The author has dragged Petunia Palate and Percival Pigment thru miles of assorted scenery. He has led them thru perils and pitfalls. Torn them apart in Peru only to join them together again in Phoenicia, N. Y. By Pullman and steamboat, by motor and airplane they have covered innumerable miles. They have been fed the richest and most indigestible of foods procurable in hotels and homes. They have talked enough type to supply the Sunday edition of a Metropolitan newspaper. He has allowed them to indulge in all the politest passions. They have raved and rampaged for the edification of a diverse public thru some three hundred and ninety-odd pages.
But now—a calculating publisher and an ennuied author have decreed a general wind-up of their affairs.
Briefly they are two pages away from The End!
It is a crucial moment.
If they do not clutch and kiss (with object matrimony), the sentimental reader will be outraged. If they do, the materialist will snort! A gory ending will send the modernist into fits. A Russian brevity will alienate all but a few.
The exasperated author takes two bromides and tries to think!
The remedy is simple—oh, so beautifully simple!
Why not assorted endings to suit everyone?
Let us illustrate the idea by a short example.
Petunia and Percival—a trifle weather-beaten and nicked a bit, to be sure, but still in the ring—have been reunited for the very last time. The birds are twittering in the trees, the sun is about to set. Petunia in a white dress (tucked up the left seam, five gored and pleated about the hem, shirred neck and sleeves) has stopped off to visit the old family orchard. She is on her way from Paris, France, to visit her sister in Tulsa, Okla. Percival also has been bitten by the Home Week bug. He has run over from Siam just for a glimpse of the old apple-trees.
Both enter the orchard at about the same moment—but from opposite sides. They do not see each other until both have ruminated three pages apiece over old times.
Let us quote:
“Suddenly Percival saw that he was not alone. At the same moment Petunia received the same impression about herself.
“ ‘Petunia,’ cried Percival.
“ ‘Percival,’ cried Petunia.”
The reader of the absorbing tale is an elderly lady, slightly mid-Tennysonian, highly romantic. Following the line “Percival, cried Petunia” there are three endings for her to choose from. She will undoubtedly choose number two, labeled “Very Romantic.”
“Petunia could see the lovelight leap like lightning into her lover’s eyes. Percival could perceive the precious passion penetrating Petunia’s pupils.
“ ‘Dearest!’
“ ‘Darling!’
“While the sun slowly sunk behind the sumachs their lips met—and met—and met.”
The slightly mid-Tennysonian lady is highly delighted. She will buy every book that author writes.
Another reader is a girl of twenty. She just “adores” Russian literature. She picks Ending number one—“Very Modern.”
“ ‘Ah, so it’s you,’ said the man quietly.
“ ‘It’s I,’ answered Petunia.
“ ‘It’s me, too,’ said Percival in a dull dead voice.
“For an hour or so neither spoke.
“In the orchard only the hum of the hornets and the fireflies broke the silence.
“Finally they, too, were still.
“Another hour passed. True, Petunia had sneezed once and Percival twice during this time.
“Then in an even more deadly voice than before Percival broke the remaining silence:
“ ‘What is more disheartening than a Spanish omelette for breakfast?’
“ ‘Two Spanish omelettes,’ said Petunia.
“There was despair in her tone.
“ ‘You are right,’ answered Percival as he left the orchard with bent head.”
The young lady with the Russian complex is charmed. She is forever a steady customer of that particular author.
A third reader is a hard-boiled guy. He naturally chooses Ending number three, entitled “Exciting.“
“A fierce hate stamped the noble girl’s features.
“Drawing a bomb from her pocket she lit the fuse and threw it with deadly accuracy at the man.
“ ‘Take that, you reptile !’ she cried.
“But he, too, had not been unbusy. Hastily unslinging his trusty bird-gun, he aimed it at her and pulled the trigger.
“The sinking sun heard both their last gasps at the same moment.
“Also saw two red pools in the orchard.
“Petunia and Percival were no more.”
And the hard-boiled guy simply eats it up, and runs for more.
And last, but never least, is the tired business man. He will choose the ending marked “Very O. Henryish.“
“A gleam of radiance lit up the male eyes of the indomitable Percival.
“ ‘At last—at last!’ he cried. One could see that he was shaken to the very core.
“Petunia looked the same way.
“ ‘Do you—?’ he paused, timidity fighting with expectancy in his accents.
“She nodded slowly, solemnly—but there was a great gladness in her eyes.
“He rushed forward and clasped her in his arms.
“ ‘Now,’ he cried in an exultant voice. ‘I can go back to Siam, mix in the best society and not mortify my wife with a wrong pronunciation. Sister, you are a wonder. What is it?’
“ ‘It’s pronounced Tut-ankh-Amen,’ she cried. ‘The accent is on the last syllable.’
“And arm in arm they left the orchard for their several trains.”
