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City High School. The girls
who wrapped and addressed the magazines were members of old
Southern families in Reduced Circumstances. The cashier was a scrub
named Hawkins, from Ann Arbor, Michigan, who had
recommendations and a bond from a guarantee company filed with the
owners. Even Georgia stock companies sometimes realize that it takes
live ones to bury the dead.
Well, sir, if you believe me, The Rose of Dixie blossomed five times
before anybody heard of it except the people who buy their hooks and
eyes in Toombs City. Then Hawkins climbed off his stool and told on
'em to the stock company. Even in Ann Arbor he had been used to
having his business propositions heard of at least as far away as Detroit.
So an advertising manager was engaged -- Beauregard Fitzhugh Banks,
a young man in a lavender necktie, whose grandfather had been the
Exalted High Pillow-slip of the Kuklux Klan.
In spite of which The Rose of Dixie kept coming out every month.
Although in every issue it ran photos of either the Taj Mahal or the
Luxembourg Gardens, or Carmencita or La Follette, a certain number
of people bought it and subscribed for it. As a boom for it, Editor-
Colonel Telfair ran three different views of Andrew Jackson's old home,
"The Hermitage," a full-page engraving of the second battle of
Manassas, entitled "Lee to the Rear!" and a five-thousand-word

biography of Belle Boyd in the same number. The subscription list that
month advanced 118. Also there were poems in the same issue by
Leonina Vashti Haricot (pen-name), related to the Haricots of
Charleston, South Carolina, and Bill Thompson, nephew of one of the
stockholders. And an article from a special society correspondent
describing a tea-party given by the swell Boston and English set, where
a lot of tea was spilled overboard by some of the guests masquerading
as Indians.
One day a person whose breath would easily cloud a mirror, he was so
much alive, entered the office of The Rose of Dixie. He was a man
about the size of a real-estate agent, with a self-tied tie and a manner
that he must have borrowed conjointly from W J. Bryan,
Hackenschmidt, and Hetty Green. He was shown into the editor-
colonel's pons asinorum. Colonel Telfair rose and began a Prince
Albert bow.
"I'm Thacker," said the intruder, taking the editor's chair--"T. T.
Thacker, of New York."
He dribbled hastily upon the colonel's desk some cards, a bulky manila
envelope, and a letter from the owners of The Rose of Dixie. This letter
introduced Mr. Thacker, and politely requested Colonel Telfair to give
him a conference and whatever information about the magazine he
might desire.
"I've been corresponding with the secretary of the magazine owners for
some time," said Thacker, briskly. "I'm a practical magazine man
myself, and a circulation booster as good as any, if I do say it. I'll
guarantee an increase of anywhere from ten thousand to a hundred
thousand a year for any publication that isn't printed in a dead language.
I've had my eye on The Rose of Dixie ever since it started. I know
every end of the business from editing to setting up the classified ads.
Now, I've come down here to put a good bunch of money in the
magazine, if I can see my way clear. It ought to be made to pay. The
secretary tells me it's losing money. I don't see why a magazine in the
South, if it's properly handled, shouldn't get a good circulation in the
North, too.
"Colonel Telfair leaned back in his chair and polished his gold-rimmed
glasses.
"Mr. Thacker," said he, courteously but firmly, "The Rose of Dixie is a

publication devoted to the fostering and the voicing of Southern genius.
Its watchword, which you may have seen on the cover, is 'Of, For, and
By the South.'"
"But you wouldn't object to a Northern circulation, would you?" asked
Thacker.
"I suppose," said the editor-colonel, "that it is customary to open the
circulation lists to all. I do not know. I have nothing to do with the
business affairs of the magazine. I was called upon to assume editorial
control of it, and I have devoted to its conduct such poor literary talents
as I may possess and whatever store of erudition I may have acquired."
"Sure," said Thacker. "But a dollar is a dollar anywhere, North, South,
or West--whether you're buying codfish, goober peas, or Rocky Ford
cantaloupes. Now, I've been looking over your November number. I
see one here on your desk. You don't mind running over it with me?
"Well, your leading article is all right. A good write-up of the
cotton-belt with plenty of photographs is a winner any time. New York
is always interested