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have an insignificant place in it。 He had also the consolation of liking
his work； and of getting an instant grasp of it that grew constantly
firmer and closer。 The joy of knowing that he had not made a mistake was
great。 In giving rein to ambitions long forborne he seemed to get back
to the youth when he had indulged them first； and after half a lifetime
passed in pursuits alien to his nature； he was feeling the serene
happiness of being mated through his work to his early love。 From the
outside the spectacle might have had its pathos； and it is not easy to
justify such an experiment as he had made at his time of life； except
upon the ground where he rested from its considerationthe ground of
necessity。
His work was more in his thoughts than himself； however； and as the time
for the publication of the first number of his periodical came nearer；
his cares all centred upon it。 Without fixing any date； Fulkerson had
announced it； and pushed his announcements with the shameless vigor of a
born advertiser。 He worked his interest with the press to the utmost；
and paragraphs of a variety that did credit to his ingenuity were afloat
everywhere。 Some of them were speciously unfavorable in tone； they
criticised and even ridiculed the principles on which the new departure
in literary journalism was based。 Others defended it； others yet denied
that this rumored principle was really the principle。 All contributed to
make talk。 All proceeded from the same fertile invention。
March observed with a degree of mortification that the talk was very
little of it in the New York press； there the references to the novel
enterprise were slight and cold。 But Fulkerson said： 〃Don't mind that；
old man。 It's the whole country that makes or breaks a thing like this；
New York has very little to do with it。 Now if it were a play； it would
be different。 New York does make or break a play； but it doesn't make or
break a book； it doesn't make or break a magazine。 The great mass of the
readers are outside of New York； and the rural districts are what we have
got to go for。 They don't read much in New York； they write； and talk
about what they've written。 Don't you worry。〃
The rumor of Fulkerson's connection with the enterprise accompanied many
of the paragraphs； and he was able to stay March's thirst for employment
by turning over to him from day to day heaps of the manuscripts which
began to pour in from his old syndicate writers； as well as from
adventurous volunteers all over the country。 With these in hand March
began practically to plan the first number； and to concrete a general
scheme from the material and the experience they furnished。 They had
intended to issue the first number with the new year； and if it had been
an affair of literature alone； it would have been very easy； but it was
the art leg they limped on； as Fulkerson phrased it。 They had not merely
to deal with the question of specific illustrations for this article or
that； but to decide the whole character of their illustrations； and first
of all to get a design for a cover which should both ensnare the heedless
and captivate the fastidious。 These things did not come properly within
March's provincethat had been clearly understoodand for a while
Fulkerson tried to run the art leg himself。 The phrase was again his；
but it was simpler to make the phrase than to run the leg。 The difficult
generation； at once stiff…backed and slippery； with which he had to do in
this endeavor； reduced even so buoyant an optimist to despair； and after
wasting some valuable weeks in trying to work the artists himself； he
determined to get an artist to work them。 But what artist？ It could not
be a man with fixed reputation and a following： he would be too costly；
and would have too many enemies among his brethren； even if he would
consent to undertake the job。 Fulkerson had a man in mind； an artist；
too； who would have been the very thing if he had been the thing at all。
He had talent enough； and his sort of talent would reach round the whole
situation； but； as Fulkerson said； he was as many kinds of an ass as he
was kinds of an artist。
End