have, he was right to follow her advice and the
contract was not to be thought of.

It is difficult to say whether this was or was not for Bok the
turning-point which comes in the life of every young man. Where the
venture into theatrical life would have led him no one can, of course,
say. One thing is certain: Bok's instinct and reason both failed him
in this instance. He believes now that had his venture into the
theatrical field been temporary or permanent, the experiment, either
way, would have been disastrous.

Looking back and viewing the theatrical profession even as it was in
that day (of a much higher order than now), he is convinced he would
never have been happy in it. He might have found this out in a year or
more, after the novelty of travelling had worn off, and asked release
from his contract; in that case he would have broken his line of
progress in the publishing business. From whatever viewpoint he has
looked back upon this, which he now believes to have been the crisis in
his life, he is convinced that his mother's instinct saved him from a
grievous mistake.

The Scribner house, in its foreign-book department, had imported some
copies of Bourrienne's _Life of Napoleon_, and a set had found its way
to Bok's desk for advertising purposes. He took the books home to
glance them ever, found himself interested, and sat up half the night
to read them. Then he took the set to the editor of the New York Star,
and suggested that such a book warranted a special review, and offered
to leave the work for the literary editor.

"You have read the books?" asked the editor.

"Every word," returned Bok.

"Then, why don't you write the review?" suggested the editor.

This was a new thought to Bok. "Never wrote a review," he said.

"Try it," answered the editor. "Write a column."

"A column wouldn't scratch the surface of this book," suggested the
embryo reviewer.

"Well, give it what it is worth," returned the editor.

Bok did. He wrote a page of the paper.

"Too much, too much," said the editor. "Heavens, man, we've got to get
some news into this paper."

"Very well," returned the reviewer. "Read it, and cut it where you
like. That's the way I see the book."

And next Sunday the review appeared, word for word, as Bok had written
it. His first review had successfully passed!

But Bok was really happiest in that part of his work which concerned
itself with the writing of advertisements.