PAID IN HIS OWN COIN.

Evening Star, Issue 7875, 6 April 1889, Page 1 (Supplement)

PAID IN HIS OWN COIN.

By Euwakd J. Goodman, Author of' Too Curious.'

VOL 11.-CHAPTER IV IN I'KINT.

Helen had found herself in a somewhat dilli 'lilt position when she came to inform her fither of the practical failure of her mi'isi'.'U. Shu could not atatc that Dr U ynd had actually refused to comply with the nnet> ivqu.'.»fc, as he had not really done so ; and as she Ir.ul withdrawn her appeal to him under circumstances which, of course, she was unable to explain, she could hanlly say that she had asked him to assist her father in the matter. But she perceived signs of a sort of a fidgety curiosity on the part of Matthew Muagravc and her mother and sister which she was bouud in some way to ™l l ! p y okotolJr Wynd about your poem, father," she said. . • « Yes-yes, my dear," exclaimed the poet eacerlv ; "and what did he say 'i " "Well, I cannot exactly tell you what he said " replied Helen. " Much of it was Sciential, and I coald not repeat.tibu lam sorrv to say that you must «ive "U ex -elation of receiving any helpiro-n him. This was bad news iniked, and Mr Mascrave exchanged looks with his wi e and Tessie which plainly showed their feeling of suggested Mrs Mas-

gr «T cannot say that, mother," answered Helen "In fact, I cannot fully explain the matter. I can only tell you-and lam very sorry to do so-that I cannot possibly speak to Dr Wynd on this subject again. There was an awkward silence after this, and Helen turned with a sigh to her studies fa a manner that sufficiently showed her desire to say no more about her appeal to Ab Mr^nd d Mrß Musgrave and Tessie felt ttreatly annoyed, and remained silent while Helen was present; but taking advantage 3 he? absence from the room later » the evening, they discussed the matter among Ssclves. Mrs Musgrave started the t0 "lam sure Helen could have persuaded them to do it if she had pleased ; and I am not at all satisfied with what she has told

