On the first of October we announced in our advertisement that
“The Crimson Cord” was a book; the greatest novel of the century; a
thrilling, exciting tale of love. Miss Vincent had told me it was a love
story. Just to make everything sure, however, I sent the manuscript
to Professor Wiggins, who is the most erudite man I ever met. He knows
eighteen languages, and reads Egyptian as easily as I read English.
In fact, his specialty is old Egyptian ruins and so on. He has written
several books on them.
Professor said the novel seemed to him very light and trashy, but
grammatically O. K. He said he never read novels, not having time; but
he thought that “The Crimson Cord” was just about the sort of thing
a silly public that refused to buy his “Some Light on the Dynastic
Proclivities of the Hyksos” would scramble for. On the whole, I
considered the report satisfactory.
We found we would be unable to have Pyle illustrate the book, he being
too busy, so we turned it over to a young man at the Art Institute.
That was the fifteenth of October, and we had promised the book to the
public for the first of November, but we had it already in type; and the
young man,--his name was Gilkowsky,--promised to work night and day on
the illustrations.
The next morning, almost as soon as I reached the office, Gilkowsky came
in. He seemed a little hesitant, but I welcomed him warmly, and he spoke
up.
“I have a girl I go with,” he said; and I wondered what I had to do with
Mr. Gilkowsky's girl, but he continued:--
“She's a nice girl and a good looker, but she's got bad taste in some
things. She's too loud in hats and too trashy in literature. I don't
like to say this about her, but it's true; and I'm trying to educate her
in good hats and good literature. So I thought it would be a good thing
to take around this 'Crimson Cord' and let her read it to me.”