Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 6, 2025
I'm no unknown author, a fact of which you are very well aware. I don't need to peddle my goods." "Then why do you come here lecturing me?" "For your own good, Shorely, my boy," said Gibberts, calming down as rapidly as he had flared up. He was a most uncertain man. "For your own good, and if you don't take this story, some one else will. It will make the fortune of the paper that secures it.
I should think you would be pestered to death by all manner of idiots who come in and interrupt you." "I am," said the editor, shortly. "Then take my plan, and lock your door. Communicate with the outer office through a speaking-tube. I see you are down-hearted, so I have come to cheer you up. I've brought you a story, my boy." Shorely groaned. "My dear Gibberts," he said, "we have now "
While waiting for the express, Shorely bought a copy of the Sponge, and once more he read Gibberts' story on the way down. The third reading appalled him. He was amazed he had not noticed before the deadly earnestness of its tone. We are apt to underrate or overrate the work of a man with whom we are personally familiar. Now, for the first time, Shorely seemed to get the proper perspective.
Shorely thought of engaging a special, but realised he hadn't money enough. Perhaps he could telegraph and warn the people of Channor Chase, but he did not know to whom to telegraph. Or, again, he thought he might have Gibberts arrested on some charge or other at Channor Station. That, he concluded, was the way out dangerous, but feasible.
For a moment Gibberts stood grasping the poker by the middle, then he flung it with a clatter on the fender, and, sitting down, gazed moodily into the fire, without moving, until Shorely had turned the last page. "Well," said Gibberts, rousing from his reverie, "what do you think of it?" "It's a good story, Gibberts. All your stories are good," said the editor, carelessly.
You didn't see anything unusual in it purpose, force, passion, life, death, nothing?" "There is death enough at the end. My objection is that there is too much blood and thunder in it. Such a tragedy could never happen. No man could go to a country house and slaughter every one in it. It's absurd." Gibberts sprang from his seat and began to pace the room excitedly.
If you want any more stories by Gibberts, you should look after him." Shorely found himself rapidly verging into a state of nervousness regarding Gibberts. He was actually beginning to believe the novelist meditated some wild action, which might involve others in a disagreeable complication. Shorely had no desire to be accessory either before or after the fact.
Now, you read it while I wait. Here it is, typewritten, at one-and-three a thousand words, all to save your blessed eyesight." Shorely took the manuscript and lit the gas, for it was getting dark. Gibberts sat down awhile, but soon began to pace the room, much to Shorely's manifest annoyance. Not content with this, he picked up the poker and noisily stirred the fire.
He hurried back to the office, and there found Gibberts' belated reply to his note. He hastily tore it open, and the reading of it completely banished what little self-control he had left. "Dear Shorely, I know why you want to see me, but I have so many affairs to settle, that it is impossible for me to call upon you.
"Oh, we all know that story!" cried the Club, unanimously. "I think it's the Club whiskey," said one of the oldest members. "I say, it's the worst in London." "Verbal complaints not received. Write to the Committee," put in Johnson. "If Gibberts has a friend in the Club, which I doubt, that friend should look after him. I believe he will commit suicide yet."
Word Of The Day
Others Looking