his young men, but they always left them on their desks; so next he tried the second-hand book-shops, in the hope that people from the country would buy the three volumes because they looked so cheap at two shillings. However, even the label "Published at 31s. 6d.: offered for 2s.," was barren of results. I used to stand in an alley near one of these book-shops, and watch the people handling my novel.'
'But no one made an offer for it?'
'Not at two shillings, but when it came down to one-and-sixpence an elderly man with spectacles very nearly bought it. He was undecided between it and a Trigonometry, but in the end he went off with the Trigonometry. Then a young lady in grey and pink seemed interested in it. I watched her reading the bit about Lord John entering the drawing-room suddenly and finding Henry on his knees, and once I distinctly saw her smile.'
'She might have bought the novel if only to see how it ended.'
'Ah, I have always been of opinion that she would have done so, had she not most unfortunately, in her eagerness to learn what Henry said when he and Eleanor went into the conservatory, knocked a row of books over with her elbow. That frightened her, and she took to flight.'
'Most unfortunate,' said Rob solemnly, though he was already beginning to understand Simms—as Simms was on the surface.
'I had a still greater disappointment,' continued the author, 'a few days afterwards. By this time the book was marked "Very Amusing, 1s., worth 1s. 6d."; and when I saw a pale-looking young man, who had been examining it, enter the shop, I thought the novel was as good as sold. My excitement was intense when a shopman came out for the three volumes and carried them inside, but I was puzzled on seeing the young gentleman depart, apparently without having made a purchase. Consider my feelings when the shopman replaced the three volumes on his shelf with the new label, "924 pp., 8d.; worth 1s."'
'Surely it found a purchaser now?'
'Alas, no. The only man who seemed to be attracted by it at eightpence turned out to be the author of John Mordaunt's Christmas Box ("Thrilling! Published at 6s.: offered at 1s. 3d."), who was hanging about in the interests of his own work.'
'Did it come down to "Sixpence, worth ninepence"?'
'No; when I returned to the spot next day I found volumes One and Three in the "2d. any vol." box, and I carried them away myself. What became of volume Two I have never been able to discover. I rummaged the box for it in vain.'
'As a matter of fact, Angus,' remarked Rorrison, 'the novel is now in its third edition.'
'I always understood that it had done well,' said Rob.
'The fourth time I asked for it at Mudie's,' said Simms, the latter half of whose sentences were sometimes scarcely audible, 'I inquired how it was doing, and was told that it had been already asked for three times. Curiously enough there is a general impression that it has been a great success, and for that I have to thank one man.'
'The admirer of whom you spoke?'
'Yes, my admirer, as I love to call him. I first heard of him as a business gentleman living at Shepherd's Bush, who spoke with rapture of my novel to any chance acquaintances he made on the tops of buses. Then my aunt told me that a young lady knew a stout man living at Shepherd's Bush who could talk of nothing but my book; and on inquiry at my publisher's I learnt that a gentleman answering to this description had bought two copies. I heard of my admirer from different quarters for the next month, until a great longing rose in me to see him, to clasp his hand, to ask what part of the book he liked best, at the least to walk up and down past his windows, feeling that two men who appreciated each other were only separated by a pane of glass.'
'Did you ever discover who he was?'
'I did. He lives at 42 Lavender Crescent, Shepherd's Bush, and his name is Henry Gilding.'
'Well?' said Rob, seeing Simms pause as if this was all.
'I am afraid, Mr. Angus,' the author murmured in reply, 'that you did not read the powerful and harrowing tale very carefully, or you would remember that my hero's name was also Henry Gilding.'
'Well, but what of that?'
'There is everything in that. It is what made the Shepherd's Bush gentleman my admirer for life. He considers it the strangest and most diverting thing in his experience, and every night, I believe, after dinner, his eldest daughter has to read out to him the passages in which the Henry Gildings are thickest. He chuckles over the extraordinary coincidence still. He could take that joke with him to the seaside for a month, and it would keep him in humour all the time.'
'Have done, Simms, have done,' said Rorrison; 'Angus is one of us, or wants to be, at all events. The Minotaur is printing one of his things, and I have been giving him some sage advice.'
'Any man,' said Simms, 'will do well on the Press if he is stupid enough; even Rorrison has done well.'
'I have just been telling him,' responded Rorrison, 'that the stupid men fail.'
'I don't consider you a failure, Rorrison,' said Simms, in mild surprise. 'What stock-in-trade a literary hand requires, Mr. Angus, is a fire to dry his writing at, jam or honey with which to gum old stamps on to envelopes, and an antimacassar.'
'An antimacassar?' Rob repeated.
'Yes; you pluck the thread with which to sew your copy together out of the antimacassar. When my antimacassars are at the wash I have to take a holiday.'
'Well, well, Simms,' said Rorrison, 'I like you best when you are taciturn.'
'So do I,' said Simms.
'You might give Angus some advice about the likeliest papers for which to write. London is new to him.'
'The fact is, Mr. Angus,' said Simms, more seriously, 'that advice in such a matter is merely talk thrown away. If you have the journalistic instinct, which includes a determination not to be beaten, as well as an aptitude for selecting the proper subjects, you will by and by find an editor who believes in you. Many men of genuine literary ability have failed on the Press because they did not have that instinct, and they have attacked journalism in their books in consequence.'
'I am not sure that I know what the journalistic instinct precisely is,' Rob said, 'and still less whether I possess it.'
'Ah, just let me put you through your paces,' replied Simms. 'Suppose yourself up for an exam. in journalism, and that I am your examiner. Question One: "The house was soon on fire; much sympathy is expressed with the sufferers." Can you translate that into newspaper English?'
'Let me see,' answered Rob, entering into the spirit of the examination. 'How would this do: "In a moment the edifice was enveloped in shooting tongues of flame: the appalling catastrophe has plunged the whole street into the gloom of night"?'
'Good. Question Two: A man hangs himself; what is the technical heading for this?'
'Either "Shocking Occurrence" or "Rash Act."'
'Question Three: "Pabulum," "Cela va sans dire," "Par excellence," "Ne plus ultra." What are these? Are there any more of them?'
'They are scholarship,' replied Rob, 'and there are two more, namely, "tour de force" and "terra firma."'
'Question Four: A. (a soldier) dies at 6
