Richard told him, with as little circumlocution as pride would allow, the history of the last few sterile months.
"I suppose you feel a bit downhearted."
"Not in the least!" answered Richard, bravely, and just then his reply was approximately true.
"Never feel downhearted?"
"Well, of course one gets a bit sick sometimes."
"Let's see, to-day's the 30th. How many words have you written this month?"
"How many words!" Richard laughed. "I never count what I do in that way. But it's not much. I haven't felt in the humour. There was the funeral. That put me off."
"I suppose you think you must write only when the mood is on you." Mr. Aked spoke sarcastically, and then laughed. "Quite a mistake. I'll give you this bit of advice and charge nothing for it. Sit down every night and write five hundred words descriptive of some scene which has occurred during the day. Never mind how tired you are; do it. Do it for six months, and then compare the earlier work with the later, and you'll keep on."
Richard drank the wisdom in.
"Did you do that once?"