm a woman of family, and I've 
 got domestic duties ! " 
 
 The young woman journalist took out a note-book, 
 and when she was seated asked where I was born, 
 where I was educated, what I had done in American 
 journalism, and what was my opinion of the woman's 
 movement, all of which things had appeared in the 
 papers dozens of times before. How dry, how alto- 
 gether uninteresting, were the facts relating to my 
 birth, my education, and even my opinion of the 
 "woman's movement" if I had any, which I hadn't 
 compared with my feeding of the motherless kittens 
 from after-dinner coffee-spoons, and Judge's carrying 
 them about in mother-cat-like fashion! There was 
 that young woman's story, but she failed to grasp it. 
 
 Some time later another English woman journalist 
 came to write me up. She had no note-book, and
 
 SOME INTERVIEWS 289 
 
 when I discovered that fact I made up my mind that 
 she was a good interviewer, for the best interviewers 
 do not carry note-books. They are the signs of an 
 out-of-date, dry-as-dust journalism. Judge had met 
 her at the door and conducted her to my sitting- 
 room. She patted him, inquired his name, and said 
 it was so singular for a dog she could not possibly 
 forget it. We talked on all sorts of subjects. I told 
 her the story of how I had once demanded to be 
 treated like a man on the Southern paper, and some 
 of my experiences in Peru. We had tea together, 
 just like two women friends, and when she was 
 leaving I said 
 
 " Of course, we've been talking informally, but I 
 know you understand what I'd like to have go in 
 print and what I wouldn't." 
 
 " Oh yes ! It will be all right," she said, " but 
 if you wish, I could send you a proof of my 
 article." 
 
 " Never mind about the proof," I returned. " I 
 believe you to be the model interviewer, and I leave 
 myself in your hands." 
 
 I could not have done better than to have left it all 
 to her judgment, for such a bright, entertaining 
 account of her visit to me did she write as to con- 
 firm my opinion that she was the model interviewer. 
 She had the tact, the adroitness, the art of turning 
 little incidents into entertaining " copy," and, being a 
 student of character and human nature, she had " sized 
 me up" most wonderfully well. That was several 
 years ago, and she is now one of the finest inter- 
 viewers in England. Many are the newspapers and 
 magazines I pick up to find in them her bright little 
 personal sketches of people of the day, and I always
 
 290 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 know that she can tur'fi even the most uninteresting 
 interviewees into interesting " copy." 
 
 One of the great disappointments of my journal- 
 istic career has been that I was not able to interview 
 Mr. Gladstone. It was my desire to write a character 
 sketch of him for both an English and an American 
 paper, and one day about six years ago I went to 
 Hawarden Castle for that purpose. I carried with 
 me a letter I had previously written, telling him that 
 I was an American, that I desired not to interview 
 him on any particular subject, but only to see him, 
 that I might put my visit to him in my journalistic 
 book of remembrance. At Hawarden Castle I sat 
 on a chair in the hall. It was quite near another chair 
 which, I fancied, had served as a tea-table for little 
 Dorothy Drew, for on it was an apple-core and a bit 
 of a broken dolly. The servant carried my letter to 
 Mr. Gladstone while I waited in the hall, and he re- 
 turned presently saying that he had delivered it and 
 that his master would send his reply in a minute or 
 two. My heart beat high with anticipation, for I 
 believed that the Grand Old Man would see me. He 
 could not, I thought, turn away an American woman 
 who had gone so very far to see him. 
 
 I had waited, perhaps, ten minutes, when a carriage 
 drove up to the Castle, and there alighted from 
 it a woman, whom, from the portraits I had seen of 
 her, I recognised as Mrs. Gladstone. She had with 
 her a little girl, doubtless Dorothy Drew. When 
 she got into the hall she looked at me in amazement, 
 then came towards me, very near, and observed me 
 again, but she said not a word. She went a few 
 steps and called to a servant. I thought I heard 
 her ask, " Who is that young person ? " He made
 
 SOME INTERVIEWS 291 
 
 some explanations which I knew referred to me and 
 my motive for calling upon Mr. Gladstone, and she 
 hurriedly went up the stairs. In two minutes there 
 came to me the message by the servant. 
 
 "Mr. Gladstone's compliments, miss, and he 
 regrets he cannot see you." 
 
 "Was Mrs. Gladstone the lady who passed me 
 just now ? " I asked. 
 
 " Yes, miss," he answered. 
 
 Had she prevented it ? I do not know. 
 
 I was, I believe, the first woman journalist who 
 ever interviewed that wily old Celestial, Li Hung 
 Chang, and the first woman to whom he talked after 
 he arrived in England. I had heard he was an early 
 riser, so I got up very early one morning to call on 
 him before I had my breakfast. When I asked for 
 him at Lord Lonsdale's residence, they told me I 
 had got there too late, that His Excellency was 
 about to go driving. 
 
 "Please go and say to His Excellency that an 
 American woman journalist called to see him before 
 she had her breakfast, knowing that he was an early 
 riser, and that she is sorry she got here too late. 
 Tell him that the Americans are also early risers, 
 and that the American woman will call on him to- 
 morrow morning at seven o'clock, and if that is too 
 late she will call the next day at six, and if that's 
 still too late, she will come the next morning at five, 
 but that she must see him." 
 
 This was the message that gained for me admit- 
 tance to Li Hung Chang, for in ten minutes the 
 attendant had returned, saying 
 
 "His Excellency will be delighted to see the 
 American lady."
 
 292 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL' 
 
 He was very nice and polite, in his way, was 
 Li Hung Chang, though instead of my being allowed 
 to interview him, he interviewed me. When he 
 asked me my age and my yearly income, I thought 
 he was getting too personal and did not deserve 
 to know the truth, so I added to my income all that 
 I subtracted from my age, and when he demanded 
 to know why I did not get married, I hedged as best 
 I could. He gave me a medallion portrait of himself 
 in a purple morocco jewel-box, and told me always 
 to keep it in memory of the Old Man of China. 
 Notwithstanding all the things the Powers credited, 
 or rather discredited, him with during the later 
 days of the Chinese Question, how could I feel but 
 kindly towards Li Hung Chang? For from Eng- 
 land he went to America, and, being interviewed by 
 the representative of a Chicago paper, he referred 
 in a most complimentary way to an American 
 woman who had interviewed him in London, and 
 asked to be introduced to some more just like her. 
 The gold might wear off of that medallion he gave 
 me indeed, when I look at it these days, I have 
 sometimes thought it was not quite so shiny as it was 
 the day he gave it ; and no matter what happened 
 in China, I have always felt down in my heart a 
 sneaking liking for the wily old man. 
 
 When I was employed on a New York paper, I 
 went to Lewiston, Maine, to see Mr. Dingley, and 
 tell him what, as an American woman, I thought 
 about his outrageous tariff bill and " one-hundred- 
 dollar clause." I took along with me a lot of ribbons 
 and laces that I had bought in London, and some 
 that I had bought in New York, in order to give him 
 an object lesson in the difference of prices in the
 
 SOME INTERVIEWS 293 
 
 two countries. I called his attention to the hat I had 
 bought for a guinea in London, and explained that 
 in New York it would have cost twenty dollars. I 
 told him how he was the cause of turning honest 
 American women into smugglers. Mr. Dingley 
 was about the most unreasonable and unconvincible 
 man I ever interviewed. I did my best to get 
 him to change his mind on the tariff question, and 
 especially to have repealed the obnoxious hundred- 
 dollar clause, but he was smiling adamant. How- 
 ever, I remember him as most kind, pleasant, and 
 helpful, so far as giving me " copy " was concerned, 
 and none laughed more heartily than did he when 
 my terrible arraignment of him as " The Enemy of 
 American Womankind" appeared in the paper. 
 When he died, four years ago, the little " In Me- 
 moriam" I wrote came from my heart. A kind, good 
 man, and the typical American gentleman, was Mr. 
 Dingley, of Dingley Tariff fame. 
 
