Introduction
It is indeed a pleasure to write an introduction for a collection of tales by Mr. H. D. Umbstaetter. His stories are "Black Cat" stories, and by such designation is meant much. The field of the "Black Cat" is unique, and a "Black Cat" story is a story apart from all other short stories. While Mr. Umbstaetter may not have originated such a type of story, he made such a type possible, and made many a writer possible. I know he made me possible. He saved my literary life, if he did not save my literal life. And I think he was guilty of this second crime, too.
For months, without the smallest particle of experience, I had been attempting to write something marketable. Everything I possessed was in pawn, and I did not have enough to eat. I was sick, mentally and physically, from lack of nourishment. I had once read in a Sunday supplement that the minimum rate paid by the magazines was ten dollars per thousand words. But during all the months devoted to storming the magazine field, I had received back only manuscripts. Still I believed implicitly what I had read in the Sunday supplement.
As I say, I was at the end of my tether, beaten out, starved, ready to go back to coal-shoveling or ahead to suicide. Being very sick in mind and body, the chance was in favor of my self-destruction. And then, one morning, I received a short, thin letter from a magazine. This magazine had a national reputation. It had been founded by Bret Harte. It sold for twenty-five cents a copy. It held a four-thousand-word story of mine, "To the Man on Trail." I was modest. As I tore the envelope across the end, I expected to find a check for no more than forty dollars. Instead, I was coldly informed (by the Assistant Sub-scissors, I imagine), that my story was "available" and that on publication I would be paid for it the sum of five dollars.
The end was in sight. The Sunday supplement had lied. I was finished—finished as only a very young, very sick, and very hungry young man could be. I planned—I was too miserable to plan anything save that I would never write again. And then, that same day, that very afternoon, the mail brought a short, thin letter from Mr. Umbstaetter of the "Black Cat." He told me that the four-thousand-word story submitted to him was more lengthy than strengthy, but that if I would give permission to cut it in half, he would immediately send me a check for forty dollars.
Give permission! It was equivalent to twenty dollars per thousand, or double the minimum rate. Give permission! I told Mr. Umbstaetter he could cut it down two-halves if he'd only send the money along. He did, by return mail. And that is just precisely how and why I stayed by the writing game. Literally, and literarily, I was saved by the "Black Cat" short story.
To many a writer with a national reputation, the "Black Cat" has been the stepping stone. The marvelous, unthinkable thing Mr. Umbstaetter did, was to judge a story on its merits andto pay for it on its merits. Also, and only a hungry writer can appreciate it, he paid immediately on acceptance.
Of the stories in this volume, let them speak for themselves. They are true "Black Cat" stories. Personally, I care far more for men than for the best stories ever hatched. Wherefore, this introduction has been devoted to Mr. Umbstaetter, the Man.
JACK LONDON.Glen Ellen, California,March 25, 1911