“You have talent, Edgar,” he said, with a touch of condescension, “Good talent—­especially for criticism—­and will some day make your mark in that line if you will stick to it and let these weird stories alone.  We must have fewer of the stories in future and more critiques, but milder ones.  It is the critiques that the readers want; but in both stories and critiques you must put a restraint on that pen of yours, Edgar.  In the stories less of the weird—­the strange—­in the critiques, less of the satirical.  Let moderation be your watchword, my boy.  Cultivate moderation in your writing, and with your endowment you will make a name for yourself as well as the magazine.”

Edgar Poe was all attention—­respectful attention that was most encouraging—­while Mr. White was speaking, and when he had finished sat with a contemplative look in his eyes, as if weighing the words he had just heard.  Presently he looked up and with the expression of face and voice of one who in all seriousness seeks information, asked,

“Is moderation really the word you are after, Mr. White, or is it mediocrity?”

The announcement at the very moment when the question was put, of a visitor—­a welcome one, for he brought a new subscription—­precluded a reply, and in the busy day that followed the broken thread of conversation was never taken up again.  But the unanswered question left Mr. White with a confused sense which stayed with him during the whole day and at intervals all through it he was asking himself what Edgar Poe meant.  Truly his talented employe was a puzzling fellow!  Could it be possible that the question asked with that serious face, that quiet respectful air, was intended for a joke?  That the impudent fellow could have been quizzing him?  No wonder his stories gave people shivers—­there was at times something about the fellow himself which was positively uncanny!

That he and “little Tom” would always see opposite sides of the picture became more and more apparent to The Dreamer as time went on and along with this difficulty another and a more serious one arose.

Though the amount of work—­of successful work, for it brought the Messenger a steadily increasing stream of new subscribers—­which he was now putting forth, should have surrounded the beloved wife and mother with luxuries and placed him beyond the reach of financial embarrassment, the returns he received from the entire fruitage of his brilliant talent—­his untiring pen—­at this the prime-time of his life—­in the fullness of mental and physical vigour, was so small that he was constantly harrassed by debt and frequently reduced to the humiliating necessity of borrowing from his friends to make two ends meet.