The Complete Works of O. Henry

Mrs. Hale is up in Maine for a 3 weeks' vacation.

Say, Bill, I'm sending your MS. back by mail to-day. I kept it a little longer after you sent for it because one of the McClure & Phillips firm wanted to see it first. Everybody says it is full of good stuff, but thinks it should be put in a more connected shape by some skilful writer who has been trained to that sort work.

It seems to me that you ought to do better with it out there than you could here. If you can get somebody out there to publish it it ought to sell all right. N. Y. is a pretty cold proposition and it can't see as far as the Oklahoma country when it is looking for sales. How about trying Indianapolis or Chicago? Duffy told me about the other MS sent out by your friend Abbott. Kind of a bum friendly trick, wasn't it?

Why don't you get 'Arizona's Hand' done and send it on? Seems to me you could handle a short story all right.

My regards to Mrs. Jennings and Bro. Frank. Write some more.

Still BILL.

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Dear Jennings:

N. Y., May 23, '05.

Got your letter all right. Hope you'll follow it soon. I'd advise you not to build any high hopes on your book-- just consider that you're on a little pleasure trip, and taking it along as a side line. Mighty few MSS. ever get to be books, and mighty few books pay.

I have to go to Pittsburg the first of next week to be gone about 3 or 4 days. If you decide to come here any time after the latter part of next week I will be ready to meet you. Let me know in advance a day or two.

Gallot is in Grand Rapids--maybe he will run over for a day or two.

In haste and truly yours, W. S. P.

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[It was hard to get O. Henry to take an interest in his books. He was always eager to be at the undone work, to be writing a new story instead of collecting old ones. This letter came from North Carolina. It shows how much thought he gave always to titles.]

LAND o' THE SKY, Monday, 1909.

My dear Colonel Steger: As I wired you to-day, I like 'Man About Town' for a title.

But I am sending in a few others for you to look at; and if any other suits you better, I'm agreeable. Here they are, in preferred order:

The Venturers. Transfers. Merry-Go-Rounds. Babylonica. Brickdust from Babel. Babes in the Jungle.

If none of these hit you right, let me know and I'll get busy again. But I think 'Man About Town' is about the right thing. It gives the city idea without using the old hackneyed words.

I am going to write you a letter in a day or so 'touchin' on and appertainin' to' other matters and topics. I am still improving and feeling pretty good. Colonel Bingham has put in a new ash-sifter and expects you to come down and see that it works all right.

All send regards to you. You seem to have made quite a hit down here for a Yankee.

Salutations and good wishes. Yours, S. P.

[This letter was found unfinished, among his papers after his death. His publishers had discussed many times his writing of a novel, but the following letter constitutes the only record of his own opinions in the matter. The date is surely 1909 or 1910.]

My Dear Mr. Steger: My idea is to write the story of a man--an individual, not a type--but a man who, at the same time, I want to represent a 'human nature type,' if such a person could exist. The story will teach no lesson, inculcate no moral, advance no theory. I want it to be something that it won't or can't be--but as near as I can make it--the true record of a man's thoughts, his description of his mischances and adventures, his TRUE opinions of life as he has seen it and his ABSOLUTELY HONEST deductions, comments, and views upon the different phases of life that he passes through.

I do not remember ever to have read an autobiography, a biography, or a piece of fiction that told the TRUTH. Of course, I have read stuff such as Rousseau and Zola and George Moore and various memoirs that were supposed to be window panes in their respective breasts; but, mostly, all of them were either liars, actors, or posers. (Of course, I'm not trying to belittle the greatness of their literary expression.)

All of us have to be prevaricators, hypocrites and liars every day of our lives; otherwise the social structure would fall into pieces the first day. We must act in one another's presence just as we must wear clothes. It is for the best.

The trouble about writing the truth has been that the writers have kept in their minds one or another or all of three thoughts that made a handicap--they were trying either to do a piece of immortal literature, or to shock the public or to please editors. Some of them succeeded in all three, but they did not write the TRUTH. Most autobiographies are insincere from beginning to end. About the only chance for the truth to be told is in fiction. It is well understood that 'all the truth' cannot be told in print--but how about 'nothing but the truth'? That's what I want to do.

I want the man who is telling the story to tell it--not as he would to a reading public or to a confessor--but something in this way: Suppose he were marooned on an island in mid-ocean with no hope of ever being rescued; and, in order to pass away some of the time he should tell a story to HIMSELF embodying his adventure and experiences and opinions. Having a certain respect for himself (let us hope) he would leave out the 'realism' that he would have no chance of selling in the market; he would omit the lies and self-conscious poses, and would turn out to his one auditor something real and true.

So, as truth is not to be found in history, autobiography, press reports (nor at the bottom of an H. G. Wells), let us hope that fiction may be the means of bringing out a few grains of it.

The 'hero' of the story will be a man born and 'raised' in a somnolent little southern town. His education is