about 4,500 words
He EE ETET TET TEP TUTTE TTT
Far @¢60 28 Ok 9 3
by
Oskar Maria Graf,
CETTT OUTTA TTT ETT TIT TE
I.
There are some people in this world who are continously
pursued by luck - all too easy luck that trots around behind © man
like 4 mast er less puppy, whimpering “take me, please, take mei”
The man weakens and picks up the puppy. But - he discovers quickly
that the lovely little dog has not been housebroken,
Scott Treamour was such a person - a man created for luck.
One liked him at first sight - he was only twenty-three, tall and
thin, with thick, curly bleck hair and red cheeks. Two derk eyes
stared out of @ somewhat lost but ever friendly face. He hed ex-
traordinarily expressive hands and his voice sounded like @ bell -
very manly and faintly ministerial.
"God, what a darling man thet Scott Treamour is {” all the
women woulda say when he turned up at a party. The men would nod
in agreement, and admitted freely thet the young man hed everything
that could ravish © woman's heart, He was alone in the world
and, although his parents has left him nothing, no one thought of
him as poor, He certainly never complained - on the contrary, he
was alwsys gay, generous and well-dressed. He could talk about
everything with everyone, spoke French and Italien fluently, had
read most of the well-known authors, played the piano passebly
well and was an excellent dancer. He lived out each day like 6
carefree dreamer, never thinking about tomorrow or the day after
and seemed to enjoy every second and every hour of his life in hi
own way, The money he needed he earned by tutoring the children
of wealthy families. He was on the “eligible list" of every
social secretary and his other invitations were of the best. He
was welcomed everywhere, always seemed to be in the right place
and was loved and cherished by everyone. In & word, Scott Treamour —
wag completely satisfied with life.
"Ha } Hahe { Work is hateful, you say, but an occupation
is wonderful? ... Very good. Very witty { - Then you have no pro-
fession?" The question was addressed to Treamour by & well-known
dilettante, the son of an English Lord, after they had met st a’
cocktail party. The carelessly dressed, lanky young wan with water-
blue eyes and reddened face kept on lewghing in amusement.
_ Treamour smiled. “Profession? A profession is @ duty,
whereas @n occupation is always a passion,” he answered, ‘“Pro-
fession? No! - Well, that is, I'm certainly occupied, but - "
"But that isn't what you'd really like doing?” interrupted
young Lord Holliwell, taking his black and gold cigarette out of
his mouth, "You know, I like you. Come on, let's get @ drink.”
He pushed his companion to the bar where they drank to each other's
health and soon became fast friends.
During the next few days they went everywhere together - to
the theatre, to art exhibits and to the oper@. They took long
drives over Westchester and Long Island in Lord Holliwell's Merce-
des. Treamour, in fact, practically lived with the young English-
mén. No one else had seen him for & month when he bobbed up at
@ dinner party. Lord Holliwell was not with him. His friends
pressed him with eager questions which seemed to embarrass the
young man, who remarked that his friend was a "good fellow” and
s8id little else about him. He left early with Hans Meidler, the
painter.
Once out on the dark street Treamour stopped short ,looked
at Meidler numbly andi said helplessly: "Hans, just imagine! Lord
Holliwell is going to give me an allowance!"
Meidler raised his eyebrows an inch and scratched the palm
of hié hand. “An allowance? What for?”
"We-ell, that's just what I myself want to know,” answered
the other with no enthusiasm whatsoever,
The painter's eyes popped. "But man, are you lucky} God"
he cried, "But - I don't understand you at all, Aren't you glad?
