VIII.
THE WOLF ON THE SKY-LINE.
For Edwards, the year 1895 dawned in a blaze of prosperity and went out in the gathering shadows of impending disaster.
Spring found him literally swamped with orders, and he tried the experiment of hiring a young man stenographer and typist to assist him. The young man was an expert in his line and proved so efficient an aide that Edwards hired another who was equally proficient. Two stenographers failing to help him catch up with his flood of orders, he secured a third.
One assistant put in his time copying manuscripts and cataloguing clippings, to another the library work was dictated, and the third was employed on “Stella Edwards” material.
Edwards was versatile, and he experienced no difficulty in passing from one class of work to another. He was able to chronicle the breathless adventures of the hero of the Five-Cent Library to one stenographer, then turn to the other and dictate two or three chapters of a serial of the class written by Laura Jean Libby, and then fill in the gaps between dictation with altogether different work on his own machine.
Although Edwards kept these three stenographers for several months, and although he has since frequently availed himself of the services of an amanuensis, yet he is free to confess that he doubts the expediency of such help. Successful dialect cannot be wrapped up in a stenographer’s “pothooks,” and so much dialect was used in the library stories that the young man at work on them had to familiarize himself with the contorted forms and write them down from memory. It took him so long to do this, and required so much of Edwards’ time making corrections, that the profit on his work was disappointing.
With such an office force grinding out copy, during the early months of 1895 the Fiction Factory was a very busy place. During January and February the cash returns amounted to $1,500. This, Edwards discovered later, was no argument in favor of stenographer assistance, for he has since, working alone, earned upward of $1,000 in a month.
In February Edwards was requested by Harte & Perkins to submit a story for a new detective library which they were starting, and of which they were very choice. The work was as different as possible from the two or three detective yarns Edwards had written in 1893. He wrote and submitted the story, and Mr. Perkins’ criticisms are given below by way of showing how carefully the stories were examined. The letter from which the excerpt is taken was written Feb. 13, 1895. The mythical detective, who has become known throughout the length and breadth of the land, shall here be referred to as “Joe Blake.”
“There is one point to which I would call your attention. On page 5, Chapter II opens in this way: ‘A young man to see Dr. Reynolds; no card.’ Joe Blake, otherwise ‘Dr. Reynolds,’ told the boy to show the visitor in. The place was Chicago. Scene in room in prominent hotel the second day after Joe Blake had had an tntenriew with Abner Larkin, 9 o’clock in the evening.’
This is too trite and not easily expressed. Such references to time, place, etc, impress the reader with the fact that he is reading a romance and not a real story of Joe Blake’s experiences. This particular point should be kept in mind. We want these stories to appear as natural as possible.
In the opening of the installment, where Mr. Larkin presents himself to Joe, you have duplicated the common-place method of most writers. There should be more originality in the way Joe Blake’s attention is called to various cases and not a continual repetition of calls at his office, which, though natural enough, become tiresome to the reader. In this same opening there is not enough detective flavor, and here, as well as in other places, Joe does not appear to be the man of authority, which he is usually found to be. These are little things, but I believe if you will take care of them they will help the story greatly.”
This will illustrate the care with which Harte & Perkins looked over the manuscripts submitted to them, to the end that they might be made to reflect their ideas of what good manuscripts should be. If a writer could not do their work the way they wanted it done he was not long in getting his conge. In the case of the story mentioned above, it was returned, rewritten, and made to conform to Mr. Perkins’ ideas.
On Jan. 9 Harte & Perkins had written Edwards:
“It is more than apparent that the library business is not very flourishing, and hereafter we shall only be able to pay $40 for these stories. I think this will be satisfactory to you, for I know you can do this class of work very rapidly.”
This meant a loss of $10 a week, and Edwards endeavored to make up for it by increasing his output. Particularly he wanted a chance to write another “Stella Edwards” story, just to show the firm that he could do the work. Mr. Harte gave him an order for the serial stating that the new story was to follow “The Bicycle Belle.” then running in The Weekly Guest. The story was to be in twelve installments of 5,250 words each, totalling some 63,000 words. For this Edwards was to receive $200. This hint was given him:
“Have plenty of romance, without too great extravagance, and make sure of at least one wedding and that in the beginning of the story.”
With the order came a picture which it was desired to use in illustrating the opening installment. Edwards was to write the installment around the picture. He completed the story, called it “Little Bluebell,” and received the following commendation after two installments had been received and read:
“I have just finished reading the first two installments of your story, ‘Little Bluebell,’ and I have to say that the same is entirely satisfactory, unquestionably the best thing you have given us in this line of work.”
