Dawn by Eleanor Porter (best finance books of all time TXT) 📕

in despair.Then came a day when a chance word about a new air raid reported inthe morning paper acted like a match to gunpowder, and sent JohnMcGuire off into a rapid-fire story that whipped Daniel Burton'spencil from his pocket and set it to racing again at breakneck speedto keep up with him.

It was easier after that. Still, every day it was like a game of hide-and-seek, with Daniel Burton and his pencil ever in pursuit, and withnow and then a casual comment or a tactful question to lure the hidingstory out into the open. Little by little, as the frank comradeship ofDaniel Burton won its way, John McGuire was led to talk more and morefreely; and by Christmas the eager scribe was in possession of a verycomplete record of John McGuire's war experiences, dating even fromthe early days of his enlistment.

Day by day, as he had taken down the rough notes, Daniel Burton hadfollowed it up with a careful untangling and copying before he had hada chance to forget, or to lose the wonderful glow born of theimpassioned telling. Then, from time to time he had sorted the notesand arranged them in proper sequence, until now he had a completestory, logical and well-rounded.

It was on Christmas Day that he read the manuscript to Keith. At itsconclusion Keith drew a long, tremulous breath.

"Dad, it's wonderful!" he exclaimed. "How did you do it?"

"You know. You heard yourself."

"Yes; but to copy it like that—! Why, I could hear him tell it as youread it, dad. I could HEAR him."

"Could you, really? I'm glad. That makes me know I've succeeded. Nowfor a publisher!"

"You wouldn't publish it without his—knowing?"

"Certainly not. But I'm going to let a publisher see it, before heknows."

"Y-yes, perhaps."

"Why, Keith, I'd have to do that. Do you suppose I'd run the risk ofits being turned down, and then have to tell that boy that he couldn'thave the book, after all?"

"No, no, I suppose not. But—it isn't going to be turned down, dad.

Such a wonderful thing can't be turned down."

"Hm-m; perhaps not." Daniel Burton's lips came together a bit grimly."But—there ARE wonderful things that won't sell, you know. However,"he finished with brisk cheerfulness, "this isn't one of my pictures,nor a bit of Susan's free verse; so there's some hope, I guess.Anyhow, we'll see—but we won't tell John until we do see."

"All right. I suppose that would be best," sighed Keith, still alittle doubtfully.

They had not long to wait, after all. In a remarkably short time cameback word from the publishers. Most emphatically they wanted the book,and they wanted it right away. Moreover, the royalty they offered wasso good that it sent Daniel Burton down the stairs two steps at a timelike a boy, in his eagerness to reach Keith with the good news.

"And now for John!" he cried excitedly, as soon as Keith's joyousexclamations over the news were uttered. "Come, let's go across now."

"But, dad, how—how are you going to tell him?" Keith was holding backa little.

"Tell him! I'm just going to tell him," laughed the man. "That'seasy."

"I know; but—but—-" Keith wet his lips and started again. "You see,dad, he didn't know we were taking notes of his stories. He couldn'tsee us. We—we took advantage of—-"

But Daniel Burton would not even listen.

"Shucks and nonsense, Keith!" he cried. Then a little grimly he added:"I only wish somebody'd take advantage like that of me, and sell apicture or two when I'm not looking. Come, we're keeping Johnwaiting." And he took firm hold of his son's arm.

Yet in the McGuire living-room, in the presence of John McGuirehimself, he talked fully five minutes of nothing in particular, beforehe said:

"Well, John, I've got some good news for you."

"GOOD news?"

"That's what I'd call it. I—er—hear you're going to have a book outin the spring."

"I'm going to—WHAT?"

"Have a book out—war stories. They were too good to keep toourselves, John, so I jotted them down as you told them, and last weekI sent them off to a publisher."

"A—a real publisher?" The boy's voice shook. Every trace of color haddrained from his face.

"You bet your life—and one of the biggest in the country." Daniel

Burton's own voice was shaking. He had turned his eyes away from John

McGuire's face.

"And they'll—print it?"

"Just as soon as ever you'll sign the contract. And, by the way, thatcontract happens to be a mighty good one, for a first book, my boy."

John McGuire drew a long breath. The color was slowly coming back tohis face.

"But I can't seem to quite—believe it," he faltered.

"Nonsense! Simplest thing in the world," insisted Daniel Burtonbrusquely. "They saw the stories, liked them, and are going to publishthem. That's all."

"All! ALL!" The blind boy was on his feet, his face working withemotion. "When all my life I've dreamed and dreamed and longed for—-"He stopped short and sat down. He had the embarrassed air thehabitually reserved person usually displays when caught red-handedmaking a "scene." He gave a confused laugh. "I was only thinking—whata way. You see—I'd always wanted to be a writer, but I'd given it uplong ago. I had my living to earn, and I knew I couldn't earn it—thatway—not at first. I used to say I'd give anything if I could write abook; and I was just wondering if—if I'd been willing then to havegiven—my eyes!"

CHAPTER XXIX

DOROTHY TRIES HER HAND

It was on a mild day early in February that Susan met Dorothy Parkmanon the street. She stopped her at once.

"Well, if I ain't glad to see you!" she cried. "I didn't know you'dgot back."

"I haven't been back long, Susan."

"You hain't been over to see us once, Miss Dorothy," Susan reproachedher.

"I—I have been very busy." Miss Dorothy seemed ill at ease, andanxious to get away.

"An' you didn't come for a long, long time when you was here lastfall." Susan had laid a detaining hand on the girl's arm now.

"Didn't I?" Miss Dorothy smiled brightly. "Well, perhaps I didn't. Butyou didn't need me, anyway. I've heard all about it—the splendid workMr. Burton and his son have