US '" It is nothing but an excuse," exclaimed Tessie. "She docs not want to help you, father—that's it." . «I don't think that, my love,'said Mr Musgrave. "I dare say she has done her nest! and perhaps Dr Wynd raised some difficulty which she has not e*?lainod. "Then why doesn't she explain it > asked Tess ; e "I can't bear mysteries, except in novels'. They are delightful in books, but detestable in real life." " I believe," said Mrs Musgrave, "that Dr Wynd is much more disposed to oblige you, my love, than Helen wishes us to think You know how she dislikes him; and I'am sure she fee's very bitter about-the absurd position Dr Elliot has put himself in by that shocking mistake of his. Poor Dr Wviul' I reallv pity him. It was a dreadful charge to bring ..gainst him, and I think Helen ought to do her best to make every possible amends for Mark's cruel and stupid conduct, instead of trying to set everybody ai'nir.Kt the unfortunate man as she does. "" But I don't think she does that,' pleaded Mr Musgrave. ~,,., ~ "Not in words, perhaps,' replied his wife, " but in manner, and that is worse. " M'.'.eh worse," echoed Tessie. So tlie general opinion of the trio was that Helen had behaved very unkindly in the matter, and by no means with that candor which have been expected of her. \othin" more was said on the subject for some dap. In the meanwhile Dr Wynd called more than once, always when Helen was absent, and for a time he contented himself'merely with listening to the usual Musgrave eloquence touching the subject that absorbed their thoughts, but without nuiking any distinct response to their many hints. .... , ,->,- Then came that introunotion of Oliver Crayke. »" (1 thev were aU % ' GT ? S vatfefll . l to Dr "Wynd for bringing this new admirer into their circle. At "last the period arrived when Abrl Wvnd found the moment opportune for giving them that surprise which he had so long prepared for them. One afterno'.n he called at Eden Villa and found the author of the ' Epic' in a fit of poetical "inspiration." Matthew Musgrave looked up with a sigh of impatience at being thus disturbed, and Dr Wynd, of course, apologised for the interruption. "Never mind—never mind, my dear doctor," said the poet. "My little fancies have wings they come and go, I know not how ; now fluttering on the rose-bush, now scared away into the ether, and now settling again My inspiration has gone for the moment; but it will return-it will return." "I hope so, I am sure," exclaimed Dr Wynd. " For you must make progress, my dear sir. 'The Epic of Life' must be nearly ripe for the public eye, eh ? Aln Mr Musgrave, you must not hide your light under a bushel much longer, but come out and astonish the world, as I am weyou will do when you have the chance." "But where am I to get such a chance, doctor ?" inquired the poet, his hopes raised by the surprisingly encouraging tone of his n-ece'a husband. " Where am I to look for the assistance which you know I require ?" " Where, my dear Mr Musgrave ?—where but among your own family and among those to whom you have the best right to look for a friendly lift? Now, the fact is, Mr Musgrave," continued Dr Wynd, nursing his knee and casting around him glances of unctuous complacency, " I have come to make you a proposal. I have been talking to Jane over the matter of your poem, and we think it such a pity that it should any lon«er be kept unpublished, and all for the sak°e of a little paltry money. Well, we have come to the conclusion to help you to make your admirable work known as far as we can do so. Jane's means are not so large as you might suppose. We have had great expenses, I have lost my practice, and the costs of that cruel prosecution have been —ah ! I dare not talk about that. But we will do what we can, and if the amount will be sufficient to get your poem—or as much as you have written of it—printed and published, we—that is, Jane—will be very happy to advance you for that purpose a hundred pounds." _ The three Musgraves simultaneously uttered exclamations of mingled astonishment delight, and gratitude at this joyful announcement. Indeed, Mrs Musgrave and ""essie at once shed tears of pleasure in acknowledgment of Dr Wynd's generosity, and Mr Musgrave himself seemed deeply moved. " My dear Wynd, he exclaimed, sewing the doctor's hand," I cannot tell you how much I am obliged to you. I am not a 'beggar in words,' as you know—at any rate when I have my pen in my hand ; but I am quite—really quite—at a loss for language in which to thank you and your dear, good wife for your kindness. You have' done a great act, a noble, a valuable act in promising to enable me to give to the' world my ' Epic of Life,' and believe me the world, all future ages, will thank you for it as having been the founder of my fanv; and fortune." Mrs Mnscravo also pressed his hand warmly, while wiping her eyes ; and as for Tessie she actually rose, threw her arms round the doctor's neck and kissed him, an operation which he certainly did not shrink from, but reciprocated by taking the fair vonn» «irl round the waist, and holding her to his cousinly bosom for some moments in an affectionate embrace. He felt intensely gratified by this reception of his intimation. Ah ! if Helen would only show such gratitude-or a tithe of it-how sweet that would be ! , After this display of emotion, all the parties concerned gradually recovered their composure, and tho Musgraves seemed to hang upon every word that Dr Wynd then proceeded to utter. "And you think," he said, witn a keen look at Mr Musgrave, " that the sum I have mentioned—one hundred rounds-will be sufficient for your purpose?' _ " Ob yes '" replied the poet enthusiastically ; '" I th'nk so. I am sure of it I do not'know much about the cost of printing, for my experience lies in very different departments of human knowledge, as you may suppose; but no doubt that would be quite sufficient to start the book, for, of course, as soon as it is published, the demand

