Read Ebook: The Life and Times of John Wilkins Warden of Wadham College Oxford; Master of Trinity College Cambridge; and Bishop of Chester by Wright Henderson P A Patrick Arkley

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"'That is not our fault,' replied Bingenburg and Rheinfels. 'You have had six months in which to become an "author"; we grant you ten days more. If you are not one by that time, our Directory will have to come out, anyhow, and inasmuch as we have your authorization to put you down as such, we shall require that you shall be one at least in name by then, for we have promised that the book shall have no errors. If we get into trouble with the Board of Trade on your account, then shall we sue you for the damages!'"

"The poor old fellow," said I, my sympathy aroused.

"It was a dreadfully hard position for him, no doubt," said Hans; "but, after all, it was his own fault, and has been so ever since. When the ten days were up, Gorgonzola had even yet not an idea, much less a book, and Bingenburg came in person to see him. Gorgonzola begged him to blot out the word author, but neither he nor Rheinfels would go to the expense, and they threatened that if he ever denied that he was an author, in public or in private, they would ruin him. 'It is all your own doings,' said Rheinfels. 'We would gladly have put you down as a butcher, or a baker, or anything else that is easy to be, and you would not let us. We offered to put you down as a nothing, and you grew angry, and it was yourself that said you expected to be an author before our Directory came out, and we put you down so with your consent. Now our Directory has cost us five thousand thalers to make, and if one mistake is found therein the Board of Trade will decline to take it off our hands, and we shall lose all that money; and so it comes that you have got to keep your promise to us and be what you said you would.'

"'I see,' moaned Gorgonzola; 'I cannot blame you, Rheinfels. But it is awfully hard.'

"'It would have been easier to be a butcher, but you would not,' put in Bingenburg.

"'I know, I know,' said Gorgonzola, 'but I hate butchering.'

"'Well, anyhow,' said Rheinfels, 'the entry is going to attract attention, and the Board of Trade will try to find an error in the book so that they may not have to pay us, and we want you to understand that we hold you responsible for this. If they summon you, you must confess.'

"'Confess?' cried Gorgonzola. 'Confess what?'

"'That you are an author,' said Rheinfels, calmly.

"'But suppose they ask me of what?' pleaded Gorgonzola, wringing his hands.

"'That is your business, not ours,' retorted Bingenburg and Rheinfels in one breath, and with that they left him.

"And so it happened," continued Hans. "The Directory was published, and the Board of Trade appointed a Committee of Three on Errors, who should read the book and see if it should be paid for or confiscated. Ten possible errors were discovered. Nine of them were found not to be errors, but in the case of Gorgonzola they reported that since he was not an author there was clearly one error in the book, and that they therefore recommended the non-acceptance of the Directory. The Board so decided, and Bingenburg and Rheinfels carried their case to the courts. The Board of Trade stated that they had rejected the book upon the agreement in the contract that one error should be sufficient to relieve them of the payment required, and they had fifty witnesses to say that Gorgonzola was not an author, but a mild-mannered gentleman who had struck them as being a querist.

"'A querist?' asked the Judge.

"'Yes,' said the witnesses. 'A querist--one who is only queer and nothing else.'

"Then Bingenburg and Rheinfels called Gorgonzola as a witness. Poor old fellow! he felt awfully about it, but he had to testify.

"'Your name,' said the lawyer.

"'Hans Josef Wilhelm Gorgonzola,' he replied.

"'A good name for an author,' sneered the lawyer. 'What is your business?'

"'I am an author,' said Gorgonzola, with tears in his eyes.

"'He confesses it! he confesses it!' cried Bingenburg and Rheinfels, overjoyed, while the Board of Trade looked blue, and the Judge called the firm to order.

"Gorgonzola hesitated, and Bingenburg and Rheinfels held their breath.

"'Of--what I have written,' said Gorgonzola, sadly.

"'And what is that?' insisted the lawyer.

