"An article for some magazine, then?"
"Not a line."
"Well, at least you have been standing for your photograph, to illustrate some book on Cricket that another fellow is writing."
He laughed.
"You have me there. Yes, I've been photographed in the act of bowling— 'Before' and 'After': quite like Somebody's Hair Restorer."
"Well," said I, "and I wish you had contributed to the letterpress, too. For the wonder to me is, not that you cricketers write books (for all the world wants to read them), but that you do it so prodigiously well."
"Oh," said he, "you mean Ranji! But he's a terror."
"I was thinking of him, of course; but of others as well. Here, for instance, is a book I have just bought, or rather an instalment of one: The Encyclopædia of Sport, edited by the Earl of Suffolk and Berkshire, Mr. Hedley Peek, and Mr. Aflalo, published by Messrs. Lawrence and Bullen: Part IV., CHA to CRO. I turn to the article on Cricket, and am referred 'for all questions connected with fast bowling, and for many questions associated with medium and slow' to 'the following paper by Tom Richardson.'"
"Tom Richardson ought to know," put in Grayson.
"Good Heavens!" said I, "I am not disputing that! But I remember Ruskin's insisting—I think in Sesame and Lilies—that no true artist ever talks much of his art. The greatest are silent. 'The moment,' says Ruskin, 'a man can really do his work he becomes speechless about it. All words become idle to him—all theories.' And he goes on to ask, in his vivacious way, 'Does a bird theorise about building its nest?' Well, as to that one cannot be sure. But I take it we may call Richardson a true artist?"