And wheat do you mean, you don't know why he’s doing it? There must
be some reason {"
"Reason? You know Shekespeare once said "if reasons were
as plentiful as blackberries -' ... Reason!" Treamour fidgeted end
continued in an aimless, nervous manner: "You know, the man was s0
nice, so charming § And he has so much money! Apparently he doesn't
know what to do with all of it. - He went wild about me - asked ell
sorts of questions. What do I do? How do I live? Everything I told
him seemed to delight him. He asked me whether I had any plans
for the future ... I didn't know what on earth to answer, So - well,
I told him that I want to be a writer, That pleased him immensely,
I could see. He seid ‘Wonderfuls That's just what I thought’. -
God only knows what kind of talent he decided I hs@, After a
while he got very embarrassed and shy and asked me whether I could
live on two hundrerd dollars ® month { I didn’t know whet he was
driving at, so I didn't say anything, Then he said suddenly:
‘Well, let's make it three hundred. Ie that all right?’ - What
could Ido? I just nodded and stuttered. He gave me a check right
then and there," |
| Treamour bit his lips. Since Meidler only continued his
open~mouthed stare, he began again in his uncertain voice: "He
left the d&y before yesterday - and Just before he left he said:
"Don't worry about it. I've alresaiy erranged with the bank, ive
won't lose touch with each other, Goodbye!' " The young man
sighed. ;
“That's - well, that's almost unbelievable$ Why man, that
kind of luck happens only in fairg tales!" cried Mefidler, "Ana
you're acting like a callow high school boy who's in love for the
first time in his life!” 3 3
Treamour protested, “That's ®ll well and good, but I
can't ¢ write. I don't know how to be & write!"
The painter tried to soothe him, He began talking a mile
& minute and at last - or so he thought - vanquished 81] his
friend's doubts and he was convinced that he was a great, undis-
covered genius,
"Well, what do you advise me to do?"
"Write, man, writel Write! - That's ell. Good night}" Ana
Meldler walked off into the moon-bright night, whistling gaily.
Ii.
‘The news of Treamour's luck spread like wild-fire, His
friends and acquaintances 811 rejoiced sincerely and without envy.
"Our young poet! Our young writer!" 11 the women would
now murmer blissfully when they thought of him, Now, no one would
talk about him as “disturbingly charming"; overnight he became
"profoundly inter esting” and his reputation soared.
"What @ bed boy you are,to have hidden this wonderful thing
from usi" cried a famous but elderly singer with a wrinkled smile
as she tugged playfully at Treamour's ears, All the men and women
around chorussed questions ebout his literary work end future plans.
Treamour gave evasive answers and blushed beet-red. What else
ecoula he do? To be sure, write - but thet was too easily s9id.
He went through #11 the motions. He combed his innermost crevices
for emotions and memories; he read & tremendous pile of novels,
‘ghort stories, plays and poetry. He pulled his brains apart ond
made his head whirl. He actually aid write something down on pé~
per, not knowing whether &t was original or whether he had read
it somewher e. 3 |
Meidler, however, seized the manuscript as soon as he saw
it and made off with it to one of Breamour's secret feminine edmir-
ers, who was delighted to pay for the publishing in return for the
pleasure of being “inside”. The painter's action was not entirely
without selfish reasons, His friend's literary asé@ent was his
one white hope, since he was always deep in debt and his friend was
as goodhearted as he was gexcrous, Both he and the painter lived
on the allowance from the Lord and Meidler was determined that
this income shoula cont inue,
Treamour's work was 8 simple sketch, reminiscent of the bet-
ter High School English compositions, and sprinkled with a profus-
ion of platitudes. The young man's acquaintances, however, were
enraptured and Lord Hollieweel down in Palm Beach was no less de-
lighted and wired congratulations to the young writer on his first
success. The circle of writers and artiste whose checks at night
Clubs and restéureants Treamour paid found the simple piece of
writing full of depth,
"One can see so clearly that you've often thought weeks and
weeks ebout just one single word," flattered an unimportant lyric
poet in & respectful voice, accompanying his remark with an expres-
sive sweep of the arm, When Treamour found nothing to say in reply,
& dark-haired man who hed published several short stories adiea:
"Yes, you write very little. You're never Satisfied because you're
too self-critical, But once you've finished, it's damned gooa}"
“What! Self-critical!" cried Meidler, already somewhat
tight. His glassy eyes focusse& on his friend. "Don't be silly!
