rs.

Later, just as I had finished dressing for dinner, there was a tap at
my door. My friend (?) stood there beaming. "Have you got it done? You
know you promised to write me a description of that storm!"

She remained only three days longer, and I stayed away from her as
much as possible, but occasional meetings were inevitable. When the
gladsome time of parting came, she hung about my neck.

"I want you to come and see me," she said. "You know you haven't done
what you said you would. Don't you forget to write me a description of
that storm!"

My business arrangements with my publishers are seemingly a matter of
public interest. I am asked how much it costs to print a book the size
of mine. People are surprised to find that I do not pay the expenses
and that I haven't the least idea of what it costs.

Then they want to know if the publisher buys the book of me. I explain
that this is sometimes done, but that I myself am paid upon the
royalty basis, ---- per cent. on the list price of every copy sold.
This seems painfully small to the dear public, but it is comparatively
easy to demonstrate that the royalty on five or six thousand copies is
quite worth while.

They shortly come to the conclusion, however, that the publishers make
more money than I do, and that seems to them to be very unfair. They
suggest that if I published it myself, I should make a great deal more
money!

It is difficult for them to understand that writing books and selling
books are two very different propositions--that I don't know enough to
sell books, and that the imprint of a reputable house upon the
title-page is worth a great deal to any author.

"Well," a man once said to me, "how much did you make out of your book
this year?"

I explained that the percentage royalty basis was really an equal
division of the profits, everything considered, and that all the
financial risk was on one side. I named my few hundreds, with which I
was very well satisfied. He absorbed himself in a calculation on the
back of an envelope.

"I figure out," said he, at length, "that they must have made at least
a third more than you did. That isn't fair!"

My ire arose. "It is perfectly fair," I replied. "Paper is cheap, I
know, but composition isn't, and advertising isn't. They are welcome
to every penny they can make out of my books. I'd be glad to have them
make twice as much as they do now, even if my own income remained the
same."

At this point,