THE TASTE OF THE MEAT.
I.
In the beginning he was Christopher Bellew. By the time he was at
college he had become Chris Bellew. Later, in the Bohemian crowd of
San Francisco, he was called Kit Bellew. And in the end he was known
by no other name than Smoke Bellew. And this history of the evolution
of his name is the history of his evolution. Nor would it have happened
had he not had a fond mother and an iron uncle, and had he not received a
letter from Gillet Bellamy.
"I have just seen a copy of the Billow," Gillet wrote from Paris. "Of
course O\'Hara will succeed with it. But he\'s missing some plays."
(Here followed details in the improvement of the budding society weekly.)
"Go down and see him. Let him think they\'re your own suggestions.
Don\'t let him know they\'re from me. If he does, he\'ll make me Paris
correspondent, which I can\'t afford, because I\'m getting real money for my
stuff from the big magazines. Above all, don\'t forget to make him fire
that dub who\'s doing the musical and art criticism. Another thing, San
Francisco has always had a literature of her own. But she hasn\'t any now.
Tell him to kick around and get some gink to turn out a live serial, and to
put into it the real romance and glamour and colour of San Francisco."
And down to the office of the Billow went Kit Bellew faithfully to
instruct. O\'Hara listened. O\'Hara debated. O\'Hara agreed. O\'Hara
fired the dub who wrote criticism. Further, O\'Hara had a way with him--
the very way that was feared by Gillet in distant Paris. When O\'Hara
wanted anything, no friend could deny him. He was sweetly and
compellingly irresistible. Before Kit Bellew could escape from the office
he had become an associate editor, had agreed to write weekly columns of
criticism till some decent pen was found, and had pledged himself to write
a weekly instalment of ten thousand words on the San Francisco serial--
and all this without pay.