Chapter XXVIII - Page 2

relatives, and so forth and so forth; they
could be reunited by a brave deed of the man lover, by a similar
deed of the woman lover, by change of heart in one lover or the
other, by forced confession of crafty guardian, scheming relative,
or jealous rival, by voluntary confession of same, by discovery of
some unguessed secret, by lover storming girl's heart, by lover
making long and noble self-sacrifice, and so on, endlessly. It was
very fetching to make the girl propose in the course of being
reunited, and Martin discovered, bit by bit, other decidedly
piquant and fetching ruses. But marriage bells at the end was the
one thing he could take no liberties with; though the heavens
rolled up as a scroll and the stars fell, the wedding bells must go
on ringing just the same. In quantity, the formula prescribed
twelve hundred words minimum dose, fifteen hundred words maximum
dose.

Before he got very far along in the art of the storiette, Martin
worked out half a dozen stock forms, which he always consulted when
constructing storiettes. These forms were like the cunning tables
used by mathematicians, which may be entered from top, bottom,
right, and left, which entrances consist of scores of lines and
dozens of columns, and from which may be drawn, without reasoning
or thinking, thousands of different conclusions, all unchallengably
precise and true. Thus, in the course of half an hour with his
forms, Martin could frame up a dozen or so storiettes, which he put
aside and filled in at his convenience. He found that he could
fill one in, after a day of serious work, in the hour before going
to bed. As he later confessed to Ruth, he could almost do it in
his sleep. The real work was in constructing the frames, and that
was merely mechanical.

He had no doubt whatever of the efficacy of his formula, and for
once he knew the editorial mind when he said positively to himself
that the first two he sent off would bring checks. And checks they
brought, for four dollars each, at the end of twelve days.

In the meantime he was making fresh and alarming discoveries
concerning the magazines. Though the TRANSCONTINENTAL had
published "The Ring of Bells," no check was forthcoming. Martin
needed it, and he wrote for it. An evasive answer and a request
for more of his work was all he received. He had gone hungry two
days waiting for the reply, and it was then that he put his wheel
back in pawn. He wrote regularly, twice a week, to the
TRANSCONTINENTAL for his five dollars, though it was only semi-
occasionally that he elicited a reply. He did not know that the
TRANSCONTINENTAL had been staggering along precariously for years,
that it was a fourth-rater, or tenth-rater, without standing, with
a crazy