Jasper County Democrat, Volume 17, Number 77, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 2 January 1915 — Why She Wrote a Novel [ARTICLE]

Why She Wrote a Novel

By F. A. MITCHEL

Miss Winifred Wells, who had written a novel under the name of Thomas Erskine Mortimer, received a letter one morning which read as follows: Thomas Erskine Mortimer, Esq.: Dear Sir—l write to ask you where you got the name of your hero, Edgar Wheatleigh? My name is Edgar Wheatleigh, and I am curious, to know how you happened. to hit upon it for your clearly drawn character. I am very truly yours, EDGAR WHEATLEIGH.

Now, Wells, a young lady of twenty-one summers, had taken the name from the city directory, and it occurred to her that It belonged to her correspondent She was about to reply that she had done so when an idea popped into her head whereby she might have some fun. She wrote Mr. Wheatleigh, signing herself Mortimer, that she had heard a friend speak of a Mr, in high terms and na3 Keen given the salient points In his character, which she had embodied In her hero. This person of her novel was undoubtedly another than her questioner. This brought a reply from Mr. Wheatleigh giving a few points as to his antecedents with a view to discovering whether or not he was the hero of the novel. Miss Wells, affecting to be much surprised at the points he gave her, admitted that he was doubtless Identical with the man who had been described to her. In this letter also she wrote under the guise of her nom de plume. Mr. Wheatleigh wrote again, asking for the name of the friend who had described him. The reply was that the writer was doubtful whether he should give the name. However, since his informer might not be the original observer he would strain a point and do so. The outline from which the character had been drawn was a Miss Winifred Wells To this she added her address. The next scene in this diminutive comedy was a call from Mr. Wheatleigh. Miss Wells came down with his card in her hand looking very much pleased. “It’s a long while since we have met,” she remarked. “You have grown from boy to man since I saw you last. I should not have known you.” Mr. in the novel was a copy of a grand gentleman character in one of Ouida’s novels. He would not be so ungallant as to admit that he did not remember this friend of his childhood.

“I would know you,” he said, “had 1 not had the slightest knowledge vs your Identity. The only reason I might not have recognized you is that from a rather pretty child you have grown to be a superb woman.” Miss Wells was not only delighted with her device, but with a man of such unblushing assurance. “But how,” she asked, “have you found me out after all these years?" “In a very singular way. My friend Tom Mortimer wrote a novel naming one of his characters for me. When I asked him how he learned certain features concerning me, the original of his character, be said that they had been given him by an old friend of mine, Winnie Wells.” This came very near being too much for the authoress, but she repressed her mirth. “How long have you known Tom?’ she asked. “Tom? Why, I have known him ever since we were little toddlers together, our homes having adjoined each other.” “Did he say 1 gave you any points as to your character?” Mr. Wheatleigh, though a scamp, was, so far as his own merits were concerned, a modest one. He said that Tom bad endowed him with traits he did not possess. Nevertheless he knew that Miss Wells had spoken very highly of him. He was bent on knowing who she was and what had been this child connection between them; but, although be beat the bush Incessantly, he uncovered nothing. At last Miss Wells gave him all the information he wished and more, too, had he known It was manufactured. “You have evidently forgotten what passed between us the night you went away,” she said, revealing what It was by dropping her eyes to the floor. “Forgotten It! I shall never forget It What I said then I repeat now. 1 am as unchanged as the rocks.” “Then why did yon never write?" “Why didn’t I write? Why, for the best of reasons. I broke my right arm three days after we parted.” Miss Wells burst Into a laugh that made the bouse ring. When it subsided she told Mr. Wheatleigh the whole story. He was as much delighted with it as she was with the success of her trick. “Well,” he said when it Was all out, "for once in my life I’m a~ hero—the hero of a story. What I said when last we met I repeat now. I said then that you were the girl for me, and 1 say It now I’ll have no other. I swear it" Miss Wells laughed again, taking the declaration as a matter of gallantry. And so It was at the time Intended. But the acquaintance having been thus pleasantly formed was continued. Mr. Wheatleigh insisted on the authoress making him the hero of a novel. She declined to do this, but the matter w« finally compromised by his making her his wife. He now accuses her of havIng written a novel for no other purpose than to secure a husband