of the characters were true to life in the parts of the story that we discussed?”
“It is very likely that I would, if I believed that way,” said the editor. “But I have explained to you that I do not.”
“If I could prove to you that I am right?”
“I’m sorry, Shack, but I’m afraid I haven’t time to argue any further just now.”
“I don’t want to argue,” said Dawe. “I want to demonstrate to you from life itself that my view is the correct one.”
“How could you do that?” asked Westbrook, in a surprised tone.
“Listen,” said the writer, seriously. “I have thought of a way. It is important to me that my theory of true-to-life fiction be recognized as correct by the magazines. I’ve fought for it for three years, and I’m down to my last dollar, with two months’ rent due.”
“I have applied the opposite of your theory,” said the editor, “in selecting the fiction for the Minerva Magazine. The circulation has gone up from ninety thousand to—”
“Four hundred thousand,” said Dawe. “Whereas it should have been boosted to a million.”
“You said something to me just now about demonstrating your pet theory.”
“I will. If you’ll give me about half an hour of