Youte merely too pedentic and too worriea$ You should just write
wwhishS like thet!" The painter proclaimed hinself definitely in
favor of unbroken vitality and began praising the artists ana wri-
tere who lived and created “out of the flesh", es he callea it,
"De you know what you are? You're & very honest but comnon-
place fellow," he growled, "You're efraid eof yourself ana of your
talent, nothing more ... You aust drink} Drink and lese all your
stupid inhibitions!" He foliowea this advice with the names of
several poetic genif who had become drunkards and had written méster
Pieces in theix drunken stupor, amidst cigarette smoke ana empty
whisky glasses, :
Treamour liked & drink now ana then, Why not? But from
that night on he tried to drink more. He discussed Literature, Life
and Love whole nights through in the artistg! hengout "The Black
Duck” and tried his very best to live lustily and from the flesh.
Poetic enlightment, however, just aia not seem to come, The piles
of novels he had resd littered his roo end empty bottles were
standing eround. His check came regularly the first of each month
and he became nervous and more and more restless. He even stopped
seeing his friends at cocktail parties ana dinners ana met Mefdler
only rarely.
“He's up to his neck in work," the painter woula say when-
ever he was asked about Treamour, Hig feelings were confusea ag
One could see from his face. His debts were piling up acain ana
Treamour was unapproachable. Sometimes Meidler sat 611 evening in
"The Black Duck" go deeply depressea that he hardly said two words,
His freénds concluded that Scott Treamour mst have gone out of
town,
One rainy, windy evening while Meidler was lying on his bea
trying to think of some way to raise money, he heard s knock on
the door, With a curse on his lips he opened it,
"Treemour$ Thank God it's youl I'm completely broke!" he
cried end drew his visitor inte the studio, His tone was re-
proachful, "You've left me in the dickens of a mess! Why aia
you disappeer so suddenly?” When he took a gooa look at the other
his jaw dropped. “Whet's the matter with you? Are you sick or
hes he stopped your ellowance?" It was obvious that he was con-
cerned, |
the melancholy young man before him only shook his heea and
‘fell into & chair, "No," he said after an oppressive Silence,
Sno, I'm not sick and the cheek comes Yegularly every month, but -"
ana he broke off. The painter breathed more freely. Se, the money
was séfe, Nevertheless, Treamour wes a desperate sight —- he looked
go eur pris ingly upset, his eyes were so dead, his young face wag
so hollow - had he become involved with a women?
"What ao you mean - *but'?" Meidler askea ain, both curious
and teise, Treamour hesitated, looking &¢ him dumbly and intently.
"Can I be quite frank with you, Hans? Guite frank?” he
asked.
"Frenk? What a stupid question! You know darn well - *
shouted Meidler in an insulted voice, completely losing 611 patience
"You've got to help me, Hang - you've simply cot tol" criea
the other, empBasizing his lagt words. And, as though confessing
& mortel sin te a priest, he tola his tele,
Lord Holliwell had written him several letters in each of
which he inquired about the literary efforts on which Treamour wag
engaged, and whether he had anything printed in the current magéz-
ines and newspapers or whether he wes writing a great work ...
"And you see - I had to answer something, but - " the young
man could not continue, Instead he chewed his fingernails.
"But? Again but? Did he set a time limit for you?” asked
Meidler.
"Time limit? Oh no, he's much too decent for that!" answered
Tresmour and suddenly became tearful and contrite, "But I worked
on & novel and a publisher accepted it!"
"What? A novel accepted? Ana you act like someohe who's
going to commit suicide? Are you crazy or am I merely half-witted?"
"Yes, it's & novel, and it's really been accepted. That's
just the trouble, don't you see?" =
"No, I don't. I don't understand @ word! Not a single word!"
cried the painter and stared, completely baffled and bewildéred,
&t his friend. Treamour sprang from his chair nervously and paced
back and forth, back and forth across the room, looking helplessly |
&t the other. Finally he blurted out: "But I'm no writer! I even
can't t write. It im't my novel$" The painter sat open-
mouthed and gawked.
