Rensselaer Republican, Volume 16, Number 35, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 8 May 1884 — THE “PIE-BIRERS;” [ARTICLE]

THE “PIE-BIRERS;”

-ORTbe Girl who Fell in Lore With the Author. The literary sensation of 1883 was “The Pie-Biters,” a novel of contemporaneous human interest appearing serially in the Centennial Magazine. It was a work of considerable force Mid originality. Its plot was novel and interesting;' the characters were vigorously, though at times crudely drawn, and the dialogue was of a popular breezy nature. Its chief attraction, however, was the air of mystery which surrounded its origin. The public, ignorant of the identity of its author, ascribed it to numerous writers of more or less fame, and quite exhausted its ingenuity in endeavoring to solve the riddle. The publishers with great shrewdness used this mystery to good advantage to advertise the work, and the press, influenced by the popular interest in the authorship, used all the powerful means at its command to discover the secret. The eminent Mr. Griddle, of the New York Forum, who was popularly siipposed to sustain intimate relations with the publishers, asserted with unanswerable arguments that the author of ‘ ‘The Pie-Biters” was William Howis, of Beanville; while the San Francisco Nugget with equal positiveness declared that it plainly recognized through the work the playful hand of John Grass, author of the famous “Large Trowsers.” The lesser newspaper fry, following the example of their noted brethren, expended much ingenuity and enthusiasm in bringing forward their own particular candidates. Seven cities contended for the honor of the birth place of Homer, but this was collapsed; for no less than sixty-seven cities, fourteen villages, and three railway crossings vigorously claimed the author of “The Pie-Biters.” “Pie-Biter” hats became the rage: the “Pie Biter” waltz was the musical gem of the day, and the eminent showman, Mr. Bamum, publicly offered $5,000 to the author if he would reveal his identity and consent to exhibit himself beneath the canvas with the bearded lady and the Andalusian fat boy. Among all the admirers of “The PieBiters” there was none more wildly enthusiastic over its merits than Miss Lucy Sheldon. She garnished her conversation with plentiful quotations from its pages, ana drew unfavorable comparisons between her friends and the characters in the novel. She lived in a complete atmosphere of romance, and bridged the time intervening between the issues of the story by rehearsing its previous incidents. The burden of her rhapsodizing deluged the patient ears., of Absalom Perking her worthy guardian. But frequently Frederick Kane was caught in the shower. Frederick Was the old gentleman’s favorite nephew, and therefore was always a welcome guest at Perkins Villa. That is, whenever a lapse in his reportorial duties permitted his«absence from the officeof tne Morning Clarion. He had known and admired Lucy from her infancy, said this admiration, nourished by his constant association with her, grew into an earnest devotion. Whether she reciprocated this feeling or not was a matter of some doubt in his mind. But he bided his time. “ • One pleasant Saturday afternoon Frederick ran down to the pleasant suburb where his uncle resided. His ancient relative greeted him with customary warmth, but Lncy, who was feverishly hutting with a hairpin the leaves of the latest usue of the Centennial, scarcely noticed his entrance. “A fresh attack of the old disease,” whispered the ancient Absalom, playfully jabbing at his nephew’s riba. “So I see,” assented Frederick. “It may be contagious; let ns fly to the billiard roam while there js yet time” Lucy raised her hejuTwoornfuliy and glared' at Frederick. ‘“Snusis newspaper wit, I suppose, ” she said. “You sneer