for it will be so great that the profits must be enormous—simply enormous ! " "No doubt, Musgrave," said Dr W ynd, encouraged to become more familiar in his mode of address than he had ever ventured to be before, and speaking as airily and pleasantly as he could; " but I must ask you to understand that this hundred pounds is as far—quite as far—as we eau go. You know we must be just as well as generous ; and in justice to my wife, who needs so many comforts, and whose health may, I fear, involve us in heavy expenses, we really can't atlord more than the exact sum I have named." " Yes, yes," cried Mr Musgrave earnestly; " that is quite understood. I would not ask you for another penny. Your oiler is most handsome, and amply sullicient; for, of course, when the book is once out it must pay its way—that, I think, is the proper expression?" So the whole party were very happy all round. The Musgraves overwhelmed their goodfriendand relative with compliments and praises, made him stay to their mid-day dinner, and afterwards Mr Mu3gravo showed a still more substantial proof of his gratitude by reading aloud to him three cantos of 'The Epic of Life,' now so soon to burst upon the world in all the glory of print. The reading was listened to by Mrs Musgrave and Tessie with loving and attentive ears as usual. Neither of them understood much of the poet's Uights of fancy and metaphysical speculations, but they both declared that the sound of it was " like sweet music," and that was very gratifying to the author's vanity. If Dr Wynd did not enjoy the recital quite so much, he, at any rate, endured it with an air of resignation, murmured approval at becoming intervals, and sufficiently controlled himself to conceal his real feeling, that the whole thing was for him a painful and tedious infliction. But at the end of the third canto ho could stand it no longer, so saying that he was anxious to return home and tell his wife how gratefully they had all received his communication—he hoped she would soon be well enough to come round and see them iu person—he rose and took his leave. " I wonder what Miss Helen will say to that!" exclaimed Tessie when the street door had closed behind him.

Helen, when she came home that evening, received the news without much surprise, and by no means with unmixed satisfaction. She knew, or thought she knew, the motive that had inspired Dr Wynd's seeming generosity. She could not but regard it as an attempt on his part, even at a great pecuniary sacrifice, to atone for his indiscreet conduct towards herself and to win back her favor. Whether she was right or wrong in this conjecture, at any rate she could not fail to show by her manner that Dr Wynd's liberality did not affect her a3 it had affected her father, mother, and sister.

" I am very glad to hear this, father," she said ; "and I hope you will benefit by it." "I think Dr Wynd has behaved most handsomely, most generously," exclaimed the poet. "1 feel sure, Helen, that you were mistaken when you said he refused to help me." "I did not say that, father, I think," observed Helen.

"No," said her mother, "but you certainly led us to suppose a3 much." Helen made no remark on tin's imputation, and her relatives, of course, attributed her silence to her want of sympathy, and a certain feeling of disappointment that they had succeeded where she had failed. i3ut they had gained their point; that was enough for them, and if Helen was not pleased at the result, it did not make their triumph any the less complete. In due time Dr Mark Elliot, of course, heard of Abel Wynd'.-i offer, but, unlike Helen, he was both astonished and puzzled by it. " It is very strange," he said to her during one of their Sunday rambles. " I wonder what the fellow's motive can be. It cannot surely be only to ingratiate himself with those of your family who believe in him,_as they were quite infatuated enough with him already. Nor do I suppose it can make any difference to you." "That it certainlv does not," replied Helen. " T , " Well, then," continued Mark, "I can t make it out at all. But I suppose time will show what the scoundrel's game is." If it was painful to Helen to preserve the reticence she was compelled to maintain in this matter towards her lover, not less emharra c sing was her position when she actually met Dr Wynd in presence of his three admirers in the Musgrave family, and had to face their endeavorr to make her join in their laudation of the doctor's generosity. " lb was really noble of him and Jane, wasn't it. Helen ?" asked Tessie.