 I have also the most pleasant recollection of an 
 interview with the late Henry George. " What will 
 you say about me?" he asked laughingly, after we 
 had had a chat during the days when he was running 
 for mayor of New York. 
 
 " I will say, Mr. George," I replied, " that I have 
 interviewed an honest man, and that man was Henry 
 George ! " 
 
 " Ah, thank you ! Success to you, my friend," he 
 said as he shook hands. It was but a few days after- 
 wards that I was sent to get some of the details of 
 his sudden death, which came just at the end of that 
 hard-fought municipal campaign, and I was very glad 
 I had met him, and had been able to write my story 
 of the Honest Man.
 
 294 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 One of the pleasantest interviews I have ever had 
 was with Sir Thomas Lipton, a little while before he 
 made his attempt to " lift " the America Cup. Very 
 chivalrous, very observing, very intent upon making 
 his interviewer enjoy the process as much as he 
 seemed to be enjoying it, did I find the great tea 
 merchant. I went to his place at New Southgate, 
 was met at the station by his carriage, and as I 
 entered his door he shook hands and said 
 
 " Let me thank you for the compliment ! " 
 
 " Compliment ! " I answered. " Which one ? " 
 
 " The wearing of the green ! " he replied, bowing 
 gallantly. 
 
 Then I remembered that I was wearing a green 
 dress and a hat with three green feathers. 
 
 " Oh yes," I returned promptly, " I wore my green 
 clothes purposely, in honour of my visit to the owner 
 of the Shamrock" 
 
 To be sure, it was not true. I regret to say that 
 my " wearing of the green " that day was an accident, 
 but what woman would not stretch a point with her 
 conscience when a man was so tactful, so diplomatic, 
 and so observant, as to notice and speak about the 
 colour of her dress and ostrich plumes ? With such 
 an auspicious beginning the interview could not help 
 proving a success, especially as my genial host went 
 on to explain how he had taken his two favourite 
 thoroughbred Kentucky horses from the stable, and 
 sent them to meet his American visitor by way of 
 paying a most especial compliment. He gave me tea 
 of his own very best, and as we were about to drink 
 it he said 
 
 " Now, about that cup ! "
 
 SOME INTERVIEWS 295 
 
 Naturally I thought he referred to the cup of tea I 
 held in my hand, so I said 
 
 " Sir Thomas, it is yours ! What more can I say ? " 
 
 " That is very kind, though almost unpatriotic of 
 you, an American woman, to prophesy that I shall 
 win the America Cup ! " returned Sir Thomas. Then 
 I laughed, for it seemed we had been referring to two 
 different cups altogether ; but when the afternoon had 
 passed, and the Kentucky horses were again brought 
 out to take me to the station, we had another mis- 
 understanding of the same sort. I had become great 
 friends with Sir Thomas's little Pomeranian dog, 
 which he had named " Shamrock " in honour of his 
 boat, and the little dog was, of course, at the door 
 when I took my leave. 
 
 "Well, Sir Thomas," I said, "good-bye. May the 
 best boat win, and may the best boat be " 
 
 I was springing into the carriage when I felt a 
 tugging at my skirts and a gentle snapping at my 
 heels. It was the sweet little Shamrock bidding me 
 adieu, and I cried out 
 
 " Oh, Shamrock ! Shamrock ! " 
 
 "That's right!" shouted Sir Thomas as I drove 
 away, " I knew you would wish me luck ! " 
 
 And what did Sir Thomas Lipton do but afterwards 
 tell a story of an American woman journalist who 
 had interviewed him, and when she was going away 
 said to him 
 
 " Good-bye. May the best boat win, and may the 
 best boat be Shamrock /" 
 
 From gay to sad, from smiles to tears. This is the 
 way of life, and this is the way of my reminiscences 
 of some that I have interviewed, for only recently 
 there came to me news of the death of the first
 
 296 A -NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 person I interviewed after I came to London nine 
 years ago the man who afterwards became my good 
 friend, Sir Walter Besant. He was not " Sir Walter " 
 then. I entered his office one day with all the self- 
 confidence and assurance of the newly-arrived Ameri- 
 can girl in London, and going up to him as he sat at 
 his desk, I said 
 
 "I know you must be Mr. Besant. I just loved 
 your Children of Gibeon. I'm an American, and I 
 want to interview you on the subject of woman's 
 sphere, so I can put it in the paper." 
 
 The kind-faced man rose, extended his hand in 
 welcome, and laughed right heartily as he said 
 
 " I'm glad to see you. But you needed not to 
 mention the fact of your being an American." 
 
 Then I interviewed him and got his opinion of 
 " woman's sphere," and was surprised to find him so 
 very old-fashioned in his views of it. I earned a 
 pound with that interview, and Mr. Besant wrote and 
 complimented me. 
 
 Another time I went to him. It was while my 
 serial, describing my experience as a housemaid, was 
 appearing in one of the London papers. He had 
 written, telling me how glad he was that I had started 
 out in that work. Most of the critics were treating 
 me very kindly indeed, but that day I had seen a 
 notice which I thought was unjust, not to say cruel. 
 I carried it with me to Mr. Besant, and as I talked to 
 him of the troubles of my career as a housemaid, I 
 grew very tearful. 
 
 " Never mind ! Never mind ! " said he. " Why, you 
 have started out on a great work. It will do you 
 good and all the working girls of London. You are 
 going to do in real life what my heroines do in fiction.
 
 SOME INTERVIEWS 297 
 
 I shall take the greatest interest in watching what 
 you do in London, for now you are one of my 
 heroines." 
 
 So kind, so good, so encouraging was he, that I 
 went away with a greater determination to do my 
 best than I had ever felt before, and the next day 
 there came a note from him, saying, " Don't get dis- 
 couraged, but do your best, and read the next 
 number of The Queen" 
 
 So I read the next number of The Queen, and I 
 found there a jolly, jingling little poem entitled " The 
 Lady Housemaid," by Walter Besant. 
 
 "The house and all about it, within it and without it, 
 Its manners and its residents, we know ; 
 Lines of houses, miles and miles from the ground-floor to 
 
 the tiles ; 
 How they live and how they carry on their show. 
 
 But the mysteries begin deep and dark and black as sin, 
 
 When you ask about the Cap and Apron ranks ; 
 
 How they spend their busy days, what they think of fashion's 
 
 ways. 
 ' Let me clear this mystery up ! ' said Miss Banks. 
 
 " So an apron white she made, and a cap, for which she paid, 
 And she humbly entered down the area stair ; 
 And behold a Transformation ! A Fairy tale in variation I 
 A housemaid, meek and mild, once lady fair ! " 
 
 On through several stanzas went the little poem, 
 telling how " She had a little book, and observations 
 took," and how now the " lady housemaid " was going 
 to tell the world all about it, " And receive the world's 
 approval and its thanks." 
 
 Was there ever a kindlier thing done by a busy 
 author for the sake of encouraging a struggling young 
 woman just entering on her career? And in the 
 years that followed, when Mr. Besant had become
 
 298 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 " Sir Walter," I went to him and wrote to him often, 
 telling of my work, my successes, my failures, and 
 received from him such kind words and letters of 
 advice as helped me over many a rough place. 
 
 " Are you very busy, Sir Walter ? " I used to ask, 
 when I went to his office to ask his advice, or tell him 
 of things that happened in my career or the careers of 
 others in which I thought he would take an interest. 
 