Treamour expl@ined. In & panic he hed copied an old for-
gotten novel, added & few choice slang expressions, and had rushed
it off to a publisher.
"Ana just imagine, that fool accepted it!" He ended his
tale of woe and hunched himself up in his cheir., There he sat, des-
perate hands clutching his head, his eyes staring into emptiness.
"And of course you wrote a beautiful letter to the Lord
telling him all about it?" his friend mocked.
"Gertainly I aia! I had to do something for all that money!"
Meidler bit his lips. This was grotesque. A man had absolute-
ly no desire to be @ writer, he was even incapable of being one ~
and he was the very person to whom such lucky misfortune would
happen. And, to top it ell, the delighted Lord Holliwell hed im-
mediately written to the publisher and had paid him to pubiish the
book as soon as possible.
"Now, I ask you, what do I do with 811 this luck?" Treamour
asked. He wrung his hands. "You must help me. You mus t i"
iit.
Happy days for Meidler began again, His debts disappearea
és though they had dissolved into thin air and his numerous credit-
ors greeted him with respect, Treamour paid and paid,
4nd Hans Meidler proved his gratitude, He turned his brains
inside out indefatigebly, The two friends sat up entire nights
on end telking and talking, pondering 411 the possibilities ana
thinking over various plans of escape, The clever painter was full
of ideas and, according to the desperate author-to-be, was always
right, Treamour only wanted to be delivered from his so-cellea
luck, He asked nothing more, The poor painter was thus forced to
find & way to kill the goose that was laying the golden eggs, in
spite of himself,
He thought up sdventurous plans such as attacking the pub-
lisher or breaking into the publishing house and stealing the manus-
cript. Treemour was, for the most part, merely somewhat sceptical _
when his friend proposed such ideas,
“Well, but. - " he ventured timidly, "attacking the publisher
- don't you think that's & little risky? - Besides how do we know
that he has the mnuscript there?" His face was resigned as he
looked at his silent partner and added cautiously: "and as for
stealing tho novel - I have a copy!"
"Copy?" boomed Meidler,. "1fsten, You haven't got a copy,
understand? You're different from ordinary writers. You create
right out of your head - and you put it on paper only once. If
the manuscript is lost, what do you care? You just write a new
noveli" Treamour's smile was melancholy; the irony was too deep.
The inexhaustible painter spun out his fantastic idee fur-
ther. “Imagine, just think of it!" he cried, enchanted with his
own ideé, "the mnuscript is lost. It's simply disappeared. You
have no copy. ihat heppens? Don't you see, we kill two birds with
one stone} The publisher will have to pay you damage, the book
can't come out, you become the famous unlucky writer, and Lord Hol-
liwell keeps on paying. It's terrific} And, it's the only way
out.” He paced back and forth, smiled and rubbed his hands with
satisfaction,
"Couldn't you make it a little less criminal, less dangerous?
objected Treamour agsin timidly. "I just wonder, whether ..."
His pertner-in-crime was not obstinate. "All right, let's
think it over. I'd like to consider it again carefully,” he said
and gulped down the last of the whisky and sods. Empty bottles
and glasses were scattered everywhere, thick clouds of cigarette
smoke filled the room, and the white light of dawn was beginning to
- peer through the high studio window, And so the two parted without
further decision.
iix, Brack, the publisher, had already written to his new
author several] times, praising the novel in the most flsttering
terms. He asked the author to visit him at his office so that he
could meet him personally. Poor jreamour answered anything that
_ Game into his head in order to avoid the dreaded meeting. He
wrote that he was sorry but he had to leave town - or that he was
sorry but he was sick in bed and could not possibly have visitors.