Although he was turning out Five-Cent Libraries, Stella Edwards serials, short sketches for Puck and stories for other publishers than Harte & Perkins, Edwards was constantly on the alert for more work in order to keep his stenographers busy. He asked Mr. Perkins for orders for the Ten-Cent Library, and for juvenile serials for the boys’ paper. He was allowed to send in some “Gentlemen Jim” stories for the dime publication. The pay was not munificent, however, being only $50 for 37,000 words.
The “Little Bluebell” story was followed by another “Stella Edwards” serial entitled “A Weird Marriage.” This yarn hit the bull’s-eye with a bang. In fact, it was said to be the best thing ever done by “Stella Edwards.” And then, after scoring these two successive hits, Edwards tripped on a third story called “Beryl’s Lovers,” and he fell so hard that it was ten years before the firm ever asked him to do any more writing in that line.
In the Fall of 1895 Edwards discovered that he had been working too hard. A doctor examined his lungs, declared that he was threatened with tuberculosis and ordered him to the Southwest. In November he and his wife left Chicago, Edwards carrying with him his typewriter and a plentiful supply of typewriter paper. He transformed a stateroom in the compartment sleeper into his Fiction Factory, finishing two installments of the ill-fated “Beryl’s Lovers” while enroute.
These installments, forwarded from Phoenix, Arizona, by express, went into a wreck at Shoemaker, Kansas, and were delivered to Harte & Perkins, torn and illegible, two weeks after the story had been taken over by another writer. Edwards filed a claim against the express company for $300, and then compromised for $50 – all the express people were liable for by the terms of their receipt.
From November, 1895, until April, 1896, Edwards was located on a ranch near Phoenix, Arizona, writing Five-Cent Libraries for Harte & Perkins and sketches and short stories for other publishers. His health was steadily declining, and he could bring himself to his work only by a supreme effort of the will and at the expense of much physical torture. In May, 1896, he was told that he must get farther away from the irrigated districts around Phoenix and into the arid hills. To this end he interested himself in a gold mine, and went East to form a company and secure the necessary capital to purchase and develop it.
About the middle of July he returned to Phoenix, still writing but hoping for golden rewards from the mining venture which would ultimately make his writing less of a business and more of a pastime.
His health continued to decline and he was ordered to give up writing entirely and exercise constantly in the open. He at once telegraphed Harte & Perkins to this effect. On Oct 13 they wrote:
“We have heard nothing from you since receipt of your telegram to take all work out of your hands. This, of course, we attended to at once, but on your account, as well as our own, we were very sorry to learn that you found it necessary to give up the work, and trust that the illness from which you are suffering will not be lasting…. If, in future, you should be able to write again, we shall try to find a place for your work.”
So the old firm and Edwards parted for a time. A few weeks proved the mining venture a failure, and $10,000 which Edwards had put away out of the profits of his writing had vanished – gone to make the failure memorable. Nor had his health returned.
In some desperation, just before New Year’s of ‘97, Mr. and Mrs. Edwards entrained for New York, Edwards pinning his hopes to Harte & Perkins. He had less than $100 to his name when he and his wife reached the metropolis.
One hundred dollars will not carry a man and his wife very far in New York, even when both are in good health and the man can work. Ambition alone kept Edwards alive and gave him hope for the future.
The Factory out-put for 1895:
3 Five-Cent Libraries at $50 each $ 150.
29 Five-Cent Libraries at $40 each 1160.
2 Detective stories at $40 each 80.
2 Ten-Cent Library stories at $50 each 100.
"Little Bluebell," serial 200.
"A Weird Marriage" 300.
________
$ 1990.
Detroit Free Press, Contributions 22.
_________
Total $ 2012.For 1896:
24 Five-Cent Libraries at $40 each $ 960.
Short fiction 71.50
________
Total $ 1031.50For cold brutality perhaps the rejection slip worded as below is unequalled:
We are sorry to return your paper, but you have written on it.
Respectfully yours,
The Editor.
§
Before Mr. Karl Edwin Harriman, of The Red Book, had ventured into the editorial end of the writing trade, he wrote an article on an order from a certain Eastern magazine. Later, that magazine decided that it could not use the article, although it had been paid for, and, with Mr. Harriman’s permission, turned it over to an agent to market elsewhere.
The agent, not knowing Mr. Harriman had associated himself with a certain magazine, sent the manuscript to that publication, in the ordinary way.
It was up to Mr. Harriman, then, to consider it in an editorial capacity. He was unable to purchase the manuscript, and returned it to the agent with a reproof for having submitted such an article, and indicating that the author had a great deal to learn before he could feel justified in seeking a market among the best known magazines.
