"Good morning, Mr. Ellet!" said Mr. Jones, making an attempt at a bow,
which the stiffness of his shirt-collar rendered entirely abortive; "how
d'ye do?"
"Oh, how are you, Mr. Jones? I was just looking over the Household
Messenger here, reading my daughter 'Floy's' pieces, and thinking what
a great thing it is for a child to have a good father. 'Floy' was
carefully brought up and instructed, and this, you see, is the result. I
have been reading several of her pieces to a clergyman, who was in here
just now, I keep them on hand in my pocket-book, to exhibit as a proof
of what early parental education and guidance may do in developing
latent talent, and giving the mind a right direction."
"I was not aware 'Floy' _was_ your daughter," replied Mr. Jones; "do you
know what time she commenced writing? what was the title of her first
article and what was her remuneration?"
"Sir?" said Mr. Ellet, wishing to gain a little time, and looking very
confused.
"Perhaps I should not ask such questions," said the innocent Mr. Jones,
mistaking the cause of Mr. Ellet's hesitation; "but I felt a little
curiosity to know something of her early progress. What a strong
desire you must have felt for her ultimate success; and how much your
influence and sympathy must have assisted her. Do you know whether her
remuneration at the commencement of her career as a writer, was above
the ordinary average of pay?"
"Yes--no--really, Mr. Jones, I will not venture to say, lest I should
make a mistake; my memory is apt to be so treacherous."
"She wrote merely for amusement, I suppose; there could be no
_necessity_ in _your_ daughter's case," said the blundering Mr. Jones.
"Certainly not," replied Mr. Ellet.
"It is astonishing how she can write so feelingly about the poor,"
said Mr. Jones; "it is so seldom that an author succeeds in depicting
truthfully those scenes for which he draws solely upon the imagination."
"My daughter, 'Floy,' has a very vivid imagination," replied Mr. Ellet,
nervously. "Women generally have, I believe; they are said to excel our
sex in word-painting."
"I don't know but it may be so," said Jones. "'Floy' certainly
possesses it in an uncommon degree. It is difficult else to imagine,
as I said before, how a person, who has always been surrounded with
comfort and luxury, could describe so feelingly the other side of the
picture. It is remarkable. Do you know how much she has realized by
her writings?"
"There, again," said the disturbed Mr. Ellet, "my memory is at fault;
I am not good at statistics."
"Some thousands, I suppose," replied Mr. Jones. "Well, how true it is,
that 'to him who hath shall be given!' Now, here is your literary
daughter, who has no need of money, realizes a fortune by her books,
while many a destitute and talented writer starves on a crust."
"Yes," replied Mr. Ellet, "the ways of Providence are inscrutable."