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The Magic Story
The Magic Story
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PREFACE
This wonderful little story, written by Frederic Van Rensselaer Dey, first appeared in the December, 1900, and January, 1901, issues of SUCCESS MAGAZINE. It created an immediate sensation, and urgent requests were made for its reprint in book form. A small edition of a little silver-gray book was published to meet these requests, and this, the First Edition, has virtually disappeared from sight. The fact that the publishers of Success Magazine are in almost daily receipt of requests for additional copies, is sufficient evidence of the value placed by the holders of the original edition upon the copies in their possession, and of their desire to bring it to the attention of their friends; and the demand has now become so insistent as to lead to the production of this, the Second Edition. Mr. Dey has woven into this story, in a remarkably effective way, some of the fundamental principles of the "New Thought Movement" which is sweeping over this country, and it is safe to say that the application of these principles, as outlined in the "Magic Story," will accomplish almost, if not quite, all that is herein claimed for them towards the upbuilding and development of a manly, self-reliant, success-compelling spirit.
***
An excerpt from the beginning of Part I of:
THE MAGIC STORY
PART ONE
I WAS sitting alone in the café, and had just reached for the sugar preparatory to putting it into my coffee. Outside, the weather was hideous. Snow and sleet came swirling down, and the wind howled frightfully. Every time the outer door opened, a draft of unwelcome air penetrated the uttermost corners of the room. Still, I was comfortable. The snow and sleet and wind conveyed nothing to me except an abstract thanksgiving that I was where it could not affect me. While I dreamed and sipped my coffee, the door opened and closed, and admitted—Sturtevant.
Sturtevant was an undeniable failure, but, withal, an artist of more than ordinary talent . He had, however, fallen into the rut traveled by ne'er-do-wells, and was out at the elbows as well as insolvent.
As I raised my eyes to Sturtevant's, I was conscious of mild surprise at the change in his appearance. Yet he was not dressed differently. He wore the same threadbare coat in which he always appeared, and the old brown hat was the same. And yet there was something new and strange in his appearance. As he swished his hat around to relieve it of the burden of snow deposited by the howling nor'wester, there was something new in the gesticulation. I could not remember when I had invited Sturtevant to dine with me, but involuntarily I beckoned to him. He nodded, and presently seated himself opposite to me. I asked him what he would have, and he, after scanning the bill of fare carelessly, ordered from it leisurely, and invited me to join him in coffee for two. I watched him in stupid wonder, but, as I had invited the obligation, I was prepared to pay for it, although I knew I hadn't sufficient cash to settle the bill. Meanwhile, I noted the brightness of his usual lackluster eyes, and the healthful, hopeful glow upon his cheek, with increasing amazement.
"Have you lost a rich uncle?" I asked.
"No," he replied, calmly, "but I have found my mascot."
"Brindle bull, or terrier?" I inquired.
"Currier," said Sturtevant, at length, pausing with his coffee cup half way to his lips, "I see that I have surprised you. It is not strange, for I am a surprise to myself. I am a new man, a different man,—and the alteration has taken place in the last few hours. You have seen me come into this place broke' many a time, when you have turned away, so that I would think you did not see me. I knew why you did that. It was not because you did not want to pay for a dinner, but because you did not have the money to do it. Is that your check? Let me have it. Thank you. I haven't any money with me tonight, but I,—well, this is my treat."
He called the waiter to him, and, with an inimitable flourish, signed his name on the backs of the two checks, and waved him away. After that he was silent a moment while he looked into my eyes, smiling at the astonishment which I in vain strove to conceal.
"Do you know an artist who possesses more talent than I?" he asked, presently. "No. Do you happen to know anything in the line of my profession that I could not accomplish, if I applied myself to it? No. You have been a reporter on the dailies for —how many ?-seven or eight years. Do you remember when I ever had any credit until to-night ? No. Was I refused just now? You have seen for yourself. To-morrow my new career begins. Within a month I shall have a bank account. Why? Because I have discovered the secret of success."...
