A Slight Mistake
An ordinary-looking man wearing a last season’s shirt stepped into the business office and unrolled a strip of some three feet long.
“I wanted to see you about this little thing I want to publish in the paper. There are fifteen verses besides the other reading matter. The verses are on spring. My handwriting is a and I may have to read it over to you. This is the way it runs:
Spring
The air is full of gentle ,
Grass is growing green;
Winter now has surely left us.
Spring has come, I .When the sun has set, the vapors
Rise from out the low;
When the stars are lit like
Then the night winds chilly blow.
“Take that stuff up to the editorial department,” said the business manager shortly.
“I have been up there already,” said the ordinary-looking man, “and they sent me down here. This will fill about a column. I want to talk with you about the price. The last verse runs this way:
Then it is that weakening
Thicken in our veins the blood
And we must ward off these dangers
we find our names are “Mud.”
“The reading matter that follows is, as you see, , and easily read. Now, I—”
“D——n it,” said the business manager. “Don’t you come in here reading your old spring poems to me. I’ve been bored already today with a lot of ink and paper drummers. Why don’t you go to work instead of fooling away your time on rot like that?”
“I didn’t mean to bother you,” said the other man, rolling up his manuscript. “Is there another paper in the city?”
“Yes, there’s a few. Have you got a family?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then why in thunder don’t you get into some decent business, instead of going around writing trash and reading it to busy people? Ain’t you got any manhood about you?”
“Excuse me for troubling you,” said the ordinary-looking man, as he walked toward the door. “I tell you how it is. I cleared over $80,000 last year on these little things I write. I am placing my spring and summer ads for the Sarsaparilla firm of which I am a member. I had decided to place about $1,000 in advertising in this town. I will see the other papers you spoke of. Good morning!”
The business manager has since become so cautious that all the amateur poets in the city now practice reading their verses to him, and he listens without a murmur.