Jimmy had less scout work to do and no school to attend; he was too small
to help in the sorting of car parts and too valuable to be tossed out. He
was in the way.
So he was in Jake's office when the mail came. He brought the bundle to
Jake's desk and sat on a box, sorting the circulars and catalogs from the
first class. Halfway down the pile was a long envelope addressed to
_Jimmy James_.
He dropped the rest with a little yelp. Jake eyed him quickly and
snatched the letter out of Jimmy's hands.
"Hey! That's mine!" said Jimmy. Jake shoved him away.
"Who's writing you?" demanded Jake.
"It's mine!" cried Jimmy.
"Shut up!" snapped Jake, unfolding the letter. "I read _all_ the mail
that comes here first."
"But--"
"Shut your mouth and your teeth'll stay in," said Jake flatly. He
separated a green slip from the letter and held the two covered while he
read. "Well, well," he said. "Our little Shakespeare!" With a disdainful
grunt Jake tossed the letter to Jimmy.
Eagerly, Jimmy took the letter and read:
Dear Mr. James:
We regret the unconscionable length of time between your submission and
this reply. However, the fact that this reply is favorable may be its
own apology. We are enclosing a check for $20.00 with the following
explanation:
Our policy is to reject all work written in dialect. At the best we
request the author to rewrite the piece in proper English and frame
his effect by other means. Your little story is not dialect, nor is it
bad literarily, the framework's being (as it is) a fairly good example
of a small boy's relating in the first person one of his adventures,
using for the first time his father's typewriter. But you went too far.
I doubt that even a five-year-old would actually make as many
typographical errors.
However, we found the idea amusing, therefore our payment. One of our
editors will work your manuscript into less-erratic typescript for
eventual publication.
Please continue to think of us in the future, but don't corn up your
script with so many studied blunders.
Sincerely,
Joseph Brandon, editor,
Boy's Magazine.
"Gee," breathed Jimmy, "a check!"
Jake laughed roughly. "Shakespeare," he roared. "Don't corn up your
stuff! You put too many errors in! Wow!"
Jimmy's eyes began to burn. He had no defense against this sarcasm. He
wanted praise for having accomplished something, instead of raucous
laughter.
"I wrote it," he said lamely.
"Oh, go away!" roared Jake.
Jimmy reached for the check.
"Scram," said Jake, shutting his laughter off instantly.
"It's mine!" cried Jimmy.
Jake paused, then laughed again. "Okay, smart kid. Take it and spend it!"
He handed the check to Jimmy Holden.
Jimmy took it quickly and left.
He wanted to eye it happily, to gloat over it, to turn it over and over
and to read it again and again; but he wanted to do it in private.
He took it with him to the nearest bank, feeling its folded bulk and
running a fingernail along the serrated edge.
He re-read it in the bank, then went to a teller's window. "Can you cash
this, please?" he asked.