The next week Snagsby was back with five rejected manuscripts. The
celebrated author was a little surprised, because in the books the
young struggler had needed but one lift, apparently. However, he plowed
through these papers, removing unnecessary flowers and digging up some
acres of adjective-stumps, and then succeeded in getting two of the
articles accepted.
A week or so drifted by, and the grateful Snagsby arrived with another
cargo. The celebrated author had felt a mighty glow of satisfaction
within himself the first time he had successfully befriended the poor
young struggler, and had compared himself with the generous people in
the books with high gratification; but he was beginning to suspect now
that he had struck upon something fresh in the noble-episode line.
His enthusiasm took a chill. Still, he could not bear to repulse this
struggling young author, who clung to him with such pretty simplicity
and trustfulness.
Well, the upshot of it all was that the celebrated author presently
found himself permanently freighted with the poor young beginner. All
his mild efforts to unload this cargo went for nothing. He had to give
daily counsel, daily encouragement; he had to keep on procuring
magazine acceptances, and then revamping the manuscripts to make them
presentable. When the young aspirant got a start at last, he rode into
sudden fame by describing the celebrated author's private life with such
a caustic humor and such minuteness of blistering detail that the book
sold a prodigious edition, and broke the celebrated author's heart with
mortification. With his latest gasp he said, “Alas, the books deceived
me; they do not tell the whole story. Beware of the struggling
young author, my friends. Whom God sees fit to starve, let not man
presumptuously rescue to his own undoing.”