At my enthusiasm over this story, bnt that's beoause you can’t appreciate it Yet I can Bee that you’re dying of envy because you can’t write anything half so good.” ' “I only envy the author his power of winning your approval,” gallantly answered Frederick. “That’s quite worthy of your society column. Why do you waste it on me? I believe you pretend to be ,a writer. And what do you do? You write about horrid horse races, and police courts, and prize fights, and—and—and—church fairs.” “Sharp, though slightly illogical,” said old Absalom as he left the room, beckoning Frederick to follow. But that gentleman stoutly held his ground. “Well,” he argued, “the duties you mention may not be the highest form of art, bnt they may serve as stepping stones to better things. You will remember that even Dickens was once a reporter. ” “I hope," said Ducy, feelingly, “you don’t claim that Dickens wrote anything like ‘The Pie-BitersT^ — “Certainly not,” said Frederick. She looked at him dubiously for a moment as if uncertain of his meaning, then fell to devouring the pages of the magazine. Frederick with an amused smile sauntered out and joined his uncle in the billiard room. He did not see Lucy again until be met her that evening at the dinner table. Her cheeks glowed and her eyes sparkled; she even looked at Frederick with some degree of toleration. “And liow are our worthy friends ‘The Pie-Biters’?” queried Absalom with a pdrtentious wink at Frederick. “Now, Guardy,” cried Lucy, “don’t turn on me too. It’s bad enough to hear this penny-a-liner scoffing without you aiding him. ” “I’m sure I haven’t said anything,” expostulated Frederick. “No-o-o! But you look it and that’s a great deal worse. I know you think I am a silly girl to waste so much time over a novel, but to my mind ‘The PieBiters’ is the finest work ever written. It goes straight to the heart; it strikes responsive chords. ” Here the old gentleman turned very red and furtively kicked fit Frederick under the table.

“Ah!” cried that young man, grimacing with pain, “do you think so? Perhaps I am incompetent to fairly judge it, but I frankly confess that I cannot find in it the qualities you rave about. To my mind it seems to be written with but one purpose and that i«—> —” • “To elevate struggling humanity,” cried Lucy. “No; to fill the purse of the author.” “That’s quite too bad, Mister Kune,” cried the offended girl, with a heavy stress upon the “Mister.” You willfulla misjudge the author. I know he is a noble hearted man; one without a single selfish thought. The author of ‘The Pie Biters’ mercenary! No, indeed! Every line he has written shows his disinterested character and his deep sympathy with human nature. Could anything be more artistic and gentlemanly than his treatment of the heroine in the October number? You remember that she has just invited Maj. Barnham to elope to Pittsburg with her, and what does this grand author make him reply? - -Listen: “Pearl Patehen, I can never consent to such a sacrifice on your part. The man who would be base enough to ruthlessly tear a red headed girl from her home at the near approach of a severe winter has no abiding sympathy in his heart for her freezing family. * ” At this point Uncle Absalom snorted derisively, but dexterously changed it into a liars 1\ cough when he noticed his ward’s indignant gaze turned upon him. Frederick eyed his plate intently. “You see,” she went on “he wished by his coarsness to shatter her idol. This may arouse your Unity”—here she frowned at her guardian—“but to me it reveals the profound insight of exalted genius. ” “Tome,” said Frederick decidedly, “that particular passage soundedlike the wildest bosh. ”

Lucy flushed a vivid scarlet, and her eyes shone with an ominous light. “Bosh,” she*repeated; “what irreverence. Still you know the author of ‘Pie Biters’ is worthy of universal love. I worship him myself!” “What!” gasped Absalom. “What!” repeated his nephew. . “Yes,” cried Lucy, quite miterrifiod, “and I’d marry him to-morrow if he'd ask me. No life could be sweeter than one consecrated to him and Iris noble works.’’ “Probably he’s got a wife, or two already,” said her guardian. “That’s the way with these geniuses.” “No, ” said Frederick, ‘ ‘lie’s unmarried. I know him.” “You know him?” almost screamed Lncy. “Why didn’t vou tell me before?” “Because it was a matter of confidence. I have, however, told him of your great admiration for him and his story, and he has expressed a desire to meet you—provided, of course, that you will respect his secret” : .- —'—-— “It shall be sacred,” murmured Lucy. “He's safe, then,” chuckled Mr Perkins. “Lid you ever hear of a woman that couldn’t keep a secret?” “Then it’s decided. Next Saturday I will bring him here. ” “Here,” cried Lttey, with clasped hands and ecstatic expression, “here! The spot trill be famous forever. Guardy, I must have a new dress for the occasion. ” She looked at Frederick and fancied that he seemed pained at her enthusiasm. i j “Thank you Frederick,” she softly said. “You havo given me much pleasure.” i She iaeae from the table and turned to leave the room. As she reached the door the old man called after her: ' You still thinkyou’d marry him?” Lucy turned defiantly. “Yes,” she answered, “if he should ask me. ” Then the door closed behind her. The two lpoked at each other across the table and smiled. * The appointed Saturday dawned bright and clear, but Lucy’s spirits were not in harmony with it. She was gfrvous and absent minded, and little inclined to enjoy her usual daily occupations. She feverishly worked' a few Kensington stitches m a table cover only to savagely rip them out again. Then she brought out her colors and tried to paint, but 2 nit in disgust when she discovered that ke had adorned the face of her Spanish lady with a brilliant carmine nose. Her efforts at the piano were equally u%. successful