 " Very, very busy," he would reply, smiling through 
 his glasses, " but not too busy." The last time I saw 
 him, a few months before his death, he told me how 
 great was his interest in the " Atlantic Union " as a 
 means of drawing together the United States and 
 England. He explained how American and Canadian 
 men of note, visiting England, were to be taken in 
 hand when they arrived and be given a " real good 
 time," and shown all the sights by their English 
 brothers. " Be sure you give my ' Atlantic Union ' a 
 puff whenever you can, in your letters over to the 
 American papers," he said, in the same sort of simple, 
 refreshing way that a young writer would ask for a 
 newspaper notice. That was the very last thing he 
 said to me, as I was going out of the door. It is a 
 pleasant memory, that he should, for what proved to 
 be his farewell message to me, admonish me to do 
 what I could towards cementing the friendship 
 between my country and his. 
 
 I am only one of the many belonging to the 
 younger generation of writers who have much for 
 which to thank Sir Walter Besant. He was the friend 
 of all members of his craft, but most especially of 
 beginners.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 ABOUT MY ENEMIES, AND THE MEANEST 
 MAN I EVER MET 
 
 WHEN I started out to write my "memoirs" I 
 took for my motto the advice which Mrs. 
 Lynn Linton gave me a few years ago, on the 
 occasion of my eventful interview with her " Guard 
 against bitterness and cynicism. Have faith and 
 hope and charity, especially charity." 
 
 It has been my desire, in the main, to tell of 
 pleasant happenings in my career, of kindnesses done 
 to me, of helping hands held out, of struggles with 
 difficulties, finally overcome, of silver linings dis- 
 covered to my clouds. It was only the other day 
 that, on my remarking that I had nearly finished the 
 writing of my autobiography, one of my editors said 
 to me 
 
 " Ah ! Now, I suppose, we must look out for 
 squalls. I suppose in this book you have written 
 up all your enemies and are going to pay off old 
 scores." 
 
 " On the contrary," I replied, " I have been writing 
 
 up my friends and letting my enemies alone. I love 
 
 my friends and despise my enemies, and I wouldn't 
 
 give the latter the satisfaction of thinking that they 
 
 299
 
 300 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 or their doings were important enough to be put into 
 a book." 
 
 I am just wondering now whether, having gone on 
 this principle, and said little or nothing about people 
 who have done me " mean turns " during my journalistic 
 career, I may not have given my readers the impres- 
 sion that I have only been brought into contact with 
 good-natured, kind, amiable persons who have done 
 their best to make things pleasant for me; that I 
 have not known what it was to be harassed about 
 with foes who " talked about me," tried to pull me 
 down when I have been trying to climb, laid snares 
 and traps for me, and done their best to compass 
 my downfall. It may be thought that, in short, I can 
 always truthfully be singing 
 
 " Oh, everybody's awfully good to me ! " 
 
 But this is entirely a misconception. Why, during 
 my career at earning a livelihood it has sometimes 
 seemed to me that I have met more disagreeable, 
 mean, wicked, and positively vicious people to the 
 square mile than anybody else could possibly have 
 met. The "mean turns" they have done me and 
 tried to do me are without number. Enemies ? Of 
 course I have had, and probably still have, more of 
 them than I could " shake a stick at." But I do not 
 consider it my business to go about chastising them. 
 I let them chastise themselves, which I have noticed 
 they generally seem bound to do in the end, and then 
 I triumphantly exclaim with David 
 
 " He (or she !) made a pit and digged it, and is 
 fallen into the ditch which he (or she !) made." 
 
 This much, or rather this little, about my enemies. 
 And now I will tell the story of the meanest man I 
 ever met.
 
 MEANEST MAN I EVER MET 301 
 
 I am sorry to say that the meanest man I ever 
 met was an American, though I hasten to add that 
 he was the meanest man not because, but in spite of 
 his nationality. It is about ten years since I made 
 his acquaintance, and it happened in this wise. 
 
 Just before I came to London I was, as I have 
 related in one of the earlier chapters of this book, 
 employed as society editor on a prominent paper in 
 one of our Southern towns, and one day, wishing to 
 take a run over to New York, I said to the Colonel, 
 the managing editor 
 
 "I want to go to New York. May I use the 
 ' pass-book ' ? " 
 
 " Certainly," he replied ; " but it will not pass you 
 beyond Philadelphia, which is only half-way. You 
 can go there and back on it, but from there to New 
 York and from New York back again to Philadelphia 
 you will have to pay." 
 
 Inside the pass-book the managing editor slipped 
 a little note which read : " To the conductor. This 
 certifies that Miss Elizabeth Banks is society editor 
 of this paper, and is entitled to use this pass-book 
 between Philadelphia and this city, either way." 
 
 Now, if I had gone to New York contented with 
 that, all would have been well with me ; but, having 
 got that help which stood for the remittance of half 
 my railway fare, I determined, after the manner of 
 Oliver Twist, to " ask for more " ; so I wired on to 
 a friendly politician in New York, saying, "Please 
 send pass both ways New York-Philadelphia." I 
 felt sure I would get that pass, for I had once given 
 that gentleman a " write-up," and he had overwhelmed 
 me with thanks, and had told me that whenever I 
 wanted to travel on a particular railroad I was to
 
 302 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 inform him, so that he could send me a pass. The 
 next morning came a letter from him. 
 
 "I am only too glad to do this little service for 
 you," he wrote. " I enclose the pass, which you will 
 see is made out for my daughter, as I am not sup- 
 posed to get passes for anybody except myself and 
 the members of my own family. That, however, is 
 all right. My daughter is about your age, and you 
 can travel as my daughter." 
 
 When I started on that journey I used my pass- 
 book to Philadelphia. There, though I remained on 
 the same train, a new conductor took charge because 
 the train travelled to New York by a different road. 
 I handed him my other pass, a paper on which was 
 written " Pass Miss Blanketty Blank. New York to 
 Philadelphia and return." That conductor took the 
 paper, tore it along the perforated line, handed me 
 back a part of it, and I put it in my purse for the 
 return journey. 
 
 On the last day of my stay in New York I went 
 shopping, and spent all the money I had except 
 about three dollars. I saved that amount to pay my 
 parlour-car fee (for which no pass could ever be 
 secured) and a late dinner on the train. The thought 
 of arriving home penniless did not trouble me, for 
 my week's salary would be due and waiting for me 
 in the cashier's desk when I got back. 
 
 "Ticket, please," said the conductor, when I was 
 seated in the train for the return journey. 
 
 "Pass!" I answered mechanically, handing him the 
 slip of paper which the conductor on the outgoing 
 journey had returned to me when he took up my pass. 
 
 " This is no pass. It's a coupon torn off a pass ! " 
 said the conductor, when he had examined it.
 
 MEANEST MAN I EVER MET 303 
 
 I was astonished, but as soon as he handed it back 
 to me for examination I saw that he spoke the truth. 
 It was just such a voucher as one leaves in a cheque- 
 book after tearing out a cheque. It had on it a 
 number and the duplicate words, "Pass Miss Blanketty 
 Blank, New York to Philadelphia and return," but no 
 signature, no official stamp. I saw what had hap- 
 pened. My pass had said, "New York to Phila- 
 delphia and return," when it should have been made 
 out the other way " Philadelphia to New York and 
 return." In going to New York the conductor had 
 taken it for granted that I was returning there from 
 Philadelphia, had kept my pass and given me back 
 the voucher, which was nothing but a receipt for it. 
 I explained all this to the conductor on the home- 
 ward journey. 
 
 " That may be true," he answered ; " but that does 
 not alter the fact that you will have to pay me the 
 fare from New York to Philadelphia." 
 
 Pay the fare ! Great heavens ! I had only ninety 
 cents, for I had already paid for my Pullman seat and 
 for my dinner. 
 
