see!' cried Jasper, forgetting all about the
infant in the next room, 'all things come to the man who knows how
to wait. But I'm hanged if I expected a thing of this kind to come
so soon! Why, I'm a man of distinction! My doings have been noted;
the admirable qualities of my style have drawn attention; I'm
looked upon as one of the coming men! Thanks, I confess, in some
measure, to old Barlow; he seems to have amused himself with
cracking me up to all and sundry. That last thing of mine in The
West End has done me a vast amount of good, it seems. And Alfred
Yule himself had noticed that paper in The Wayside. That's how
things work, you know; reputation comes with a burst, just when
you're not looking for anything of the kind.'
'What's the new magazine to be called?' asked Amy.
'Why, they propose The Current. Not bad, in a way; though you
imagine a fellow saying "Have you seen the current Current?" At all
events, the tone is to be up to date, and the articles are to be
short; no padding, merum sal from cover to cover. What do you think
I have undertaken to do, for a start? A paper consisting of
sketches of typical readers of each of the principal daily and
weekly papers. A deuced good idea, you know—my own, of course—but
deucedly hard to carry out. I shall rise to the occasion, see if I
don't. I'll rival Fadge himself in maliciousness—though I must
confess I discovered no particular malice in the fellow's way of
talking. The article shall make a sensation. I'll spend a whole
month on it, and make it a perfect piece of satire.'
'Now that's the kind of thing that inspires me with awe and
envy,' said Reardon. 'I could no more write such a paper than an
article on Fluxions.'
''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, I
have 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 I
heard 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. I wanted
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
infant in the next room, 'all things come to the man who knows how
to wait. But I'm hanged if I expected a thing of this kind to come
so soon! Why, I'm a man of distinction! My doings have been noted;
the admirable qualities of my style have drawn attention; I'm
looked upon as one of the coming men! Thanks, I confess, in some
measure, to old Barlow; he seems to have amused himself with
cracking me up to all and sundry. That last thing of mine in The
West End has done me a vast amount of good, it seems. And Alfred
Yule himself had noticed that paper in The Wayside. That's how
things work, you know; reputation comes with a burst, just when
you're not looking for anything of the kind.'
'What's the new magazine to be called?' asked Amy.
'Why, they propose The Current. Not bad, in a way; though you
imagine a fellow saying "Have you seen the current Current?" At all
events, the tone is to be up to date, and the articles are to be
short; no padding, merum sal from cover to cover. What do you think
I have undertaken to do, for a start? A paper consisting of
sketches of typical readers of each of the principal daily and
weekly papers. A deuced good idea, you know—my own, of course—but
deucedly hard to carry out. I shall rise to the occasion, see if I
don't. I'll rival Fadge himself in maliciousness—though I must
confess I discovered no particular malice in the fellow's way of
talking. The article shall make a sensation. I'll spend a whole
month on it, and make it a perfect piece of satire.'
'Now that's the kind of thing that inspires me with awe and
envy,' said Reardon. 'I could no more write such a paper than an
article on Fluxions.'
''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, I
have 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 I
heard 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. I wanted
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
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