One day, however, the young Lord wrote that he would be in
town the next week, Something had to be done, Completely demore)-
ized, Zreamour went to see Meidler and lamented frantically,
"Come oni" said the other finally and pushed his broken -
down friend willy-nilly through the door, He hed no idea what he
was going to do, but he was determined to do something, They went
to see Mr. Brack,
Men ana women waiting for the publisher filled the anteroom,
but Treamour and Meidler were instantly admitted to see him.
"You go ahead. You go first!” Treamour whispered and Meidler
obeyed. The fat Mr. Brack rushed up to then with emphatic st eps
and wide open arms,
"Finally - at last$" he sputterel like s fish, Before one
of the two could get a word in edgewise he seized Meidler's hand,
"So we finally meet!" He gazed at the nonplussed painter and ad-
ded: "Yes, you're just like what I imagined!" After a cursory
glance at the fidgeting Treamour, he cried: "Oh, so you've brought
& friend with youl That's fine, Come, gentlemen, do sit down,"
Meidler found a chance to explain the misunderstanding. The
effect was somewhat painful, but the alert My. Brack found an ms-
wer, laughed loudly and seid in a very freindly manner: "Haha! My
eg en ere
|
misteke, I beg your perdon, but I see so many people that I - -—
well, Mr, Treamour end Mx, - er - Meidler - is that right? - Mr.
Meidler, please sit down,” They sat down,
"Ag I've already told you, I expect a great success from
your novel, It's a perfect little gem." He looked at Treamour who
remained silent.
"I've sent the manuscript to the printer's. If will be in
811 the bookstores before Christme®s, Have you anything speciel in
mind about it?” Mr, Brack waited for an answer, obviously enjoy-
ing the embarrassment of his new author with patronizing satisfac-
tion, .
Unexpectedly, Treeamour heard his own voice: "The novel's no
good. It's impossible.” He becsme confused, stopped short, then
continued in fits and starts: "I'll be blamed when the book comes
out - No, it's no good. I want my manuscript back - definitely!"
Mr, Brack was dumbfounded. He jumped out of his chair with
an angry face, “Aha,” he thought, "my newly discovered writer
thinks he can desert me for some other publisher, and I'd be oblig-
ead to return the check to the young Lord.” In @ trice he became 4
celdblooded business man,
"Mr. Treamour,” he said icily, “that's unfair, It won't
work. 4s a newcomer to this business you must be aware that what
you plan to do is impossible." His words implied a threat,
"Just hold a second!" cried the painter and plunged like
lightening into the argument. "You won't lose money in any case -"
"Whether I lose money or not!" shrieked Mr, Brack and
looked as though he would like very much to commit mayhem, "Be-
sides, whet business is it of yours? Who ere you , anyhow?”
"I'm speaking only for your om good, Mr. Brack,” retorted
the other, Since Treamour nodded in agreement and stammered the
same thing, the publisher stopped roaring 41] of & sudden,
Meidler confessed the whole story and the embarrassing cir-
cumstances so frankly that the irate publisher sat down again with
less self-assurance and s@id only: "Well, hm, Well, if that's how
it is - But my dear séirs, what can we ao?" He glared at Treamour,
sitting in his chair stiffly like © pillar of salt, white and
ashamed,
"I¢'s all between us, Mr, Brack,” said the painte@ with
man-to-man confidence, “You'll keep Lord Holliwell's check, but
we must find some way of getting out of this mess. What I've told
you is to your own advantage!”
"You must believe him. Please, you mest!" implored Tream-
our, His impotent childishness had its effect on the publisher,
The tension lessened ani the trio begsn to discuss ways and means
and at last became one, Mr, Brack even accompanied the two friends
to the outer door, ostentatiously shook their hands with more hear-
tiness than he could possibly have felt, as though he were parting
from his most popular authors.
"Grand, You just wait and see, it'll work 811 right," said
Meidler once they were out of the building. "The mafn point is
that Brack is on our side. Wow let Lord Holliwell come, and see
if we give 2 demni" He was brimming over with hope and excitement.
