100 Malicious Little Mysteries

Six Words by Lew Gillis

The editor looked up in annoyance. There, standing before him, having somehow penetrated to the heart of his cozy editorial sanctum, was — of all things — an author.

Automatically the editor’s eyes flicked over the piles of manuscripts on his desk. Perhaps, he thought, this was some outraged author come to claim a treasured story submitted long ago and still grinding — slowly — through the mill of the gods.

But no, this author had come equipped with a manuscript of his own, which he now unceremoniously thrust into the face of the startled editor.

“Publish this!” he said peremptorily.

“Is that all?” the editor replied, recovering quickly. “May I remind you, my dear sir—”

“Publish this!” the author repeated, this time more menacingly. He was a large lumpy man with an untidy beard, and he looked as though he meant business.

The editor smiled expansively, playing for time. “There are, of course, many ways,” he began, “to get a story published, Mr... Mr...?”

“Gillis,” the author stated. “Lew Gillis.” He still stood with his manuscript thrust at the editor. “I am aware of the many ways to get a story published,” he said flatly. “During the last several years I have had occasion to try them all.”

“Really?” the editor rejoined brightly. He was growing bored.

“Without success,” said Lew Gillis.

“Ah!” Things were becoming clearer. The man was obviously a disappointed author.

“I have, for example,” Lew Gillis said, “submitted my stories with covering letters calling attention to my previous literary successes.” He shrugged. “To no avail.”

“Perhaps,” the editor suggested, “had these previous literary successes not been figments of your—”

“I have ignominiously scraped acquaintance with published authors, poor wretches of little or no talent, for the sole purpose of using their barely recognizable names to get past secretaries and into the presence of editors,” Gillis continued.

“But this device, too,” the editor completed the thought, “availed you nothing.” He smiled wearily. “And not surprising either, when you consider that editors abhor—”

“Finally,” the author went on, “I hit upon a scheme which, during the last year, has brought me considerable success.”

In spite of himself the editor was interested. “A scheme?” he repeated.

“An extremely simple scheme,” said the author. “Nowadays when I have a story to sell I merely choose an editor, find a way to elude his secretary, hold my manuscript out to him, as I am doing with you now, and speak six words.”

“And those six words are...?” The editor felt some resentment at having to supply all the straight lines.

“And this six words are” — the burly author paused mischievously — “potent. Yes, yes, certainly potent.”

“I imagine they would have to be,” the editor acknowledged with ill-concealed sarcasm, “to achieve such remarkable results. Still, I don’t understand—”

“The first response to them is invariably derisive,” the author admitted, “as yours will no doubt be. Editors, as a class, are preternaturally contemptuous of authors. I would even feel justified in calling them monomaniacally arrogant.”

“Surely,” replied the editor, “that’s a bit of an overstate—”

“In the end, however, I have managed to convince most of them of the seriousness of my intentions. Those few I have not—” he shrugged. “Well, you would no doubt recognize their names at once. I could easily supply documentation.”

“All this is very interesting, Mr.... Mr....?”

“Gillis,” the author stated again. “Lew Gillis.”

“But I’m afraid I must tell you, sir,” the editor continued, probing with his foot as unobtrusively as possible for the emergency alarm button beneath his desk, “that there are no circumstances I can think of, no combination whatever of six words I can imagine, that could force me to publish a story, by you or by anyone else, that I did not expressly choose to publish.”

For a moment the bearded author made no reply. Then once more, without warning, he thrust his manuscript, its tide and author’s name — SIX WORDS by Lew Gillis — now clearly visible, into the face of the editor.

“Publish this,” he began, with an air of once and for all concluding the business.

“Or—?” the editor inquired.

Gillis grinned savagely. “That,” he said, “is the third word.”