Mr. Ault arose and shook hands cordially, and then went on, without delay for any conventional talk.
“I sent for you, Mr. Burnett, because I wanted your help, and because I thought I might do you a good turn. You see” (with a grim smile) “I have not forgotten Rivervale days. My wife has been reading your story. I don't have much time for such things myself, but her constant talk about it has given me an idea. I want to suggest to you the scene of a novel, one that would be bound to be a good seller.
“I could guarantee a big circulation. I have just become interested in one of the great transcontinental lines.” He named the most picturesque of them--one that he, in fact, absolutely controlled. “Well, I want a story, yes, I guess a good love-story--a romance of reality you might call it--strung on that line. You take the idea?”
“Why,” said Philip, half amused at the conceit and yet complimented by the recognition of his talent, “I don't know anything about railroads--how they are run, cost of building, prospect of traffic, engineering difficulties, all that--nothing whatever.”
“So much the better. It is a literary work I want, not a brag about the road or a description of its enterprise. You just take the line as your scene. Let the story run on that. The company, don't you see, must not in any way be suspected with having anything to do with it, no mention of its name as a company, no advertisement of the road on a fly-leaf or cover. Just your own story, pure and simple.”
“But,” said Philip, more and more astonished at this unlooked-for expansion of the literary field, “I could not embark on an enterprise of such magnitude.”
“Oh,” said Mr. Ault, complacently, “that will be all arranged. Just a pleasure trip, as far as that goes. You will have a private car, well stocked, a photographer will go along, and I think--don't you? a water-color artist. You can take your own time, stop when and where you choose--at the more stations the better. It ought to be profusely illustrated with scenes on the line--yes, have colored plates, all that would give life and character to your story. Love on a Special, some such title as that. It would run like oil. I will arrange to have it as a serial in one of the big magazines, and then the book would be bound to go. The company, of course, can have nothing to do with it, but I can tell you privately that it would rather distribute a hundred thousand copies of a book of good literature through the country than to encourage the railway truck that is going now.