"Upon that principle, we should feel obliged to pay for poetry," said
the editor.
"Oh," said Oscar, "poets don't need money. They live on flowers and
dew-drops."
The editor smiled.
"You think prose-writers require something more substantial?"
"Yes, sir."
"I will tell you how the matter stands," said the editor. "Mr.
Walton is a beginner. He has his reputation to make. When it is
made he will be worth a fair price to me, or any of my brother
editors."
"I see," said Oscar; "but his story must be worth something. It will
fill up two columns. If you didn't print it, you would have to pay
somebody for writing these two columns."
"You have some reason in what you say. Still our ordinary rule is
based on justice. A distinction should be made between new
contributors and old favorites."
"Yes, sir. Pay the first smaller sums."
If the speaker had not been John Vincent's son, it would have been
doubtful if his reasoning would have prevailed. As it was, the
editor yielded.
"I may break over my rule in the case of your friend," said the
editor; "but he must be satisfied with a very small sum for the
present."
"Anything will satisfy me, sir," said Harry, eagerly.
"Your story will fill two columns. I commonly pay two dollars a
column for such articles, if by practised writers. I will give you
half that."
"Thank you, sir.
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