April 4th.

I can do nothing but haunt that place till I find out what it means! It has been three weeks and a half since he gave it to them, and he said I would hear at once. What in the world does he think it means to me? Can't I presume the slightest gleam of interest, of care, on his part?

April 5th.

To-day I could not stand it any longer. I went to the place again. I saw the ma.n.u.script clerk once more--the same answer. I went upstairs; he was there again, but busy. I wrote a note and left it. I explained that I did not in the least wish to trouble him, but that the thing meant a great deal to me, and that I had the utmost need of promptness; that it had been almost four weeks since he gave it to the firm, and that n.o.body there seemed to know anything about it.

April 7th.

He did not answer my letter! I thought I should hear to-day. O G.o.d, this is the most tormenting thing! Think what it means! And what in Heaven's name has he done? Surely some one--he must have given it to some one!

Only why in the world doesn't he understand my perplexity and explain?

April 9th.

No letter yet. I went back to the publishers' again this morning. I have been wandering by the place every day since. They had not seen it yet. She said she'd have the firm inquire, but I said not to, as it might annoy him.

"He surely has given it to some one, you know."--She laughed at me.

I went up to the magazine office again. He was not there, but I saw his a.s.sociate. The a.s.sociate did not know anything about it either.

April 10th.

I waited one day more and no answer. I wrote to him again to-night, begging him to please reply.

--I have begun several novels, but I can't get interested in them. I am simply sick. I came out of that horrible restaurant with money enough to do me for ten weeks, and here are over five of them gone in this hideous way.

Oh, it is monstrous!

It has been nine weeks and a half since I gave him that poem in the beginning! I never spent nine such weeks of horror in my life.

April 12th.

"In answer to your letter I beg to inform you that the ma.n.u.script of The Captive is now in the hands of the firm, and that you may expect a decision in about a week."

So! It is a relief at any rate to know that the thing is all right. I can wait a little better now.

Of course I knew it must be there. A plague on that foolish clerk!

April 14th.

All the while that I am writing about this thing I keep up my courage by thinking what it will mean to me. It is something so immense that I can hardly realize it. I shall be famous!--And he really liked it, there can be no doubt about that! He was too busy to talk much, but he showed he liked it.

April 17th.

Oh my soul, I think this is the most frightful thing--is it not simply a nightmare? I have been pacing the floor to-night in an agony. _They have never seen that ma.n.u.script_!

I was going by there to-day, and I couldn't withstand the temptation; the week was not up, but I said: "If I inquire, there's no reason why he should know about it." I went in.

And that terrible clerk--she smiled at me still! The more I talked, the more she shook her head. "There's no such ma.n.u.script ever been seen here,"

she said. I showed her the letter, and that decided her to go in and see the firm. They sent out word that neither they nor their readers had ever heard of it, but that they would write to the editor at once.

Oh, I think this is horrible--horrible! And then just guess what I did! I couldn't bear the agony--I went to the other place, and he wasn't there, and so at last I went to his club.

He wasn't at the club, but they told me where he was; and I spent ten cents telephoning him. At this place they said he had an engagement to be there later, so I spent another ten cents, and that time I found him. I told him who I was. "The week isn't up yet," I said, "but the firm say they have never received the ma.n.u.script."

"So?" he said; his voice sounded hard, I thought, and it made me shudder.

"You come up to see me the day after to-morrow at ten o'clock, and you'll hear about your ma.n.u.script."

And that is all. And I walked out of the great, rich club, and I have been pacing up and down in my own garret ever since. I am almost too ill with anxiety to stand.

April 18th.

And to-day I can only wait. Once I lay down upon the bed and cried.

April 19th.

I don't know how to tell this thing. I am simply dazed. I had an experience to-day--the most hideous thing that I think ever happened to me in my life.

Oh, I have been like a madman ever since--I lost my head--I did not know what I was doing. I was really crazy--it is three o'clock in the morning, now, but I shall write it down--I can not sleep.

To-day I went up to see that man as he told me to. I went trembling with suspense--just think, it has been eleven weeks since this agony began. And I went into his office--he was alone; and when he saw me he sprang to his feet--my soul, he looked like a tiger. He stood there in the middle of the room fairly gasping with rage.

"So," he cried, "you've come, have you! I tell you, young man, I have never been subjected to such an outrage as this in my life! I would not read another ma.n.u.script for you--why, I wouldn't stand for such an imposition from Balzac or Thackeray--no, sir, I wouldn't!"

I stared at the man simply speechless with astonishment. "Why," I panted, "what do you mean?"