 " I can't pay the fare ! " I answered. " I haven't 
 got it!" 
 
 " Then I'll have to put you off the train at the next 
 depot." 
 
 Now the " next depot " was little more than a log- 
 cabin in the wilderness. A pretty plight, indeed, for 
 me to be turned off there at night, and in the thunder- 
 storm which was raging. If I could only get to 
 Philadelphia I knew I would be safe, for a new con- 
 ductor would take on the train. I would give him my 
 proper newspaper pass-book, and I would be myself 
 again. This, however, I could not admit to the present
 
 304 A -NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 conductor, for to do so would be to confess that I 
 had been travelling to Philadelphia under false pre- 
 tences. The trouble this would cause me would be 
 slight compared with what would ensue for my friend 
 Senator Blanketty Blank, who had given me a pass 
 made out for his daughter. 
 
 " I wish you would let me go on to Philadelphia," 
 I said persuasively to the conductor. "I have friends 
 there with whom I could stop overnight while I tele- 
 graphed home for money." 
 
 " Can't do that," he replied ; " but I'll tell you what 
 I can do. I will telegraph to your father if you will 
 give me his address. 
 
 My father! It suddenly occurred to me that 
 the conductor was referring to the eminent Senator 
 Blanketty Blank. 
 
 " He's not in New York," I answered ; " he is on 
 the road to Chicago, so you could not reach him. 
 Let me think a minute, let me think ! " 
 
 " You'll have just twenty minutes to think in, Miss 
 Blank," replied the conductor sneeringly, "and then 
 off the train at the next depot you go ! " 
 
 " You seem to be in trouble. Can I assist you in 
 any way?" I heard a voice saying as the conductor 
 moved down the corridor. I knew it must be the 
 voice of the man who sat in the chair opposite me, 
 for we two were the only occupants of the car. My 
 heart leaped for joy as I looked into his face. Here 
 was my deliverer ! I would give him my card and 
 tell him my story, and he would laugh, after the 
 manner of a gallant American knight rescuing an 
 American maiden in distress. I liked his face. It 
 seemed kind and benevolent, though in his dress and 
 manner he looked a veritable man of the world.
 
 MEANEST MAN I EVER MET 305 
 
 "Have you heard the conversation between me 
 and the conductor ? " I asked. 
 
 " Yes," he answered. 
 
 " You can render me great assistance," I returned ; 
 " but if I accept it, I must take you into my confi- 
 dence and tell you the whole truth, which I dare not 
 tell the conductor. May I confide in you ? " 
 
 " Most certainly you may ! " he replied. 
 
 Thereupon I told him everything ; how I was not 
 Miss Blanketty Blank at all, but only myself. I 
 gave him my proper card and showed him my news- 
 paper pass-book, and my editor's letter of identifica- 
 tion. 
 
 " Have you no money at all ? " he asked. 
 
 " Ninety cents ! " I said, laughing. 
 
 ''The fare to Philadelphia is two dollars and 
 eighty-five cents, is it not ? " he asked ; " and I take 
 it you would like to borrow one dollar and ninety- 
 five cents ? " 
 
 I answered that this was the fact, though I 
 wondered how I was to get home from the station 
 when I arrived at the end of my journey. 
 
 "Very well. I am able to make you this loan, 
 of which you seem to stand greatly in need ; but 
 you are a stranger to me, and how do I know I shall 
 ever get it back again ? A few minutes ago you 
 were passing yourself off as the daughter of Senator 
 Blank. Now you show me papers that would go to 
 prove you to be some other person. How do I 
 know you are that person either, instead of an 
 adventuress trying to get a railway journey for 
 nothing ? " 
 
 He looked serious enough, but I judged he was 
 one of our dry American humorists, and I laughed.
 
 306 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 There was, however, no' answering laugh, and I was 
 puzzled. 
 
 "I will lend you the dollar and ninety-five cents 
 if you can give me collateral, something of equal 
 value, which I can keep in case you cheat me." 
 
 " I cheat you ! " I exclaimed angrily. " Have I not 
 shown you a letter testifying that I hold a responsible 
 position on a prominent paper? My salary awaits 
 me in the office, and you will receive your dollar 
 and ninety - five cents to - morrow by registered 
 letter." 
 
 " Excuse me, but, as I said before, you have been 
 travelling in a dishonest manner, and I am not 
 willing to trust you without collateral. I notice that 
 you have a ring on your finger. I am willing to 
 take that as collateral and give you a receipt for it. 
 It will, I presume, cover the amount of your in- 
 debtedness to me." 
 
 My ring worth one dollar and ninety-five cents! 
 My ring with its diamonds surrounding a turquoise I 
 Dared I pawn it for my fare to Philadelphia ? 
 
 " You say you do not know but I am intending 
 to cheat you," I said. " May I remind you that this 
 ring is worth a goodly sum of money, and ask how 
 I am to know you are not a highwayman trying to 
 rob me ? " 
 
 " Here is my card," he replied, handing me a paste- 
 board. " I am quite indifferent as to whether you 
 accept my offer or refuse it. If you do not accept 
 it you will be put off at the next depdt, and if you 
 do accept, it must be on the terms I have mentioned. 
 I never lend money to anyone without security." 
 
 My brain was in a whirl, and I was getting 
 frightened. " I accept your offer," I answered. " Please
 
 MEANEST MAN I EVER MET 307 
 
 give me a receipt for it and the money to pay my 
 fare. I will send you the money as soon as I arrive 
 home, and I suppose I shall have my ring back at 
 once." 
 
 "Certainly!" he replied, handing me a pencil- 
 written receipt and the money. Then I paid the 
 conductor. At Philadelphia the man with my ring 
 got out. The old conductor also left the train, and 
 to the new one I gave my pass-book, which took 
 me on. 
 
 From the station to the office I walked through 
 the pouring rain, and found the editors and reporters 
 still at work. To them I told the story of my return 
 trip, and how I had pawned my ring for one dollar 
 and ninety-five cents to a man of whom I had never 
 before heard a man who had given me in return a 
 pencil receipt written on the back of a card which 
 gave a name and an address in Philadelphia. At first 
 my confreres laughed, but suddenly they grew serious. 
 They supplied me with the money that was needed, 
 but declared that I had better keep it, for I had no 
 doubt been made the victim of a swindler. We got 
 the money off to Philadelphia that morning, and I 
 waited two days for my ring. The ring I valued, not 
 because of its monetary worth, but because of its 
 associations, and when the second day passed I be- 
 came a fit subject for a lunatic asylum. On the third 
 day I sent four telegrams after it, and numerous 
 members of the staff offered to go to Philadelphia 
 to try to trace it and the swindler, but when they 
 considered that it must become publicly known that 
 I had travelled as somebody else, and that the 
 eminent politician must be placed in a predicament, 
 that plan was abandoned.
 
 3 o8 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 On the morning of the fourth day my ring arrived, 
 and with it a letter, which read as follows : 
 
 " MADAM, The heading of the paper on which 
 I write will show you the responsible position I hold 
 
 as superintendent of the Sunday School, and a 
 
 worker among the poor and the erring ones of this 
 great town, as well as the business firm of which I 
 am the head. The principle which governs all my 
 actions is that of trying to do good and teach lessons 
 of righteousness. I took your ring, and have kept 
 you waiting thus long for it, in order to give you a 
 lifelong lesson never to travel under false pretences 
 again. I knew who you were from the moment I 
 saw you, even before you had your trouble with the 
 conductor, having seen you at a reception in your 
 city, and had you pointed out to me by a friend. I 
 knew, of course, you would send me back the money 
 you borrowed, but I took your ring to make you 
 worry, and so punish you for the sin you committed 
 by travelling with a pass made out for another person. 
 I hope the lesson will not be without good results 
 and an effect on your future life and character. 
 
