A New Sensation

TO MY READERS.

It is a common question of my correspondents, "Are your novels ever founded on fact?" Sometimes; not often. This one is.

A year ago I had an attack of neurasthenia, as did "Donald Camran." I did not die, nor go to an insane asylum, both of which items of "news" appeared in the daily papers from one end of the country to the other; but I wasn't exactly well for awhile. In January of this year I made my second trip to the Caribbean Islands and wrote this novel among the scenes I have described.

"Marjorie" and "Statia" have a genuine existence, and so have many of the other characters in this tale. I have used real people as an artist does his models, taking a little from one, a little from another, and a great deal from the vivid imagination with which nature has endowed me. I hope the result will be satisfactory to my friends, who have waited double the usual time for this novel.

Very Truly,

Cambridge, Mass., May, 1898.

CHAPTER I.

LADY TYPEWRITER WANTED.

"A New Sensation’that is what you need," said Dr. Chambers, wisely.

"Yes, that is what you want, above all things," assented Harvey Hume.

"A New Sensation’it would be the making of you!" cried Tom Barton, with enthusiasm.

It was much easier, however, for people to discover the remedy I needed than to find the right way to apply it. They would never have united in prescribing the same kind of "sensation." What one would suggest would be opposed by the others; and had they come to a united decision in the matter their ideas might not have suited me at all. I was in a condition when it is not easy to make up the mind to anything. After long reflection, I decided to go and propose marriage to Statia. I had never offered my hand to any woman and it seemed as if that ought to give me at least a diversion, which was something. Not that I intended to make the offer lightly.

But when I had carried out my plan, I left Statia in greater despondency than ever. For she refused me pointblank’something that had not entered into my calculations. She did it, too, in anything but an agreeable manner, as it then seemed to me.

If the reader of these lines has ever gone through a period of insomnia in its most acute form, he will understand the condition in which it leaves a fellow. When Tom's sister laughed me out of court, as one might say, even though she did it with the highest expressions of good will, I was ready for anything desperate.

"What kind of a husband do you think you would make? Look back over the last five years of your life and see how much of it does you credit. You think I don't know what you have been up to, and perhaps it is best for me that I don't know all of it; but I am sure, at least, that you have undertaken nothing serious, and that every hour has been practically wasted. A girl has got to have something different in a partner on whom she is to rely for life. And that tale of your physician's advice is worse than all. I am not going to let myself for a hospital. Your health is broken on account of your persistent violation of all hygienic rules. You have no right to quarter yourself on a strong, well girl like me until you can bring something better than you now have to offer." I was too provoked at her manner, even more than at her words, to reply with much patience.

I said, ill-manneredly, I must now admit, that if I did not have my old physique, it was only a question of time when it would return, and that I certainly had something else that many a young man would gladly take in exchange for beef and brawn. "Oh, that for your fortune!" she said, snapping her fingers disdainfully. "I am not talking of marrying your grandfather, who gathered the dollars you think of such moment. Wealth is a good thing only when harnessed to the right horses. The man that marries me must have a better recommendation. I would give more for a character of sterling merit, a disposition to conquer the difficulties of life, than for all your cash.

I was angry at myself for arguing with her. She had a great deal of assurance to address me in that manner, I thought.

She paled at the concluding sentence.

"Don't add crime to your follies," she said, in a low tone. "Existence does not end with this brief life on earth. When you have time to reflect, you will be ashamed of your present state of mind. If there is anything I can do for you, short of sacrificing my whole future—"

"I know," I responded, sarcastically. "You are willing to be 'a sister' to me!"