Dr Vynd glanced furtively at Helen, nervously anxious to see what impression this direct question made on her; but she coldly replied; " Dr Wynd and Jane have certainly done father a great service, and I am sure they know we appreciate it." Abel Wynd hinißclf did not venture to allude to the subject in speaking to Helen, beyond saying, when ho had an opportunity of addressing her out of the hearing of the others : " I hope I have made my peace now." "I cannot go beyond what I said the other night, Dr Wynd," was her reply. " The past will be forgotten by me if it is never revived by you. ' The following days and weeks were a busy time with Mr Musgrave. Never in his life had he been so energetic. His whole mind was absorbed by the delicious contemplation of the prospect of seeing his book printed and published, and hj? was indefatigable in his efforts to give effect to Dr Wynd's timely assistance. He visited the doctor frequently, and had long conferences with him and his friend Oliver Crayke, who at once manifested the greatest interest in his undertaking, and offered his services freely for its complete accomplishment. He said he did not know much about tirinting and publishing, but he had ample leisure, and be would be very happy to make inquiries with a view to ascertain how Mr Musgrave's work could be brought out in the most effective manner. After awhile, Oliver Crayke informed the poet that he had found a publisher willing to undertake the publication of the ' Epic ' His name was Copple, and he offered to introduce Mr Musgrave to him whenever he pleased. The poet, it need scarcely be said, was eager to avail himself of this tempting opportunity, the more so as Oliver Crayke assured him that the question was one likely to do ample justice to his great work. Abel Wynd himself took no part whatover in these arrangements beyond expressing his interest in hearing of their progress. " I really could bo of no further use to you, my dear Musgrave," he said. " You are quite safe in our friend Crayke'shands, and I am sure be will be able to guide you in the way you should go." " You have done quite enough already, Wynd," replied Mr Musgrave warmly. "Indeed, you have added immensely to the obligation I owe vou by giving me the great advantage of Mr Crayke's advice and So the elated poet, accompanied by Oliver Crayke. bad an interview with Mr Copple. That gentleman was not what may bo called a regular publisher. His business was, in fact, that of a second-hand bookseller ; but he did a little publishing now and then on commission. He was not particular what class of work be introduced to the public, nor was he at all critical in his estimate of its literary merits. Indeed, there was only one sort of estimate with which Mr Copple ever concerned himself, and that was merely a calculation of the cost of printing, binding, advertising, and bo forth, the works to be brought out at his customers' risk end expense. So when Mr Musgrave was introduced to him by his old client Mr Crayke, the worthy bookseller and publisher, a fat, pleasant little man, with rosy cheeks and a twinkpngeye, welcomed him very cordially. He went "through the form of examining bis manuscript, and, merely glancing over the contents, declared he thought the poem was " very indeed," and had every prospect of success ; aa such a publisher was not unlikely to do when the work in hand was to be issued without any pecuniary liability to himself. " That is really an intelligent man," exclaimed the poet to Mr Crayke as they left Mr Copple's place of business. " Very far superior to the narrow-minded person to whom I once submitted 'The Epic of Life,' and who actually told me he thought there

[ was 'no money in it.' Mr Copple, you see, is of quite a different opinion." " So it seems," replied Mr Crayke. The tirat arrangement with the publisher was for the simple printing of the book, for which Mr Copple duly prepared an estimate. This showed that the expense of "setting up" and binding the 'Epic of Life' in a. neat and presentable form, and giving it moderate but sullicient advertisement, would como well within Dr Wyud's one hundred pounds. That sum deposited iu Mr Copple s hands greatly stimulated hia zeal in the poet's behalf, and he assured him that the printing of the hook would be proceeded with without delay. "Then it is all settled!" cried lessie, clapping her hands with delight. " All, my dear," replied her father, with unctuous satisfaction ; " nothing now stands between me and Fame but the mere processes of piinting and publication." These processes were slower in operation than the sanguine poet and his sympathetic relatives had expected. For several days, at every ring at the door-bell, Tessie would start up, throwing aside her most favorite novel, and rush to the door in the hope that it would be the poatman bringing her father's first proof. "Here it is at last! " she exclaimed one day, as she dashed into the sittiug-room with a somewhat bulky roll of paper which had just been placed in her hands by the letter-carrier. " There is no mistake about it this time. Here is Mr Copple's name and address printed on the cover." And so eager were they all to examine the precious contents, that they struggled for some time in vain to tear oft the wrapper with their trembling fingers. But atlast the jealous cover gave way, and the delightful sight of the first instalment of 'The Kpic of Life,' in all the glory of print, was revealed.

