iter, "the young ladies would
not like to be hearing you talk this way."

"Yes; no doubt, no doubt. The young ladies have still quite
medieval ideas. They don't understand. They still prefer
lovers to languish."

"At any rate, sir, I don't see that your heart is sure
enough broken. You seem to take it very easy."

"Broken!" cried Coleman. "Easy? Man, my heart is in
fragments. Bring me another small bottle."

After this Coleman went to Greece to write up the war for the
"Eclipse," and incidentally to rescue his sweetheart from the hands
of the Turks and make "copy" of it. Very valid arguments might be
advanced that the lady would have fared better with the Turks. On
the voyage Coleman spent all his days and nights in the card room
and avoided the deck, since fresh air was naturally disagreeable to
him. For all that he saw of Greece or that Mr. Crane's readers see
of Greece Coleman might as well have stayed in the card room of the
steamer, or in the card room of his New York hotel for that matter.
Wherever he goes he carries the atmosphere of the card room with him
and the "blinding glare of the electrics." In Greece he makes love
when he has leisure, but he makes "copy" much more ardently, and on
the whole is quite as lurid and sordid and showy as his worst Sunday
editions. Some good bits of battle descriptions there are, of the
"Red Badge of Courage" order, but one cannot make a novel of clever
descriptions of earthworks and poker games. The book concerns itself
not with large, universal interests or principles, but with a yellow
journalist grinding out yellow copy in such a wooden fashion that
the Sunday "Eclipse" must have been even worse than most. In spite
of the fact that Mr. Crane has written some of the most artistic
short stories in the English language, I begin to wonder whether,
blinded by his youth and audacity, two qualities which the American
people love, we have not taken him too seriously. It is a grave
matter for a man in good health and with a bank account to have
written a book so coarse and dull and charmless as "Active Service."
Compared with this "War was kind," indeed.

_Pittsburg Leader_, November 11, 1899

_Frank Norris_

A new and a great book has been written. The name of it is
"McTeague, a Story of San Francisco," and the man who wrote it is
Mr. Frank Norris. The great presses of the country go on year after
year grin