I have a confession to make and I have my desk to clean out. One is as
hard to go at as the other. If people would only refrain from putting my
books and papers in order whenever I am away, I could always find things
where I leave them and the embarrassment I am about to relate would have
been spared me. After all, there is efficiency and efficiency. If the
book I need at any moment is always buried beneath a pile of foreign
newspapers, it is only interfering with my work to haul it out during my
absence and put it on the desk right in front of me, where I cannot see
it.
It was at Harding's place that I met Dr. Gunther. Harding had insisted
that we two ought to know each other. After I had spent half an hour in
the Doctor's company I agreed that had been worth my while; the rest is
for him to say. Gunther is a physician of high standing, but his hobby
is astronomy, and it was quite evident that he is as big an expert in
that field as in his own profession. We spent a delightful evening. As
he rose to say good-night, Gunther turned to me and smiled in a timid
fashion that was altogether charming.
"I must confess," he said with a sort of foreign dignity of speech,
"that my desire to make your acquaintance was not altogether
disinterested. I have here," pulling a large envelope out of his pocket,
"a few remarks which I have thrown together at odd moments, and which it
occurred to me might be of interest to your readers. It is on a subject
which I can honestly profess to know something about. Perhaps you might
pass it on to your editor after you have glanced through it and decided
that it had a chance. In case it is found unavailable for your purposes,
you must be under no compunction about sending it back. You see, I have
put the manuscript into a stamped and addressed envelope. I know how
busy you journalists are."
I told him I would be delighted to do what I could. I brought the
manuscript to the office next morning, laid it on my desk, and forgot
about it. It was a Saturday. After I left the office, the janitor's
assistant, being new to the place, came in and cleaned up my room. When
I looked for the paper on Monday, I could not find it. At first I was
not alarmed, because I reasoned that in the course of two or three weeks
it would turn up.
But this was evidently Dr. Gunther's first experience as a contributor
to the press. He was impatient. Within a week I had a letter from him,
dated Boston, where, as he explained, he had been called on a matter of
private business which would keep him for some time. Without at all
wishing to seem importunate, he asked whether my editor had arrived at
any decision with regard to his manuscript. It was a vexing situation. I
shrank from writing and confessing how clumsy I had been; and besides
the paper was likely to be found at any moment. I saw that I must fight
for time.
What I am about to say will confirm many good people in their opinion of
the unscrupulous nature of the newspaper profession; but the truth must
be told. I determined to write to Dr. Gunther as if I had read his
article. The terrible difficulty was that I did not know what it was
about. I was fairly sure it had to do with one of two things, medicine
or astronomy. He had said, when he gave me the manuscript, that it was a
subject on which he could claim special knowledge. But which of the two
was it? For some time I hesitated, and then I wrote the following
letter:
"Dear Dr. Gunther: Before giving your valuable paper a second and more
thorough reading, I must bring up a question which suggests itself even
after the most cursory examination. It is this: Will your article go
well with illustrations, and if so where are they to be had? You know
that ours is a picture supplement, appealing to a general audience, and
there is every chance for inserting illustrations into an article of
scientific nature abounding in such close-knit argument as you present.
Of course there is not the least reason for haste in the matter. A reply
from you within the next four weeks will be in time."
Next morning I found a telegram from Boston on my desk. It said:
"Naturally no objection to pictures. Suggest you reproduce some of the
illustrations from Langley's masterly work on the subject. Gunther."
My ruse had succeeded. I was prepared now to keep up a fairly active
correspondence until the missing paper was found. I knew of Samuel
Pierpont Langley, one of the greatest of American astronomers and a
pioneer of aviation. I turned to the encyclopædia to see which one of
Langley's books was likely to be the one Gunther had in mind. There,
before me, was a biographical sketch of John Newport Langley, an English
physiologist, who had published, among other things, a treatise "On the
Liver," and another "On the Salivary Glands." I recalled that at
Harding's house Gunther, after an elaborate discussion of the present
state of meteorology, had drifted into a spirited tirade against the
evils of ill-cooked and undigested food. It might very well be this
paper "On the Salivary Glands" that Gunther had in mind.
I delayed writing as long as I could while the office was being
ransacked for the missing article. It was a hopeless search. The
manuscript had evidently been swept away into the all-devouring waste
basket, another victim to mistaken ideals of efficiency. A few days
later came a long and friendly letter from Gunther. Without wishing to
flatter me, he said that he was quite as much interested in my opinion
of his article as in getting it published. He hoped to hear from me at
my very earliest convenience.