第27章 THE PRACTICAL FRIEND(3)

''Tis my vocation, Hal! You might think I hadn't experience enough, to begin with. But my intuition is so strong that I can make a little experience go an immense way. Most people would imagine I had been wasting my time these last few years, just sauntering about, reading nothing but periodicals, making acquaintance with loafers of every description. The truth is, Ihave been collecting ideas, and ideas that are convertible into coin of the realm, my boy; I have the special faculty of an extempore writer. Never in my life shall I do anything of solid literary value; I shall always despise the people I write for.

But my path will be that of success. I have always said it, and now I'm sure of it.'

'Does Fadge retire from The Study, then?' inquired Reardon, when he had received this tirade with a friendly laugh.

'Yes, he does. Was going to, it seems, in any case. Of course Iheard nothing about the two reviews, and I was almost afraid to smile whilst Fadge was talking with me, lest I should betray my thought. Did you know anything about the fellow before?'

'Not I. Didn't know who edited The Study.'

'Nor I either. Remarkable what a number of illustrious obscure are going about. But I have still something else to tell you. I'm going to set my sisters afloat in literature.'

'How!'

'Well, I don't see why they shouldn't try their hands at a little writing, instead of giving lessons, which doesn't suit them a bit. Last night, when I got back from Wimbledon, I went to look up Davies. Perhaps you don't remember my mentioning him; a fellow who was at Jolly and Monk's, the publishers, up to a year ago. He edits a trade journal now, and I see very little of him. However, I found him at home, and had a long practical talk with him. Iwanted to find out the state of the market as to such wares as Jolly and Monk dispose of. He gave me some very useful hints, and the result was that I went off this morning and saw Monk himself --no Jolly exists at present. "Mr Monk," I began, in my blandest tone--you know it--"I am requested to call upon you by a lady who thinks of preparing a little volume to be called 'A Child's History of the English Parliament.' Her idea is, that"--and so on. Well, I got on admirably with Monk, especially when he learnt that I was to be connected with Culpepper's new venture; he smiled upon the project, and said he should be very glad to see a specimen chapter; if that pleased him, we could then discuss terms.'

'But has one of your sisters really begun such a book?' inquired Amy.

'Neither of them knows anything of the matter, but they are certainly capable of doing the kind of thing I have in mind, which will consist largely of anecdotes of prominent statesmen. Imyself shall write the specimen chapter, and send it to the girls to show them what I propose. I shouldn't wonder if they make some fifty pounds out of it. The few books that will be necessary they can either get at a Wattleborough library, or I can send them.'

'Your energy is remarkable, all of a sudden,' said Reardon.

'Yes. The hour has come, I find. "There is a tide"--to quote something that has the charm of freshness.'

The supper--which consisted of bread and butter, cheese, sardines, cocoa--was now over, and Jasper, still enlarging on his recent experiences and future prospects, led the way back to the sitting-room. Not very long after this, Amy left the two friends to their pipes; she was anxious that her husband should discuss his affairs privately with Milvain, and give ear to the practical advice which she knew would be tendered him.

'I hear that you are still stuck fast,' began Jasper, when they had smoked awhile in silence.

'Yes.'

'Getting rather serious, I should fear, isn't it?'

'Yes,' repeated Reardon, in a low voice.

'Come, come, old man, you can't go on in this way. Would it, or wouldn't it, be any use if you took a seaside holiday?'

'Not the least. I am incapable of holiday, if the opportunity were offered. Do something I must, or I shall fret myself into imbecility.'

'Very well. What is it to be?'

'I shall try to manufacture two volumes. They needn't run to more than about two hundred and seventy pages, and those well spaced out.'

'This is refreshing. This is practical. But look now: let it be something rather sensational. Couldn't we invent a good title--something to catch eye and ear? The title would suggest the story, you know.'

Reardon laughed contemptuously, but the scorn was directed rather against himself than Milvain.

'Let's try,' he muttered.

Both appeared to exercise their minds on the problem for a few minutes. Then Jasper slapped his knee.

'How would this do: "The Weird Sisters"? Devilish good, eh?

Suggests all sorts of things, both to the vulgar and the educated. Nothing brutally clap-trap about it, you know.'

'But--what does it suggest to you?'

'Oh, witch-like, mysterious girls or women. Think it over.'

There was another long silence. Reardon's face was that of a man in blank misery.

'I have been trying,' he said at length, after an attempt to speak which was checked by a huskiness in his throat, 'to explain to myself how this state of things has come about. I almost think I can do so.'

'How?'