Polly : being a fairy-tale of love, in which it is shown that men love not so much the reality, the substance, as they do their own ideals

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Being a Fairy-tale of Love, in which it is shown that men love not so much the Reality, the Substance, as they do their own Ideals

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I. Dillon Judson. . ., n

II. The Tug of War, . . 17

CHAPTER I DIIyl/DN JUDSON

Dillon Judson was in the city to make a name for himself as a writer and, incidentally, a living. He was a country boy; one of the vast army that marches every year upon the great centers of population, taking them by storm. The little inland town which had been home to him from his infancy had not prepared him in many lines for the metropolis of which he was now a part, for it was proverbially slow and “sleepy.” With the force of this kind of environment wrought into the fiber of his being he must learn how to adapt himself to that heaving restlessness which is called “life” in the great city. He had not come to his new home entirely without preparation, however, for he held the diploma of the local high school, being an eminent illustration of the law of the survival of the fittest, since he was the only one of the original class of fifteen who was able or willing to fight his way through. On that account he never felt particularly puffed up because he was valedictorian of the class. Later, he entered and in due course graduated from one of the smaller colleges with which the United States is plentifully supplied; colleges with little endowment, inadequate and often dilapidated buildings, meager equipment, underpaid faculty, a handful of students ; colleges severely criticised on every hand by many who claim they have no raison d’etre , but, which, in spite of every drawback and limitation, in spite of adverse criticism, have made their mark most grandly upon the character of the nation. These institutions are sought by certain classes of young men because tuition and living are cheap, not because they desire special courses in baseball and football, to say nothing of extraordinary advantages in the electives of general athletics and polite society. Judson was one of the class of students who study because they mean business. They are the lineal descendants of the men who once gained an education without the advantages of schools, by dint of hard work and midnight oil.

As a college graduate Judson had been looked up to at home as “a bright and shining light.” He must needs sing in the choir, usher the chance stranger to his pew, assist in taking the “offering.” In church or society Dillon Judson was considered a necessity, though, strangely enough, as far as he understood what it meant, he cared little for society, not because of anything that simulated pride but because of a peculiar diffidence that developed strangely as he grew older.

Judson’s ambition from the beginning, vague at first, had been literature. The local “weekly” accepted greedily everything he offered, from a poem to a story. If the paper had needed a reporter he would have been the man, for any local “write-up” of merit was certain to have come from his pen, though the editor of The Weekly Beacon

DILLON JUDSON was not able to remunerate his scribe, was barely able to remunerate himself.

Thus he accustomed himself to print, and there, in the dingy little office, was born the ambition to reach a little higher and endeavor to grasp some of the prizes the world was supposed to hold just beyond the ambition of the common throng. It was there, after a particularly brilliant effort had brought showers of encomiums upon him, that he suddenly conceived the notion of contributing a short story to a magazine. He was fairly startled by the boldness of the idea but went to work with energy and not a little of a certain dashing kind of ability, and finally produced a story which he entitled “The Bridal Party,” forwarding it at once to The Brimstone , a cheap monthly publication of short stories circulating widely in his home region. Perhaps The Brimstone was fourth or fifth rate, judged by certain standards, and yet it was first rate in the opinion of many young writers ; for it had no scruples against publishing the productions of an “unknown’’ and it seldom had upon its pages the name of a celebrity. Its avowed purpose was that everything appearing between its covers should be readable by the great indiscriminate public. Stories offered were expected to be exciting, out of the ordinary, and entertaining from beginning to end. Judson’s effort met the approval of the literary staff, and in a month the young writer was surprised and pleased beyond measure to receive a check for the munificent sum of twenty dollars. His delight knew no bounds, he walked on air, breathed the rarefied atmosphere of the summits, and fed upon the sweets of assured success. He was dazzled by the glorious visions of the future that passed before his astonished eyes. The one thing remaining for him now was the city, with the fortune and fame that certainly awaited him there.

That acceptance would have been fatal to many young aspirants for literary honors. It would have puffed them up, given them false notions of their ability, and left them unprepared for disappointments that would certainly follow. This “Returned with thanks,” or “Unavailable,” or “Crowded,” is a part of their training, if it is hard to bear; it scatters the mists and clouds and permits a truer vision; it brings them down from the altitudes of the imagination to the dust of the earth where even authors must live and work, in spite of that something within them that seems to be drawing them to the skies. If the young author can stand the strain, without yielding to discouragement, retaining all the time the proper amount of self-confidence, the crown at last may rest upon his brow.

Judson was alone in the world, his nearest relative being a widowed aunt with whom he made his home ; a modest income was available, sufficient for the simple life of the community in which he lived, but entirely inadequate for anything like a normal existence in the great city. But his mind was made up as to that, and no one but his aunt sought to dissuade him from his purpose, and her efforts were mainly on account of pre-visions of her own lonesomeness and loss of income. All his friends and

DILLON JUDSON neighbors believed in him and persuaded him to go. It was a pity for him to hide himself in the desert ! He must be like the city on a hill which cannot be hid! He must represent his old home out in the world and reflect honor upon it ! The current Brimstone was bought and eagerly read by nearly every family. A brilliant future was predicted for him. He was viewed with wonder, almost awe, by many of the younger generation.

“Think of it!” said a boy. “Dil. Judson went up to his room the other night and made a few scratches on some paper as fast as ever he could, and sent if off. First he knew twenty dollars came sailing back to him as slick as you please. That ’s the way to get rich! But I ’ll tell you, fellows, it takes brains, and Dil. Judson ’s got ’em all right enough ! He ’ll make his mark in the world. You hear me !”

This was the inadequate preparation of the man who was in the city to make a name for himself and, incidentally, a living. He was there without knowledge of the world of men, with little or no special equipment for the great work that was in his mind, without even that bravado that often stands a man in such good stead that he is able to face down the world and make it come his way; but he did have a heart that was clean, a mind that was untrammeled and without the doubtful furnishing that many a young fellow obtains from the kind of literature which has been forced upon him, and his ideals were the loftiest. Thus equipped, he cut the moorings and drifted out upon the great sea of life.

With faith in himself, simple and childlike; with faith in humanity, without cynicism or limit; with faith in the Eternal, that all would be well — with all sails set he entered the new and unknown port.