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in the cotton crop. And this sensational account of
Hatfield-McCoy feud, by a schoolmate of a niece of the Governor of
Kentucky, isn't such a bad idea. It happened so long ago that most
people have forgotten it. Now, here's a poem three pages long called
'The Tyrant's Foot,' by Lorella Lascelles. I've pawed around a good deal
over manuscripts, but I never saw her name on a rejection slip."
"Miss Lascelles," said the editor, "is one of our most widely recognized
Southern poetesses. She is closely related to the Alabama Lascelles
family, and made with her own hands the silken Confederate banner
that was presented to the governor of that state at his inauguration."
"But why," persisted Thacker, "is the poem illustrated with a view of
the M. & 0. Railroad freight depot at Tuscaloosa?"
"The illustration," said the colonel, with dignity, "shows a corner of the
fence surrounding the old homestead where Miss Lascelles was born."
"All right," said Thacker. "I read the poem, but I couldn't tell whether it
was about the depot of the battle of Bull Run. Now, here's a short story
called 'Rosies' Temptation,' by Fosdyke Piggott. It's rotten. What is a
Piggott, anyway?"
"Mr. Piggott," said the editor, "is a brother of the principal stockholder
of the magazine."
"All's right with the world--Piggott passes," said Thacker. "Well this

article on Arctic exploration and the one on tarpon fishing might go.
But how about this write-up of the Atlanta, New Orleans, Nashville,
and Savannah breweries? It seems to consist mainly of statistics about
their output and the quality of their beer. What's the chip over the bug?"
"If I understand your figurative language," answered Colonel Telfair,
"it is this: the article you refer to was handed to me by the owners of
the magazine with instructions to publish it. The literary quality of it
did not appeal to me. But, in a measure, I feel impelled to conform, in
certain matters, to the wishes of the gentlemen who are interested in the
financial side of The Rose."
"I see," said Thacker. "Next we have two pages of selections from
'Lalla Rookh,' by Thomas Moore. Now, what Federal prison did Moore
escape from, or what's the name of the F. F. V. family that he carries as
a handicap?"
"Moore was an Irish poet who died in 1852," said Colonel Telfair,
pityingly. "He is a classic. I have been thinking of reprinting his
translation of Anacreon serially in the magazine."
"Look out for the copyright laws," said Thacker, flippantly. Who's
Bessie Belleclair, who contributes the essay on the newly completed
water-works plant in Milledgeville?"
"The name, sir," said Colonel Telfair, "is the nom de guerre of Miss
Elvira Simpkins. I have not the honor of knowing the lady; but her
contribution was sent to us by Congressman Brower, of her native state.
Congressman Brower's mother was related to the Polks of Tennessee.
"Now, see here, Colonel," said Thacker, throwing down the magazine,
"this won't do. You can't successfully run a magazine for one particular
section of the country. You've got to make a universal appeal. Look
how the Northern publications have catered to the South and
encouraged the Southern writers. And you've got to go far and wide for
your contributors. You've got to buy stuff according to its quality
without any regard to the pedigree of the author. Now, I'll bet a quart of
ink that this Southern parlor organ you've been running has never
played a note that originated about Mason & Hamlin's line. Am I
right?"
"I have carefully and conscientiously rejected all contributions from
that section of the country--if I understand your figurative language
aright," replied the colonel.

"All right. Now I'll show you something."
Thacker reached for his thick manila envelope and dumped a mass of
typewritten manuscript on the editors desk.
"Here's some truck," said he, "that I paid cash for, and brought along
with me."
One by one he folded back the manuscripts and showed their first pages
to the colonel.
Here are four short stories four of the highest priced authors in the
United States--three of 'em living in New York, and one commuting.
There's a special article on Vienna-bred society by Tom Vampson.
Here's an Italian serial by Captain Jack--no--it's the other Crawford.
Here are three separate exposes of city governments by Sniffings, and
here's a dandy entitled 'What Women Carry in Dress-Suit Cases'--a
Chicago newspaper woman hired herself out for five years as a lady's
maid to get that information. And here's a Synopsis of Preceding
Chapters
of Hall Caine's new serial to appear next June. And here's a couple of
pounds of vers de societe that I got at a rate from the clever magazines.
That's the stuff that people everywhere want. And now here's a