 " Yours very truly, ." 
 
 I could, if I would, give the name of a man well 
 known in the city of Philadelphia as the writer of 
 the above letter, but I am not too cruel, and I content 
 myself by putting him in this book as the meanest 
 man I ever met.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 LOOKING BACKWARD AND FORWARD 
 
 AS I come to the final chapter of my reminiscences, 
 jTjL which take in a journalistic career of something 
 over a decade, I find there is a tendency to retrospec- 
 tion a looking backward. Again I see myself as 
 I stood in the door of the proprietor's office in that 
 newspaper building out West, asking the white-haired 
 man who sat at his desk, " Do you own the paper ? " 
 Again I hear him say 
 
 " A newspaper girl ! A newspaper girl ! Don't 
 think of it ! Be anything, but don't be a newspaper 
 girl." 
 
 Yet I did think of it. I became a " newspaper 
 girl," and I am not sorry. 
 
 Still, I can appreciate the kindly motive of the wise 
 old man in thus warning me off at the threshold. He 
 peered into the future, he saw the struggles, the hard 
 tasks to be performed, the tears, the tragedies, the 
 plucking at the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and 
 Evil, the learning somewhat of the mysteries of life, 
 the sins, the sadnesses which must come into my 
 experience, once I had started on the way, so in pity 
 he said to me, " Go back to the grocer and tell him 
 you made a mistake when you said you were going to 
 be a newspaper girl." 
 
 309
 
 3 io A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 Then, as I was not to be turned back, he took me 
 on and gave me my start a better start, a kinder 
 start, a more helpful start, it has often seemed to me, 
 than falls to the lot of many girls who begin the life 
 journalistic. 
 
 However, I do not think it can be said by those 
 who read this description of the part of my career 
 through which I have already passed, that my ex- 
 perience has been an altogether easy one, or that 
 whatever of the beginnings of success I have already 
 attained has been the result of luck rather than of 
 hard work. 
 
 I speak of the " beginnings of success," for that is 
 all I yet can claim. I am far from that point in my 
 career where it could be truly said of me that I had 
 " arrived " in the proper sense of the term, though in 
 one way I have " arrived " arrived at the parting of 
 the ways. Up to the present time I have always 
 been engaged in writing about facts, when I have 
 longed to try my hand at something in the way of 
 fiction. My editors and the public have constantly 
 demanded of me that I should go out and " make 
 things happen." They have kept saying to me, 
 " Write about yourself. Write about yourself." 
 
 So, up to the present, I have been engaged mostly 
 in writing about myself, and have perforce been my 
 own "heroine," till finally I decided to write this, 
 my journalistic autobiography, down to date, and 
 tell all about myself in one book, at one writing ; 
 and hereafter it is my intention to begin to "make up 
 things," and write stories with other heroines than 
 myself, and heroes too. Most writers would, I 
 suppose, have waited till the far-off future before 
 telling the story of their lives and their experiences
 
 LOOKING FORWARD 311 
 
 to the public. Then they would have written a book 
 of memoirs that would extend over a much longer 
 period than do these, my reminiscences, which I 
 publish while I am a struggling, working woman 
 journalist, to help to keep the pot a-boiling while I 
 press towards the prize of the mark of my high 
 calling. 
 
 For it is a high calling. Shame to those journal- 
 ists who write to aspirants who would enter a 
 journalistic career : " If you have enough money to 
 buy a broom with which to sweep a crossing, then 
 become a crossing-sweeper rather than a journalist ! " 
 
 Who has not read this sort of advice from men, 
 and some women, too, who themselves are successful 
 journalists, yet who try to belittle their profession by 
 speaking thus meanly of it ? 
 
 No, it is not better to be a crossing-sweeper than 
 to be a journalist. I, perhaps, can speak more 
 authoritatively in this matter than can most persons, 
 for I have been a crossing-sweeper as well as a 
 journalist. 
 
 To any young woman who asks me whether she 
 shall enter upon a journalistic career, I say, " Yes, if 
 you are ready." I do not say that you should come 
 by all means, under every circumstance. I say, come 
 if you are ready. 
 
 The yoke is not always easy, the burden is not 
 always light, but neither are they so in any other 
 profession. If you are ready to work and ready to 
 live, why not become a journalist? Not more ignorant 
 of the world and of life, not more tremblingly fearful, 
 not more hopeful than was I at the beginning, can 
 you be now, so let not your heart be too much 
 troubled at the outset. Come and learn, learn better
 
 3 i2 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 than you can in any other profession open to our sex, 
 what life, great, wide, teeming life, out in the world 
 of men and women, is like. It will do you good. 
 You belong, perhaps, to the Guild of the Sorrowing. 
 Something of sadness has already come to you, and 
 you think your heart will break unless ycu can work 
 and forget. Come out with me, then, and look upon 
 the sorrows of your sister women, you who hug your 
 little tragedy to your breast, as though no woman 
 but you ever had a tragedy. Look you ! See how 
 others suffer and yet live yet smile, and talk no 
 more of your breaking heart. Why, in this work-a- 
 
 day world Hearts do not break ; 
 
 They sting and ache ! " 
 
 Nor is that all. Not only into Haunts of the 
 Sorrowful must you go. You must enter also into 
 some of the Haunts of Sin, and even this will not 
 harm you. It will do you good. It will but teach 
 you charity. It will show you how much are we all 
 the creatures of circumstance. You will learn that 
 you might have been as others, had the circumstances, 
 the temptations, the trials, the hereditary influences 
 which surrounded those others confronted you. 
 Your work may take you to talk through prison bars 
 to men and women condemned, perhaps, to death for 
 murder, or to years of servitude for forgery, robbery, 
 and it will not hurt you to talk with them, to learn 
 something of their former lives. As I have said, it 
 will do you good, for it will strengthen your char- 
 acter, while making your heart more tender. 
 
 Shall you enter upon the journalistic career ? Yes, 
 if you are ready ! Why not ?
 
 LOOKING FORWARD 3 i3 
 
 Ah, there is a knock at my door ! Though I have 
 written a sign upon it " KEEP OFF THE GRASS " by 
 which everyone is supposed to understand that I am 
 engaged in writing the last chapter of my Autobio- 
 graphy, and am not to be disturbed, the house- 
 parlourmaid walks in and says 
 
 " Miss, the man has brought the gas bill, He says 
 if it is not paid by Friday " 
 
 I could not finish this chapter until after I had 
 stopped, right in the midst of it, to hurry off a " pot- 
 boiler " to bring in the price of gas consumed. As I 
 have already said, I have not yet " arrived," and there- 
 fore I must still call myself a writer of " pot-boilers." 
 One of the pleasant things to contemplate just at 
 this stage of my career is the fact that I have got to 
 the point where I can rattle off a " pot-boiler " very 
 quickly, and I generally have a pretty good idea of 
 where to send it to ensure its acceptance. That I 
 count as one of my greatest blessings, one of the 
 encouraging aspects of my present position. I look 
 forward to a time when I shall not have to write " pot- 
 boilers," and need not be disturbed when I am finish- 
 ing up a book by such commonplace, unromantic, 
 and altogether inartistic announcements as that with 
 which the house-parlourmaid just broke in upon my 
 work. 
 
 However, there are far worse things in life than to 
 be obliged to write " pot-boilers." A very much more 
 worrying thing would be not to know what to do with 
 them when they were written, and to have them re- 
 turned with editorial regrets after they were sent out. 
 My " hard-up editor " tells me that the " pot-boilers "
 
 3 i4 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 I send him are among my best contributions to Eng- 
 lish literature, and that he looks forward with dread 
 to the time when I shall have become so prosperous 
 that I need not write any more of them. 
 