This wonderful little story, written by Frederic Van Rensselaer Dey, first appeared in the December, 1900, and January, 1901, issues of SUCCESS MAGAZINE. It created an immediate sensation, and urgent requests were made for its reprint in book form. A small edition of a little silver-gray book was published to meet these requests, and this, the First Edition, has virtually disappeared from sight. The fact that the publishers of Success Magazine are in almost daily receipt of requests for additional copies, is sufficient evidence of the value placed by the holders of the original edition upon the copies in their possession, and of their desire to bring it to the attention of their friends; and the demand has now become so insistent as to lead to the production of this, the Second Edition. Mr. Dey has woven into this story, in a remarkably effective way, some of the fundamental principles of the "New Thought Movement" which is sweeping over this country, and it is safe to say that the application of these principles, as outlined in the "Magic Story," will accomplish almost, if not quite, all that is herein claimed for them towards the upbuilding and development of a manly, self-reliant, success-compelling spirit.
***
An excerpt from the beginning of Part I of:
THE MAGIC STORY
PART ONE
I WAS sitting alone in the café, and had just reached for the sugar preparatory to putting it into my coffee. Outside, the weather was hideous. Snow and sleet came swirling down, and the wind howled frightfully. Every time the outer door opened, a draft of unwelcome air penetrated the uttermost corners of the room. Still, I was comfortable. The snow and sleet and wind conveyed nothing to me except an abstract thanksgiving that I was where it could not affect me. While I dreamed and sipped my coffee, the door opened and closed, and admitted—Sturtevant.
Sturtevant was an undeniable failure, but, withal, an artist of more than ordinary talent . He had, however, fallen into the rut traveled by ne'er-do-wells, and was out at the elbows as well as insolvent.
As I raised my eyes to Sturtevant's, I was conscious of mild surprise at the change in his appearance. Yet he was not dressed differently. He wore the same threadbare coat in which he always appeared, and the old brown hat was the same. And yet there was something new and strange in his appearance. As he swished his hat around to relieve it of the burden of snow deposited by the howling nor'wester, there was something new in the gesticulation. I could not remember when I had invited Sturtevant to dine with me, but involuntarily I beckoned to him. He nodded, and presently seated himself opposite to me. I asked him what he would have, and he, after scanning the bill of fare carelessly, ordered from it leisurely, and invited me to join him in coffee for two. I watched him in stupid wonder, but, as I had invited the obligation, I was prepared to pay for it, although I knew I hadn't sufficient cash to settle the bill. Meanwhile, I noted the brightness of his usual lackluster eyes, and the healthful, hopeful glow upon his cheek, with increasing amazement.
"Have you lost a rich uncle?" I asked.
"No," he replied, calmly, "but I have found my mascot."
"Brindle bull, or terrier?" I inquired.
"Currier," said Sturtevant, at length, pausing with his coffee cup half way to his lips, "I see that I have surprised you. It is not strange, for I am a surprise to myself. I am a new man, a different man,—and the alteration has taken place in the last few hours. You have seen me come into this place broke' many a time, when you have turned away, so that I would think you did not see me. I knew why you did that. It was not because you did not want to pay for a dinner, but because you did not have the money to do it. Is that your check? Let me have it. Thank you. I haven't any money with me tonight, but I,—well, this is my treat."
He called the waiter to him, and, with an inimitable flourish, signed his name on the backs of the two checks, and waved him away. After that he was silent a moment while he looked into my eyes, smiling at the astonishment which I in vain strove to conceal.
"Do you know an artist who possesses more talent than I?" he asked, presently. "No. Do you happen to know anything in the line of my profession that I could not accomplish, if I applied myself to it? No. You have been a reporter on the dailies for —how many ?-seven or eight years. Do you remember when I ever had any credit until to-night ? No. Was I refused just now? You have seen for yourself. To-morrow my new career begins. Within a month I shall have a bank account. Why? Because I have discovered the secret of success."...
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