st because, as many of them state, they feared that they were
too "high-brow," but who have been convinced, by the introduction to
the best contemporary fiction afforded them weekly in the supplement
to their Sunday newspaper, that such periodicals as _Harper's Magazine_
and _Scribner's Magazine_ have many qualities to commend them to the
untrained reader. All this serves to illustrate my point that the
commercial short story is not preferred by that imaginary norm of
editors known as "the reading public." If adequate means are employed
to allay the average man's suspicions of literature and to introduce
him painlessly to the best that our writers are creating, my experience
shows absolutely that he will respond heartily and make higher standards
possible by his support. We have scarcely begun to build our democracy
of letters.

Because an American publisher has been found who shares my faith in
the democratic future of the American short story as something by no
means ephemeral, this year-book of American fiction is assured of
annual publication for several years. It is my wish annually to dedicate
whatever there may be of faith and hope in each volume to the writer of
short stories whose work during the year has brought to me the most
definite message of idealism. It is accordingly my privilege this year
to associate the present volume with the name of Benjamin Rosenblatt,
who has contributed in "Zelig" a noble addition to American literature.

EDWARD J. O'BRIEN

SOUTH YARMOUTH, MASSACHUSETTS
Twelfth Night, 1916

THE BEST SHORT STORIES OF 1915

THE WATER-HOLE[1]

BY MAXWELL STRUTHERS BURT

From _Scribner's Magazine_

[1] Copyright, 1915, by Charles Scribner's Sons. Copyright, 1916, by
Maxwell Struthers Burt.

Some men are like the twang of a bow-string. Hardy was like that--short,
lithe, sunburned, vivid. Into the lives of Jarrick, Hill, and myself,
old classmates of his, he came and went in the fashion of one of those
queer winds that on a sultry day in summer blow unexpectedly up a city
street out of nowhere. His comings excited us; his goings left us
refreshed and a little vaguely discontented. So many people are gray.
Hardy gave one a shock of color, as do the deserts and the mountains he
inhabited. It was not particularly what he said--he didn't talk much--it
was his appearance, his direct, a trifle fierce, gestures, the sense of
myste