 The house-parlourmaid has disturbed me again. 
 She has brought a long, large envelope, the sort in 
 which I send out my contributions, and the sort, also, 
 which I enclose, stamped and self-addressed, for their 
 return if unsuitable. It has an American fifteen cent 
 stamp on it. It is a magazine article returned from 
 my native land, and here is the editorial note that is 
 enclosed with it : 
 
 " This thing won't do that is, in its present British 
 shape. Lend me your ears, my countrywoman, while 
 I tell you that my circulation is entirely among 
 Americans who want good hot stuff ! I don't exactly 
 want you to twist the lion's tail, but I do want you, 
 as an American woman over there right on the 
 spot, to pitch into 'em. Try those pages over again 
 where you see I have put the words ' too tame.' Give 
 it to John Bull, for he's all wrong there, and it will do 
 him good to be shown what's what. And by the way, 
 I send you by this mail an American Spelling Book, 
 the kind you and I used to study when we went to 
 the District School. Kindly refresh your spelling 
 apparatus with it, and note that 'favor' is not spelt 
 with a in it, and please correct various other of 
 your English-spelt words, for I will not have our com- 
 positors losing their wits over what they call ' furrin 
 tongues' whenever they have anything of yours to 
 set up. And why in the world have you got into that 
 abominable English habit of writing ' I fancy ' ? I
 
 LOOKING FORWARD 31 5 
 
 guess you mean that you think, and why don't you 
 say so ? Don't go to losing your Americanism over 
 there, and for Heaven's sake hang on to your accent, 
 if you've got any left ! Remember you are a citizen 
 of the United States Empire, and don't go to losing 
 any of the visible signs and symbols to that effect 
 which you have been wont to carry about you. And 
 hurry up and re-write those Anglo-maniac paragraphs, 
 and send back your stuff by the next mail." 
 
 I put my head on my typewriter and laugh as 
 I finish the reading of this characteristic epistle from 
 my countryman. Then I note his postscript : " En- 
 closed, find encourager ! " 
 
 The "encourager" is a cheque for sixty dollars, 
 After all, I really do find myself singing 
 
 "Oh, everybody's awfully good to me !" 
 
 that is, I mean, almost everybody, in the shape of 
 editors and "such." Did I not get another article 
 back this morning from one of my favourite English 
 editors ? Yes. And this is what he wrote : 
 
 " I consider this article the best thing you ever 
 submitted to me. Nevertheless, I want you to write 
 it all over. By re-writing it I feel sure you will note 
 several things you can greatly improve, without my 
 telling you what those things are. I have a feeling 
 that you have hurried it, just a little, probably because 
 you have that Autobiography of yours on hand, and 
 as I wish this to be of your very best, I am taking 
 the liberty of putting you to this trouble. I do this 
 as your friend, not as your editor, for, were I but a 
 hard-hearted editor, I should run it into my next 
 number, which I very much desired to do, even 
 though I knew it did not do you justice. Do not 
 rush it, but take your time over it, and may I suggest
 
 316 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 that you make some of the passages a little less 
 American in their point of view ? " 
 
 So here I am, with two articles returned, not 
 rejected, but to be re-written. My American editor 
 wants "good hot stuff" written more from the 
 American point of view, "pitching into the British," 
 and hurried up to be sent by the next mail. Well, 
 he shall have it. How can I take his " encouragers " 
 and not give him what he considers their value? 
 And besides, the British do need "pitching into" 
 upon certain subjects. 
 
 My English editor wants my article to be of my 
 very best from a literary point of view, and I expect 
 I was a little too " spread-eagle "-like in certain of my 
 paragraphs. He shall have what he wants, too. I 
 will take my time over it, and revise and polish till 
 it shines and shines, and perhaps after a while I shall 
 become what they call a " stylist " ! 
 
 And here, brought up to my study, for " company 
 to tea," in a flannel-lined, straw-upholstered basket, 
 is a black mother-cat with five coal-black kittens. 
 I call them my " lucky literary kittens." They were 
 born in my waste-paper basket in my study. Their 
 mother was a "stray." That is, I found her sitting 
 on the front step one afternoon, and I invited her to 
 come in. That was several months ago, and one 
 morning she repaid me for my hospitality by intro- 
 ducing me to her five black kittens as I was sitting 
 down at my desk and happened to look into the 
 waste-paper basket. I have great ambitions for these 
 kittens. As they were born into a journalistic 
 atmosphere I wish them to continue to live in that
 
 LOOKING FORWARD 317 
 
 atmosphere all their lives, so I am trying to dispose 
 of them among various London newspapers as office 
 cats. I have called upon and written to several 
 editors in their behalf, and, as soon as they are old 
 enough to leave their mother, I have no doubt I shall 
 have them all well placed. Three are already 
 "bespoke," and although one of my editors yester- 
 day declined one with thanks when I offered it to 
 him along with a manuscript, he has very kindly 
 written a story about them, in which he has called 
 upon his contemporaries to come to the rescue and 
 take them off my hands. They are really lucky 
 kittens to me personally, for I have just got a 
 cheque for a story I wrote about them and their 
 mother, which I have entitled "The Luck of the 
 Black Cat." 
 
 Meanwhile I have the kittens on my hands for 
 several weeks, and very glad I am of their company. 
 Now they jump out on to the floor, joyous, full of 
 life and spirit ! They perform wonderful feats at 
 boxing and tail-chasing, and sometimes they climb 
 up to my desk and upset the ink-bottle and create 
 havoc among my papers. How could one be utterly 
 cast down or remain long in a fit of "the blues" 
 with five kittens having such a glorious time of it, 
 blinking their little blue eyes in mischief, opening 
 them wide with wonder and curiosity ? 
 
 Where's Judge? 
 
 "Judge! Judge!" I cry out. "Where are you, 
 Judge ? Ah, here you are, trotting over to my desk, 
 putting your beautiful, silky black head into my lap, 
 looking up at me with your love-lit eyes ! How
 
 318 A "NEWSPAPER GIRL" 
 
 could I think for one instant that you would fail to 
 be here, close by me, my dearest, sweetest, most 
 faithful friend, when I add the last touch to these 
 ' memoirs ' of ours ? How shall we end them, 
 Judge? Happily? Well, let's try, for happy 
 endings are much desired. People want to feel 
 glad, not sad, in the remembrance of a book. But 
 our difficulty is that we have been treating of facts, 
 not fiction. If it were a story we had made up, we 
 would now pull the strings and bring all our puppets 
 together in the last chapter, give apples and pea-nuts 
 to the good ones, make the bad ones fall over a 
 precipice, and good riddance to them. But we 
 haven't any puppets in this book. We've been 
 writing only about real people and real dogs, and we 
 can't pull the strings and bring them all together 
 and deal with them according to their deserts. 
 
 " Some of them came into our life, and went out of 
 it, just like 
 
 " ' Ships that pass in the night, 
 And speak each other in passing,' 
 
 then out on the Ocean of Life they went, toward 
 what distant shore we know not. Ah ! would we not 
 call some of them back, Judge, if we could ? For 
 instance, now, would we not like to have dear old 
 Dinah back with us ? You prick up your ears at her 
 name, don't you ? She was one of our very greatest 
 friends, wasn't she? But even she had to pass on, 
 after speaking to us for a little while. She thinks 
 she's doing right, poor old Dinah, taking in wash- 
 ing and ironing and going to camp-meetings, and, 
 as she writes us, 'getting ready to go to heaben 
 by-em-by.' 
 
 "Just you and I together, Judge, left here to tell
 
 LOOKING FORWARD 319 
 
 our story, as far as it has gone, I the 'heroine,' you 
 the ' hero.' In most books they somehow manage 
 that the hero and the heroine shall be left together 
 at the end, living happily ever after. Shall we not 
 manage that too, Judge, you and I ? 
 