Her guardian observed afif these evidences of her agitation with intense enjoyment, and gave way to unseemly mirth on numerous occasions. As thfte hour appointed for the interview drew nigh Lucy’s nervousness increased ten fold, So anxious was she to appear at her best tbat her patient maid was almost driven wild with per At last all her exactions were satisfied. Never had. she appeared more beautiful;* and the ancient Absalom, who was keenly sensitive to female loveliness, embraced her with pride. For some time she sat drawing room in silent state. ( Then she heard Bteps upon the walk, a buzz of voices ip the hall, and the door opened. She waitod a moment, then slowly raised her eyes to see The author of “The Pie Bitters?” 'No. Only Frederick. She gave a little shrug—of disappointment or relief? Who can tell? “Ah,” she said, “it is you.” “Yes. And ns you see, alone. My friend failed to join me at the place of meeting. He has promised, however, that should he be unable to meet me at the appointed hour he would waive etiquette and follow me here. So you may expect him at any moment. ” “Ah,” sighed Lucy. This time there was no mistaking its nature. She felt relieved. Frederick observed her closely. “Come,” he said, “don’t look so disappointed I promise you he will be here.” He took a seat by her side. She seemed strangely changed. All her buoyant spirits appeared te have deserted her. After a few moments silence she slowly said: “I want to explain.” Her cheeks were flushed, and the slight tremor in her voice indicated more than a passing emotion. “I don’t want yoir to misjudge me, foi you have been my true friend so long. I am not the silly, reckless girl that my talk the other evening would lead you to think. It was all wrong, and lam very sorry for it, though I wouldn’t have said it, I’m sure, if you and Guardy hadn’t so exasperated me. You know what I mean—about the author of ‘The Pie Biters.’” She looked appealingly at Frederick, who gravely answered: “Yes, I understand.” “I am only an inexperienced girl, you know, and can’t heljj being foolish and enthusiastic some times. But you’ll overlook it. won’t you. Frederick?" “Overlook it,” cried that delighted young man.” “Yes, and forget it altogether. Your words, Lucy, give me courage, and beside this may be my last opportunity. Perhaps it is folly for me to place myself beside your ideal, but I have resolved to venture all. You know I have long loved you, but I doubt if you know the intensity to which this love has grown. We have always been the best of friends; but I want something mpre than friendship now. Your love, vmirself.” Lucy slowly turned her eyes to meet his burning gaze, and in them he read his title clear. Ten minutes afterward Frederick with a start of mock surprise inquired: “What will you say to the author of ‘The Pie Bitera’?” “Mercy!” cried Lucy, f‘l had forgotten all about him.” - At that moment Mr. Perkins discreetly offened the door and paused at the threshold. The hastily dissolving tableau he beheld filled him with amusement. “Ho, ho!” he chuckled, “so you’ve told her?” “Told me," cried Lucy, “told me what?” “Why, that lie, our Frederick, is the author of ‘The Pie Biters,’” “Is it "true?” she gasped, turning to her lover. “Yes,” he answered smilingly. “Then,” she cried hysterically, “I’ll keep my promise after all and marry the author of ‘The Pie Biters’.”