There wes & nice little green rosdster in the second-hand car lot
near his studio - and if the allowance kept on - well, you hever
knew,
"That's @ll right, but so what?” remarked Treamour, "You
just wait until he comes. Everything will go wrong then, let me
tell yout" The agony ana the neryous strain was too much, He dam-
ned the &llowance and the young Lord and prayed for his former, if
more modest life.
Lord Holliwell arrived and stayed at the Waldorf Astoria, The
painter rushed to his friena with the news, “Man, he's been here
@ll day. Hasn't he gotten in touch with you yet?" He askei an-
xiously. Treamour shrugged his shoulders and repeated "So what?"
Meidler despaired,
The next dey the young Englishman paid a call on his protege,
who greeted him with restrained, dubious friendloness. The elegant
Lord's expression was serious and fatherly.
"You don't look well, my friema,” he said with troubled ac-
cents, "You must absolutely take a rest." Treamour blushed and
had no idea what to say, The Lord began to explain cautiously that
he had seen Mr, Breck,
Treamour peled. "e's come," he thought, "my downfall!"
He stopped breathing.
What followed was different, strangely different from what
he hed expeated.
= 7
| "My dear friend,” said Lord Holliwell and blushed when he
looked into Treamour's saa eyes, “Tresmour - I know it's my feglt -
611 thease obligations! I should have been here ages agoi”" Treamour :
was not sure that he understood what the other was saying. The agit?
ated young Lord inspected him with solicitude as though he were &
decmed invalid whe needed comfort and consolation,
"The pilblisher was simply charming! He's a thoroughly pieas-
ant and honest man,” he continued in an @lmost tender voice, "He
said thet your novel proved that yon heve uncommonly greet telent,
but - " here he became acutely uncomfortable and hurried: "Mr,
Brack meant - and I must say I agree with him - that such an unusu-
&l talent must heve time to develop and to create @ true mesier-
piece, In all quiet, you see? Your novel is the best proof for
him, Mr. Brack said, but your first book should make yom famous in-
mediately. What do you think about it?” |
|
|
Treemour felt his head whirling. He staggered. ie
"I understand completely. I understand,” murmered Holliwell
in en ettempt to calm him, "But don’t you think he's right?" 4s
Tresmour mede only & végue, resigned gesture, he kept on speaking
in en bumble veice. After & long while, when the would=-not-be-
author succes@ed, to some extent, in understanding what the Lord
meant, he nodded here and there. Finally he eve managed: "Well, if
Mr. Brack thinks - " and broke off.
Young Lord Holliwell began to breathe more freely.
"Don't be so modest, my dear friend. I sdmit I*m guilty.
I haven't interested myself as I should have!" he said when Tream-
our tried to teke a definite stand against the ellowance, "Don't
worry your head about such trivial matters, please. Not a word
more, I beg you. You're & dreamer who mows nothing about business,
my dcaxr fellow. Here, look’ It's 811 settled. My. Brack has
given me back the contract. You can go ahead peacefully now, since
my lawyer assures mc that Brack is rigpt. The only thing he in-
sists upon is that you give him your next book to publish,"
He handed the document to his confused protege. "I'm so very
giad,” he continued. ‘But please, please, don't worry, Take
your time about it$" He leig his hand paternally on the other's
shoulder and left.
Treamour remained standing in the middle of the room, hold-
ing on to his head. He no longer understood the world. When the
painter eppesred from behind the screen, he said only: “You see,
I can't manage to get free of my demned luck!"
There seemed nothing to be left for poor Scott Treamour to
do. Whether he would or no, he had to become & writer. And he
might have become one, too ~ but then Betsy made her appearance -
and extremely wealthy young woman, knom a1] ova Newport ang Pela
Beach for her beauty. Once Scott Treamour was firmly settled with
the reins in his om two well-shaped hands, the verg first thing
he Gia was to tell Lord Holiiwell the whole story and to pay back
811 the money, | |
"Well," the young Lord said composedly, "you see, an English-
man never is mistake. If he takes a chance, he knows whet he is
acing."
They remained fast friends.
