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Bok was attracted to the work: he had never seen the United States, was anxious to do so, and looked upon the chance as a good opportunity. Miss Davenport had the contract made out, executed it, and then, in high glee, Bok took it home to show it to his mother.
Father Kipling sat by listening, but made no comment on the divergent views, since, Kipling holding the English side of the question and Bok the Dutch side, it followed that they could not agree. Finally Father Kipling arose and said: "Well, I will take a stroll and see if I can't listen to the water and get all this din out of my ears."
The publisher acknowledged that Bok had happened upon the true authorship, but placed him upon his honor to make no use of the incident. And Bok learned again the vital journalistic lesson that there are a great many things in the world that the journalist knows and yet cannot write about. He would have been years in advance of the announcement finally made that John Hay wrote the novel.
He believed absolutely in the final outcome of his proposition: where others saw mist and failure ahead, he saw clear weather and the port of success. Never did he waver: never did he deflect from his course. He knew no path save the direct one that led straight to success, and, through his eyes, he made Bok see it with equal clarity until Bok wondered why others could not see it.
Absolutely unconvinced that anything would be done, and unaltered in her opinion about Bok, the woman finally left. Two days later a card was handed in to the editor with a note asking him to see for a moment the husband of his irate caller. When the man came in, he looked sheepish and amused in turn, and finally said: "I hardly know what to say, because I don't know what my wife said to you.
The argument weighed somewhat with the author, however, for he then changed the conversation, and pointed out how he had been robbed by American publishers who had stolen his books. So Bok was once more face to face with the old non-copyright conditions; and although he explained the existence then of a new protective law, the old man was not mollified.
Cable can see this through," and despite every protestation Field bundled himself into his overcoat and made for his carriage. "Sick, Bok, really sick," he muttered as they rode along. Then seeing a fruit-stand he said: "Buy me a bag of oranges, like a good fellow. They'll do me good."
It was indisputably accepted by the public and by business interests alike as the recognized avenue of approach to the intelligent homes of America. Edward Bok was content to leave it at this point. He explained all this in December, 1918, to the Board of Directors, and asked that his resignation be considered.
Then once more Bok turned to material calculated to cement the foundation for a more permanent structure. He noted, early in its progress, the gathering strength of the drift toward woman suffrage, and realized that the American woman was not prepared, in her knowledge of her country, to exercise the privilege of the ballot.
This letter, written to Bok, in comment upon a report that the poet had burned all his letters, is illuminating: "Dear Friend: "The report concerning the burning of my letters is only true so far as this: some years ago I destroyed a large collection of letters I had received not from any regard to my own reputation, but from the fear that to leave them liable to publicity might be injurious or unpleasant to the writers or their friends.
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