 " What's that you're saying, with those speaking 
 eyes of yours ? Getting to be an old dog now 
 thirteen years old last birthday ? Why, Judge, what 
 of that? You make me laugh, laugh through my 
 tears, as I stroke your dear head and note the grey 
 that mingles with the black about your ears. 
 
 " Listen, sweet Judge ! You and I are not of those 
 who dare to measure the love and power of our 
 Creator in such a way that we'd make Him the God 
 only of the two-legged. No, indeed ! You and I 
 are going to live happily together ever after." 
 
 THE END
 
 PLYMOUTH 
 
 ILLIAM BRKNDON AND SON 
 PRINTERS
 
 A CATALOGUE OF BOOKS 
 
 AND ANNOUNCEMENTS OF 
 
 METHUEN AND COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS : LONDON 
 
 36 ESSEX STREET 
 
 W.C. 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 PAGE 
 
 ANNOUNCEMENTS, . 
 
 2 
 
 LEADERS OF RELIGION, . . 30 
 
 GENERAL LITERATURE, 
 
 8-2 7 
 
 SOCIAL QUESTIONS OF TO-DAY, . 30 
 
 METHUEN'S STANDARD LIBRARY, 
 
 27 
 
 UNIVERSITY EXTENSION SERIES, . 3! 
 
 LITTLE LIBRARY, . 
 
 28 
 
 CLASSICAL TRANSLATIONS, . . 31 
 
 LITTLE GUIDES 
 
 28 
 
 SCHOOL EXAMINATION SERIES, . 32 
 
 LITTLE BIOGRAPHIES, . 
 
 28 
 
 METHUEN'S JUNIOR SCHOOL-BOOKS, 32 
 
 LITTLE BLUE BOOKS 
 
 29 
 
 TEXTBOOKS OF TECHNOLOGY, . 32 
 
 LIBRARY OF DEVOTION, 
 
 29 
 
 FICTION, 32-38 
 
 OXFORD COMMENTARIES, 
 
 29 
 
 THE FLEUR DE LIS NOVELS, . . 39 
 
 HANDBOOKS OF THEOLOGY, . 
 
 29 
 
 ' BOOKS FOR BOYS AND GIRLS, . 40 
 
 CHURCHMAN'S LIBRARY, 
 
 2 9 
 
 THE NOVELIST, .... 40 
 
 CHURCHMAN'S BIBLE, . 
 
 3 
 
 
 NOVEMBER 1902
 
 NOVEMBER 1902 
 
 MESSRS. METHUEN'S 
 
 ANNOUNCEMENTS 
 
 by 
 De 
 
 THE COMPLETE WORKS OF CHARLES LAMB. Edited 
 E. V. LUCAS. With numerous Illustrations. In Seven Volumes. 
 emy 8va. "js. 6d. each. 
 This new edition of the works of Charle and Mary Lamb, in five volumes (to be 
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 all. Mr. E. V. Lucas, the editor, has attempted in the notes, not only to relate 
 Lamb's writings to his life, but to account for all his quotations and allusions 
 an ideal of thoroughness far superior to any that previous editors have set before 
 themselves. A Life of Lamb by Mr. Lucas will follow next year. 
 
 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF OLIVER CROMWELL. 
 
 By THOMAS CARLYLE. With an Introduction by C. H. FIRTH, 
 
 M.A., and Notes and Appendices by Mrs. S. C. LOMAS. Three 
 
 Volumes, 65. each. [Methuen's Standard Library. 
 
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 FICTION 
 
 33 
 
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 34 
 
 MESSRS. METHUEN'S CATALOGUE 
 
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 FICTION 
 
 35 
 
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 FICTION 
 
 37 
 
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 ' The story is an interesting'and animate
 
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 with a natural humour and tenderness of its 
 
 ' A simple, delicate bit of work, which 
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 the masses has made him, not mad, but 
 strong, and wonder of wonders cheerful.' 
 Times. 
 
 A really delightful life history of a 
 London foundling. Once more we have to 
 thank Mr. Pett Ridge for an admirable 
 study of London life.' Spectator. 
 
 Mrs. M. H. Roberton. A GALLANT 
 
 QUAKER. Illustrated. Crown 8<-<o. 6*. 
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 W.SatchelL THE LAND OF THE LOST. 
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 Crown Svo. 6s. 
 
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 intimate knowledge of Finnish life and 
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 ' A delightful story.' Daily Express. 
 
 'This lovely tale.' 
 
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 FICTION 
 Ube ff lent be Otis IRcwels 
 
 39 
 
 warming style of binding. Ultimately 
 
 this Series will contain the folio 
 
 ooks : 
 
 
 Andrew Balfour. 
 
 Mary Findlater. 
 
 ARMS! 
 
 BETTY MUSGRAVE. 
 
 ENGEANCE IS MINE. 
 
 M. C. Balfour. 
 
 Jane H. and Mary Findlater. 
 
 TALES THAT ARE TOLD. 
 
 HE FALL OF THE SPARROW. 
 
 J. S. Fletcher. 
 
 Jcin6 Barlow. 
 HE LAND OF THE SHAMROCK. 
 
 THE BUILDERS. 
 
 CREEL OF IRISH STORIES. 
 
 ROM THE EAST UNTO THE WEST. 
 
 M. E. Francis. 
 
 Miss ERIN. 
 
 J. A. Barry. 
 
 Mary Gaunt. 
 
 THE GREAT DEEP. 
 
 KlRKHAM'S FIND. 
 
 E. F. Benson. 
 
 DEADMAN'S. 
 
 THE MOVING FINGER. 
 
 IE CAPSINA. 
 ODO : A DETAIL OF THE DAY. 
 
 Dorothea Gerard. 
 
 J. Bloundelle-Burton. 
 
 R. Murray Gilchrist. 
 
 ENOUNCED. 
 HE CLASH OF ARMS. 
 
 CROSS THE SALT SEAS. 
 
 WILLOWBRAKE. 
 
 George Gissing. 
 
 THE CROWN OF LIFE. 
 
 ERVANTS OF SIN. 
 
 Mrs. Caffyn (Iota). 
 NNE MAULEVEREK. 
 
 Charles Gleig. 
 
 BUNTER'S CRUISE. 
 
 S. Gordon. 
 
 Ada Cambridge. 
 
 A HANDFUL OF EXOTICS. 
 C. F. Goss. 
 
 Mrs.' W. K. Clifford. 
 
 WOMAN ALO\E. 
 
 THE REDEMPTION OF DAVID CORSON. 
 
 E. M'Queen Gray. 
 
 FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 MY STEWARDSHIP. 
 
 J. Maclaren Cobban. 
 
 'HE ANGEL OF THE COVENANT. 
 
 ELSA. 
 
 Robert Hichens. 
 
 BYEWAYS. 
 
 Julian Corbett. 
 
 I. Hooper. 
 
 L. Cope Cornford. 
 
 ONS OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 THE SINGER OF MARLY. 
 Emily Lawless. 
 
 HURRISH. 
 
 Stephen Crane. 
 
 BOUNDS IN THE RAIN. 
 
 MAELCHO. 
 
 Norma Lorimer. 
 
 B. M. Croker. 
 
 MlRRY-ANN. 
 JOSIAH'S WIFE. 
 
 STATE SECRET. 
 
 EGGY OF THE BARTONS. 
 
 Edna Lyall. 
 
 Hope Dawlish. 
 
 SECRETARY OF LEGATION. 
 
 DERRICK VAUGHAN, NOVELIST. 
 Hannah Lynch. 
 
 A. J. Dawson. 
 
 )ANIEL WHITE. 
 
 AN ODD EXPERIMENT. 
 