"How lovely it looks!" cried Tessie. "But oh, father, what shabby paper it is printed on !" "That is only a proof-sheet, my dear," replied the poet; "of course, the book itself will be printed on paper of much finer quality." " The very best that can be got, I hope," said Tessie. "It must be beautifully done."

" Well, well, my love," observed Mr Musgrave, with an air of importance, " I have a work of great responsibility now before me—to revise my poem—and you must not interrupt me. It will demand my whole miud and attention."

"But surely, father," pleaded Tessie, " it cannot require any alteration. It was simply perfect before." " No doubt, my dear," replied the poet; " but there may be many printers' errors to correct—there always aro, I believe, Why, here is one, I declare—dreadful, dreadful!" Mr Musgrave did indeed find many printers' errors ere he had proceeded far; but he had never corrected proof-sheets before, and he was somewhat at a loss to know how to make the necessary amendments. Tessie tried to help him, but her assistance only increased his difficulties. " I know how it should be done," she exclaimed. " You must write in the margin, ' this word should not be printed "fool" but "foot"; please attend to this.'" « No—no—no, my love," said the poet; "that won't do. That is not the proper way, I am sure. Dear-dear ! I wish I had some one to advise me." And to his great relief a skilled adviser soon appeared in the person of Mr Crayke. " Do you understand printers' corrections, Mr Orayke ?" asked the distressed poet. " Perfectly," was the reply. " Well, will you kindly assist me ': " " With pleasure." Oliver Crayke was now more welcome than ever at Eden Villa. His assistance in the revision of ' The Epic of Life' proved invaluable, although the corrections were confined for the most part to what arc technically known as " literals." To alter or in any way modify a line or a word in the ' Epic' would have been, in the opinion of the author and his loving admirers, nothing less than an act of desecration. At last, the revision of the proof-sheets having been completed to Mr Musgravo's satisfaction, the next question to settle was the precise form in which the printed volume should be presented to the public. "It should bo well got up, I think," remarked the poet. " Wei! ?" echoed Tessie. "Splendidly ! I should like to see it printed on the most beautiful thick paper, and bound in purple and gold." "Ah, my dear," replied her father, 'I must talk to Mr Copple about that." So he called on the publisher, accompanied by Tessie, and explained his views. "This is the child of my brain," said the poet, "my literary first-born, and it cannot be too handsomely dressed." << Er—yes," replied Mr Copple; "but the expense, my dear sir, the expense—have you considered that! " "Oh ! " Tessie broke in, " the expense doiis not matter a bit. Father's book must be beautifully get up. I shall be dreadfully disappointed if it isn't," e Yes—yes," said Mr Musgrave ; it really must be well done. What do you recommend, Mr Copple?" The publisher hereupon produced several specimens of Miliona de luxe, of similar publications to that of the ' Epic,' the work of vain and wealthy amateurs, issued by his own or other houses, many of which were pronounced by Tessie to be " quite lovely." At last they selected a very fine example of hand-made paper for the contents of the volume, and an elaborately tooled design for its cover, while Tessie insisted that the edges should be "gilt all round," and not only at the top, as the publisher had suggested. "Very well, my dear sir, said Mr Copple, as he bowed out the poet and his daughter; "it shall be done as you wish, and 1 ! hope it will give you satisfaction." _ " There now, that's settled," cried Tessie, ns she and her father walked home ; " how I long to see the darling book !" " Hum—ha ! " observed the port, " but I'm afraid we are going to greater expense then we intended at first. What will Helen say ?" " What does it matter what Helen says ! exclaimed Tessie; "it is no business of hers. She ought to be only too pleased to see your poem printed and so beautifully published. But I wouldn't say anything about it to her till the book comes out, and then won't she be astonished!" So Helen was kept entirely in the dark as to the details of her father's undertaking. She was astonished, indeed, and not a little alarmed when the sumptuous volume at last made its appearance. And, as a matter of fact, the cost of putting Matthew Musgrave's effort of genius into print bad already far exceeded the I limit of Abel Wynd's one hundred pounds. (To he. continued.)