Big Poker Site hazard of new fortunes 63

Beaton flung out, "I cant go in for a thing I dont understand the plan of." March took it for granted that he had wounded some exposed sensibility, of Beatons. He continued still more deferentially: "Mr. Fulkersons notion--I must say the notion is his, evolved from his syndicate experience--is that we shall do best in fiction to confine our selves to short stories, and make each number complete in itself. He found that the most successful things he could furnish his newspapers were short stories; we Americans are supposed to excel in writing them; and most people begin with them in fiction; and its Mr. Fulkersons idea to work unknown talent, as he says, and so he thinks he can not only get them easily, but can gradually form a school of short-story writers. I cant say I follow him altogether, but I respect his experience. We shall not despise translations of short stories, but otherwise the matter will all be original, and, of course, it wont all be short stories. We shall use sketches of travel, and essays, and little dramatic studies, and bits of biography and history; but all very light, and always short enough to be completed in a single number. Mr. Fulkerson believes in pictures, and most of the things would be capable of illustration." "I see," said Beaton. "I dont know but this is the whole affair," said March, beginning to stiffen a little at the young mans reticence. "I understand. Thank you for taking the trouble to explain. Good-morning." Beaton bowed himself off, without offering to shake hands. Fulkerson came in after a while from the outer office, and Mr. Dryfoos followed him. "Well, what do you think of our art editor?" "Is he our art editor?" asked March. "I wasnt quite certain when he left." "Did he take the books?" "Yes, he took the books." "I guess hes all right, then." Fulkerson added, in concession to the umbrage he detected in March. "Beaton has his times of being the greatest ass in the solar system, but he usually takes it out in personal conduct. When it comes to work, hes a regular horse." "He appears to have compromised for the present by being a perfect mule," said March. "Well, hes in a transition state," Fulkerson allowed. "Hes the man for us. He really understands what we want. Youll see; hell catch on. That lurid glare of his will wear off in the course of time. Hes really a good fellow when you take him off his guard; and hes full of ideas. Hes spread out over a good deal of ground at present, and so hes pretty thin; but come to gather him up into a lump, theres a good deal of substance to him. Yes, there is. Hes a first-rate critic, and hes a nice fellow with the other artists. They laugh at his universality, but they all like him. Hes the best kind of a teacher when he condescends to it; and hes just the man to deal with our volunteer work. Yes, sir, hes a prize. Well, I must go now." Fulkerson went out of the street door, and then came quickly back. "By-the-bye, March, I saw that old dynamiter of yours round at Beatons room yesterday." "What old dynamiter of mine?" "That old one-handed Dutchman--friend of your youth--the one we saw at Maronis--" "Oh-Lindau!" said March, with a vague pang of self reproach for having thought of Lindau so little after the first flood of his tender feeling toward him was past. "Yes, our versatile friend was modelling him as Judas Iscariot. Lindau makes a first-rate Judas, and Beaton has got a big thing in that head if he works the religious people right. But what I was thinking of was this--it struck me just as I was going out of the door: Didnt you tell me Lindau knew forty or fifty, different languages?" "Four or five, yes." "Well, we wont quarrel about the number. The question is, Why not work him in the field of foreign literature? You cant go over all their reviews and magazines, and he could do the smelling for you, if you could trust his nose. Would he know a good thing?" "I think he would," said March, on whom the scope of Fulkersons suggestion gradually opened. "He used to have good taste, and he must know the ground. Why, its a capital idea, Fulkerson! Lindau wrote very fair English, and he could translate, with a little revision." "And he would probably work cheap. Well, hadnt you better see him about it? I guess it ll

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