 Richard Marsh. 
 
 Evelyn Dickinson. 
 
 L VICAR'S WIFE. 
 
 THE SEEN AND THE UNSEEN. 
 MARVELS AND MYSTERIES. 
 
 'HE SIN OF ANGELS. 
 
 W. E. Norris. 
 
 Harris Dickson. 
 
 MATTHEW AUSTIN. 
 
 'HE BLACK WOLF'S BREED. 
 
 HIS GRACE. 
 
 Menie Muriel Dowle. 
 
 HE CROOK OF THE BOUGH. 
 
 THE DESPOTIC LADY. 
 CLARISSA FURIOSA. 
 
 GILES INGILBY. 
 
 Mrs. Dudeney. 
 
 'HE THIRD FLOOR. 
 
 AN OCTAVE. 
 
 JACK'S FATHER. 
 
 Sara Jeannette Duncan. 
 
 L VOYAGE OF CONSOLATION. 
 
 A DEPLORABLE AFFAIR. 
 
 Mrs. Oliphant. 
 
 G. Manville Fenn. 
 
 THE Two MARYS. 
 
 IN ELECTRIC SPARK. 
 
 'HE STAR GAZERS. 
 
 THE LADY'S WALK. 
 THE PRODIGALS. 
 
 a.I'S CHILDREN. 
 
 Mary A. Owen. 
 
 L DOUBLE KNOT. 
 
 Jane H. Findlater. 
 
 I DAUGHTER OF STRIFE. 
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF ALOUETTE. 
 Mary L. Pondered. 
 
 lACHEL. 
 
 AN ENGLISHMAN.
 
 MESSRS. METHUEN'S CATALOGUE 
 
 Mrs. Penny. 
 A FOREST OFFICER. 
 
 R. Orton Prowse, 
 THE POISON OF ASPS. 
 
 Richard Pryce. 
 
 TIME AND THE WOMAN. 
 THE QUIET MRS. FLEMING. 
 
 W. Pett Ridge. 
 A SON OF THE STATE. 
 SECRETARY TO BAYNE, M.P. 
 
 Morley Roberta. 
 
 Marshall Saunders. 
 Ross A CHARLITTE. 
 
 W. C. Scully. 
 
 THE WHITE HECATOMB. 
 BETWEEN SUN AND SAND. 
 A VENDETTA OF THE DESERT. 
 
 3Boofcs for 
 
 Crown 8vo. 
 
 E. H. Strain. 
 
 ELMSLIE'S DRAG-NET. 
 
 Esme Stuart. 
 A WOMAN OF FORTY. 
 CHRISTALLA. 
 
 Duchess of Sutherland. 
 ONE HOUR AND THE NEXT. 
 
 Benjamin Swift. 
 SIREN CITY. 
 
 Victor Waite. 
 
 CROSS TRAILS. 
 
 Mrs. Walford. 
 SUCCESSORS TO THE TITLE. 
 
 Percy White. 
 A PASSIONATE PILGRIM. 
 
 Mrs. C. N. Williamson. 
 THE ADVENTURE OF PRINCESS SYLVIA. 
 X. L. 
 
 AUT DIABOLUS AUT NIHIL. 
 
 tfc (5trls 
 
 THE ICELANDER'S SWORD. By s. Baring-Gould. 
 Two LITTLE CHILDREN AND CHING. By Edith E. 
 
 Cuthell. 
 
 TODDLEBEN'S HERO. By M. M. Blake. 
 ONLY A GUARD-ROOM DOG. By Edith E. Cuthell. 
 THE DOCTOR OF THE JULIET. By Harry Coliing- 
 
 MASTE'R ROCKAFELLAR'S VOYAGE. By w. Clark 
 Russell. 
 
 SYD BELTON : Or, the Boy who would not go to Ses 
 By G. Manville Perm. 
 
 THE RED GRANGE. By Mrs. Molesworth. 
 
 THE SECRET OF MADAME DE MONLUC. By th 
 
 Author of Mdle. Mori.' 
 DUMPS. By Mrs. Parr. 
 
 A GIRL OF THE PEOPLE. By L. T. Meade. 
 HEPSY GIPSY. By L. T. Meade. as. 6J. 
 THE HONOURABLE MISS. By L. T. Meade. 
 
 Ebe IWovelfst 
 
 A Monthly Series of Novels by popular authors at the price of Sixpence. Eacl 
 number is as long as the average Six Shilling Novel. 
 
 I. DEAD MEN TELL NO TALES. By E. W. | xvu. DERRICK VAUGHAN. By Edna Lyail.. 
 
 nung. | XVIII. IN THE MIDST OF ALARMS. By Koher 
 
 IE BAXTER, JOURNALIST. By Robert Birr. 
 
 r. XIX. HIS GRACE. By W. E. Norris. 
 
 "II. JENN 
 
 III. THE INCA'S TREASURE. By Ernest Glanville. 
 
 IV. A SON OF THE STATE. By W. Pett Ridge. 
 V. FURZE BLOOM. By S. Baring-Gould. 
 
 VI. BUNTER'S CRUISE. By C. Gle' 
 
 . . 
 
 VII. THE GAY DECEIVERS. By Arthur Moore. 
 
 By A. Boyson Weekes. 
 
 VIII. PRISONERS OF WAR. 
 
 By E. S. Valentine. 
 
 XI. THE NIGGER KNIGHTS. By F. Norreys 
 
 Connel. 
 
 XII. A MARRIAGE AT SEA. By W. CUrk Russell. 
 XIII. THE POMP OF THE LAVILETTES. By 
 
 Gilbert Parker. 
 
 XIV. A MAN OF MARK. By Anthony Hope. 
 
 XV. THE CARISSIMA. By Lucas Malet. 
 XVI. THE LADY'S WALK. By Mrs. Oliphant. 
 
 XX. DODO. By E. F. Benson. 
 
 Gilbert Parker. 
 
 XXIII. THE HUMAN BOY. By Eden Phillpotts. 
 
 XXIV. THH CHRONICLES OF COUNT ANTONK 
 
 XXVI. KITTYALONE. By S. B.irin<r-Gould. 
 XXVII. GILES INGILHY. By W. E. Norrii. 
 XXVIII. URITH. By S. Barmg-Gould. 
 XXIX. THE TOWN TRAVELLER. By Georg 
 
 dfcetbuen'0 Sijpenng 3Librarg 
 
 THE MATABELE CAMPAIGN. By Major-General 
 
 Baden-Powell. 
 THE DOWNFALL OF PREMPEH. By Major-General 
 
 Baden-Powell. 
 
 IN THE ROAR OF THE SEA. By S. Baring- 
 Gould. 
 
 PEGGY OF THE BARTONS. By B. M. Croker. 
 THE GREEN GRAVES OF BALGOWRIE. By Jane 
 
 H. Findlatrr. 
 
 THE STOLEN BACILLUS. By H. G. Wells. 
 MATTHEW AUSTIN. By w. E. Norris. 
 THE CONQUEST OF LONDON. By Dorothea 
 
 Gerard. 
 
 A VOYAGE OF CONSOLATION. By Sara J. Dunca 
 
 THE MUTABLE MANY. By Robert Barr. 
 
 BEN HUR. By General Lew Wallace. 
 
 SIR ROBERT'S FoKTUN^.By Mrs. Oliphant. 
 
 ORTUN^t By Mrs. ( 
 By GenOil Lew Wallace. 
 CLARISSA FURIOSA. By W. E. Norris. 
 CRANFORD. By Mrs. Gaskell. 
 NOEMI. By S. Baring-Gould. 
 THE THRONE OF DAVID. B 
 ACROSS THE SALT SEAS. 
 Burton.
 
 
 
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 University of California Library 
 Los Angeles 
 
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