"'I cannot tell,' said Gorgonzola, 'because it--it is my secret. If I told what I have written, some one else might steal it and publish it over his name, and all my work would be gone for nothing, which is hardly fair.'

"'A good point,' said the Judge, nodding pleasantly at Gorgonzola.

"'But you have never published anything?' said the lawyer in a manner so impressive as to affect the jury.

"'No,' said Gorgonzola. 'No, I have never published anything; but that is because I am not a publisher. If I were a publisher, I should publish. As I am only an author, I merely authorize.'

"'Do not authors frequently publish?' asked the lawyer.

"'Often,' returned Gorgonzola. 'But I am not of that kind. It is said by some who seem to know that the best books are still unwritten, much less published. I am writing one of the unwritten and unpublished books.'

"'Yet you have written something?' suggested the Judge, who admired the modest demeanor of Gorgonzola.

"'Yes,' said Gorgonzola. 'I have written the first paragraph of my new book.'

"'Then,' said the Judge, 'the entry is correct. If he has written the first paragraph, or even the first word of his new novel, he is an author, and I so decide. Next case.'

"So," said Hans, "it was decided that Gorgonzola was properly entered as an author on the pages of the Schnitzelhammerstein Directory, and the Board of Trade was compelled to pay for it. That," Hans added, "was twenty years ago."

"No," said Hans. "Not yet. You see, he is still at work on it. That is why you see that dim light from his study window. Gorgonzola begins work at seven in the morning and retires at midnight. He is still at work on the novel, but, having written that first paragraph, we of course allude to him as the Author."

I laughed again. I had to, though I still had a great sympathy for Gorgonzola.

"What was his first paragraph?" I asked, very much interested; "or don't you know?"

"Yes, indeed, I know," replied Hans. "He has read it to me many times. Let's see--it is like this: 'It was a pleasant day in June. The buds were bursting on the trees, and all nature seemed alive, as Gretchen walked down the stairs and out into the garden.'"

"He is still at work on his second paragraph," said the Mayor.

"Well," said I, "there's a good story for you--but, after all, Hans, it hasn't much of a moral."

"Oh yes, it has," retorted Hans. "It has a great moral. In fact you English-speaking people have the very moral well expressed."

"Indeed," said I, anxiously, "what is that?"

"First be sure you write, then go ahead," said Hans, simply.

THE MIDDLETON BOWL.

Begun in HARPER'S ROUND TABLE No. 898.

BY ELLEN DOUGLAS DELAND.

Yes, some one was in the room. Theodora felt a little thrill of excitement as she realized this fact. Was it a robber who had hidden there? Perhaps, though, it was only one of the servants. She felt almost disappointed when this thought crossed her mind--a robber would be so much more uncommon. And yet he might try to kill her; robbers frequently did such things. She withdrew more into the shadow, and waited.

Not another sound was to be heard. Brave as she naturally was, Theodora felt a tremor of fear as she sat there in the silence of the night. She was quite sure that she had heard something; of that there was no doubt. She knew with absolute certainty that some one or something alive was in her aunts' parlor besides herself.

Should she go and call somebody? No, that would not do, for her aunts had had too much excitement already. If they knew that a burglar--for it certainly might be one--was in the drawing-room they would without doubt scream and faint, and that would be bad for her aunt Joanna, to say the least. The servants would be useless, for they were all elderly, and were quite as unstrung as were their five mistresses, and John, the only man of the household, was ill in his room over the stable.

The doctor was upstairs, to be sure, but it was early in the night, and he was in close attendance upon his patient, who was not yet out of danger. All these thoughts passed rapidly through Teddy's mind, and she saw that she must act alone.

"I don't believe a robber would kill a little girl," she said to herself, "and I will speak to him very politely."

Her first act was to walk around the room pulling up all the Venetian-blinds as high as they would go. There were seven windows in the large room--two at each end, and three on the side that had the two fireplaces. On the fourth side of the room were two doors, one leading into the front hall, the other into the back. The parlor occupied the whole of that side of the main house. The kitchens were in the "L" at the back, cut off by a door into the hall.

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