Chapter LXIX
Mr. Walter sat in his office, looking over the morning mail. “I wonder is this from ‘Floy’?” he said, as he examined a compact little package. “It bears the right post-mark, and the handwriting is a lady’s. A splendid hand it is, too. There’s character in that hand; I hope ’tis ‘Floy’s.’”
Mr. Walter broke the seal, and glancing at a few sentences, turned to the signature. “Yes, it is ‘Floy’! now for a revelation.” He then commenced perusing the letter with the most intense interest. After reading the first page his eye began to flash, and his lip to quiver. “Poor girl—poor girl—heartless creatures—too bad—too bad,” and other exclamations rather too warm for publication; finishing the letter and refolding it, he paced the room with a short, quick step, indicative of deep interest, and determined purpose. “It is too bad,” he exclaimed; “shameful! the whole of it; and how hard she has worked! and what a pitiful sum those fellows pay her! it is contemptible. She has about made The Standard; it never was heard of to any extent before she commenced writing for it. It is perfectly outrageous; she shall not write for them another day, if I can help it! I will make her an offer at once. She will accept it; and then those Jews will be brought to their senses. Ha! ha! I know them! They will want to get her back; they will write to me about it, or at least Lescom will. That will give me a chance at him; and if I don’t tell him a few truths in plain English, my name is not John Walter.” Then seating himself at his desk, Mr. Walter wrote the following letter to ‘Floy’:
“Dear Sister Ruth,—If you will permit me to be so brotherly. I have received, read, and digested your letter; how it has affected me I will not now tell you. I wish to say, however, that on reading that portion of it which relates to the compensation you are now receiving, my indignation exhausted the dictionary! Why, you poor, dear little genius! what you write for those two papers is worth, to the proprietors, ten times what they pay you. But I will not bore you with compliments; I wish to engage you to write for the Household Messenger, and here is my offer: you to write one article a week, length, matter and manner, to your own fancy; I to pay you ——, the engagement to continue one year, during which time you are not to write for any other periodical, without my consent. My reason for placing a limitation to our engagement is, that you may be able to take advantage at that time of better offers, which you will undoubtedly have.
“I enclose duplicates, of a contract, which, if the terms suit, you will please sign and return one copy by the next mail; the other copy you will keep. Unless you accept my offer by return of mail it will be withdrawn. You may think this exacting; I will explain it in my next to your satisfaction. Most truly your friend,
“John Walter.”
This letter being dispatched, thanks to the post-office department, arrived promptly at its destination the next morning.
Ruth sat with Mr. Walter’s letter in her hand, thinking. “‘If you do not accept my offer by return of mail, it will be withdrawn.’ How exacting! ‘the explanation of this to be given in my next letter,’ ah, Mr. John Walter, I shall not have to wait till then,” soliloquized Ruth; “I can jump at your reason; you think I shall mention it to Mr. Lescom, and that then he will interfere, and offer something by way of an equivalent to tempt me to reject it; that’s it, Mr. John Walter! This bumping round the world has at least sharpened my wits!” and Ruth sat beating a tattoo with the toe of her slipper on the carpet, and looking very profound and wise. Then she took up the contract and examined it; it was brief, plain and easily understood, even by a woman, as the men say. “It is a good offer,” said Ruth, “he is in earnest, so am I; it’s a bargain.” Ruth signed the document.