She argued that the theatrical business was not for him; and she saw ahead and pointed out so strongly the mistake he was making that he sought Miss Davenport the next day and told her of his mother’s stand.  The actress suggested that she see the mother; she did, that day, and she came away from the interview a wiser if a sadder woman.  Miss Davenport frankly told Bok that with such an instinctive objection as his mother seemed to have, he was right to follow her advice and the contract was not to be thought of.

It is difficult to say whether this was or was not for Bok the turning-point which comes in the life of every young man.  Where the venture into theatrical life would have led him no one can, of course, say.  One thing is certain:  Bok’s instinct and reason both failed him in this instance.  He believes now that had his venture into the theatrical field been temporary or permanent, the experiment, either way, would have been disastrous.

Looking back and viewing the theatrical profession even as it was in that day (of a much higher order than now), he is convinced he would never have been happy in it.  He might have found this out in a year or more, after the novelty of travelling had worn off, and asked release from his contract; in that case he would have broken his line of progress in the publishing business.  From whatever viewpoint he has looked back upon this, which he now believes to have been the crisis in his life, he is convinced that his mother’s instinct saved him from a grievous mistake.

The Scribner house, in its foreign-book department, had imported some copies of Bourrienne’s Life of Napoleon, and a set had found its way to Bok’s desk for advertising purposes.  He took the books home to glance them ever, found himself interested, and sat up half the night to read them.  Then he took the set to the editor of the New York Star, and suggested that such a book warranted a special review, and offered to leave the work for the literary editor.

“You have read the books?” asked the editor.

“Every word,” returned Bok.

“Then, why don’t you write the review?” suggested the editor.

This was a new thought to Bok.  “Never wrote a review,” he said.

“Try it,” answered the editor.  “Write a column.”

“A column wouldn’t scratch the surface of this book,” suggested the embryo reviewer.

“Well, give it what it is worth,” returned the editor.

Bok did.  He wrote a page of the paper.

“Too much, too much,” said the editor.  “Heavens, man, we’ve got to get some news into this paper.”

“Very well,” returned the reviewer.  “Read it, and cut it where you like.  That’s the way I see the book.”

And next Sunday the review appeared, word for word, as Bok had written it.  His first review had successfully passed!