FRANK NELSON DOUBLEDAY
Dear Effendi:
I take the liberty of dedicating these little stories to you, with affection and respect. They have all grown, in one mood or another, out of the various life of Grub Street, suggested by adventures with publishers, booksellers, magazine editors, newspaper men, theatrical1 producers, commuters, and poets major and minor2. If they have any appeal at all, it must be as an honest (though perhaps sometimes too jocular) picture of the excitements that gratify the career of young men who embark3 upon the ocean of ink, and (let us not forget) those much-enduring Titanias who consent to share their vicissitudes4. You have been the best of friends and counsellors to many such young men, and I assure you that they look back upon the time spent under your shrewd and humorous magistracy with special loyalty5 and regard. You will understand that in these irresponsible stories no personal identifications are to be presumed.
I think you remember—I know you do, because you have often charitably chuckled6 over the incident—that rather too eager young man who came to call on you one day in September, 1913, saying that he simply must have a job. And how you, in your inimitable way, said “Well, what kind of a job would you like best to have around this place?” And he cried “Yours!” And you justly punctured7 the creature by saying “All right, go to work and get it.” (There was more youthful palpitation than intended impertinence in the young man's outcry, so he has assured me.) And then, still tremulous with ambition, this misguided freshman8 pulled out of his pocket a bulky memorandum9 on which he had inscribed10 his pet scheme for the regeneration and stimulus11 of the publishing business, and laid it before you. How hospitably12 you considered his programme, and how tenderly you must have smiled, inwardly, at his odd mixture of earnestness and excitement! At any rate, you set him to work that afternoon, with the assurance that he might have your job as soon as he could qualify.
Well, he did not get it; nor will he ever, for he knows (by this time) what a rare complex of instincts and sagacities is needed in the head of a great publishing house; and his own ambition has proved to be a little different. But he can never be enough grateful for the patience and humorous tolerance13 with which you brooded upon his various antics, condoned14 his many absurdities15, welcomed and encouraged his enthusiasms. In nearly four years in your “shop” he learned (so he insists) more than any college could ever teach: and how much he had to unlearn, too! And the surprising part of it was, it was all such extraordinarily16 good fun. The greatest moments of all, I suppose, were when this young man was invited by one of your partners (on occasions that seemed so interminably far apart!) to “walk in the garden,” that being the cheerful tradition of the Country Life Press. There, after some embarrassing chat about the peonies and the sun dial, the victim meanwhile groaning17 to know whether it was, this time, hail or farewell, there would come tidings of one of those five-dollar raises that were so hotly desiderated. That paternal18 function (so this young man and his fellow small fry observed) was rightly a little beneath the dignity of the Effendi: you, they noted19, only walked in the garden with paper merchants and people like Booth Tarkington and Ellen Glasgow and good Mr. Grosset of Grosset and Dunlap!
Many young men (O Effendi), from Frank Norris down, have found your house a wonderful training-school for writers and publishers and booksellers. There are great names, of permanent honour in literature, that owe much to your wisdom and patience. But among all those who know you in your trebled capacity as employer, publisher, and friend, there is none who has more reason to be grateful, or who has done less to deserve it, than the young man I have described. And so you will forgive him if he thus publicly and selfishly pleases himself by trying to express his sense of gratitude20, and signs himself
Faithfully yours
Christopher Morley.
Roslyn, Long Island January, 1921.
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1 theatrical | |
adj.剧场的,演戏的;做戏似的,做作的 | |
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2 minor | |
adj.较小(少)的,较次要的;n.辅修学科;vi.辅修 | |
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3 embark | |
vi.乘船,着手,从事,上飞机 | |
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4 vicissitudes | |
n.变迁,世事变化;变迁兴衰( vicissitude的名词复数 );盛衰兴废 | |
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5 loyalty | |
n.忠诚,忠心 | |
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6 chuckled | |
轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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7 punctured | |
v.在(某物)上穿孔( puncture的过去式和过去分词 );刺穿(某物);削弱(某人的傲气、信心等);泄某人的气 | |
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8 freshman | |
n.大学一年级学生(可兼指男女) | |
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9 memorandum | |
n.备忘录,便笺 | |
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10 inscribed | |
v.写,刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 );内接 | |
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11 stimulus | |
n.刺激,刺激物,促进因素,引起兴奋的事物 | |
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12 hospitably | |
亲切地,招待周到地,善于款待地 | |
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13 tolerance | |
n.宽容;容忍,忍受;耐药力;公差 | |
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14 condoned | |
v.容忍,宽恕,原谅( condone的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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15 absurdities | |
n.极端无理性( absurdity的名词复数 );荒谬;谬论;荒谬的行为 | |
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16 extraordinarily | |
adv.格外地;极端地 | |
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17 groaning | |
adj. 呜咽的, 呻吟的 动词groan的现在分词形式 | |
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18 paternal | |
adj.父亲的,像父亲的,父系的,父方的 | |
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19 noted | |
adj.著名的,知名的 | |
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20 gratitude | |
adj.感激,感谢 | |
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