Argosy and Railroad Man's Magazine, Vol. 107 No. 3 — page 146: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

‘488 know of one that had been fished from these same waters? “T pray you, excellency,” he faltered. “Enough!” cried the duke impatiently. ‘““Stand back. Uncover me this canvas, Master Secretary. ‘‘ The Pearl of Venice,” we may find a place for her in our private gallery.” The secretary untied the strings and folded back the cover. “‘ By the eternal fires of hell!” cried the duke, his face ablaze with fury. ‘‘ What foul jest is this you put upon us?” “¢ Jest, excellency?” “ Look! ) Messer Bandello stepped forward hastily and looked at the canvas. His heart leaped to his mouth. What wizardry was this? What working of divine vengeance? From the canvas there stared forth, not the volup- tuous splendor of Madonna Beatrice, but the pallid face and seeking, mournful eyes of his wife. It was no new canvas glowing with rich color, but one _ bruised . and marked, and it seemed at that moment as if its surface glistened with water. With a gesture of fury, the duke struck upon a bell by his side. The cold menace = ARGOSY AND RAILROAD MAN’S MAGAZINE. of his blue eyes thrust like a knife into the reeling brain of the painter. Pushing aside the affrighted secretary, he ran to the win- dow, and climbing upon the balcony,, swayed an instant, then plunged headlong to the pavement many feet below. The secretary shuddered and gasped: “None could live after such a fall, ex- cellency.” ‘“’ Be more careful hereafter, “Master Sec- retary,” said the duke composedly. “See that the carrion be removed.. Have that daub hung in the guard-room. They want women to amuse them there. Let it not be said that I tried not my best to please them.” That night Monna Barbara set out after her mistress. In the carriage she carried the portrait of the Pearl of Venice, for which she had substituted another which one of Madonna Beatrice’s litter-carriers had sold her for a handful of soldi. He had found it, he said, near where they had picked up the young man of whom his lady had become enamored. “* *Tis better fitted to Madonna Beatrice’s palace than to the lodging of Messer Ban- dello,” she said complacently. High and Low VERY one knows that six plus four equals ten—that is, every one except certain West African natives of my acquaintance, who knew only that “ five and five” made ten, and were immeasurably confused if one tried to make them believe that “six and four” were the same thing! But they could not read THE ARcosy, anyway, and consequently have nothing to do with the case. If I were to insist upon informing you, however, that the sum of six plus four was ten, that would be quite a different matter, because 1 would be expounding an arithmetical truth already quite obvious to any one who has had even a nodding acquaintance with the multiplication table. In other words, though a public speaker may err very badly in talking over the heads of his audience, he surely errs much more heinously when he belittles his hearers’ intelli- gence by spouting commonplaces that neither edify nor amuse, but only irritate. Stories, for instance, that are too simple and too obvious, are infinitely worse than stories that are too subtle or too profound. The latter, at least, have the virtue of being thoughtful, even if they overdo it. bother to think at all. The former are plainly insulting, because they just don’t The cure for this sort of thing is largely a matter of editorial policy—according to what the editor thinks of the intelligence of his readers. To my mind, the man in the street—meaning you and me and the rest of us—wants the kind of story that thinks enough to make him think, too. He wants to be stimulated as well as amused, and he doesn’t want anybody in the world to write down to him! THe Loox-Ovut Man. NOO (C(O) S (C(O)