“Books, books! Acres of books, as if a poor, solitary author could possibly maintain his inspiration in the midst of such overpowering evidence of ultimate futility!
“The public have been bored with much writing on the subject of history, and recently much new history has been made. We hold no assurance, nor do we give any, that this rambling communication on the Teaching of History will do more than limp past the grand-stand already mentioned. What will be herein set forth is a description of the author’s sentiments rather than a didactic scheme, written from the standpoint of a student of history rather than from the full knowledge of a scholar.”
“I think,” said Freda, as she pounded out the last words of the preface, “that you’re too modest. But never mind, you’re writing the book, not me. You don’t seem to realize that what the public want is hot air, not a gentleman’s modest viewpoint.”
Mauney laughed, and sat up on the sofa, watching her fingers fly over the keys.
“I appreciate the value of hot air, thoroughly, Miss MacDowell, but I really want to be sincere in this business. Do you know—it’s great fun writing a book—with you.”
“I thank you,” she said, dropping her hands in her lap with a sigh. “Now, have you got your first chapter ready to commence?”
“Yes, call it, ‘The Beginner’s Preconceptions of History.’ Are you ready?”
“Ever at thy service!”
With a glance at her roguish face he settled down again upon the comfortable sofa and dictated once more from the fullness of his heart. They worked hard until, at noon, Maxwell Lee opened the parlor door, sticking in his head and glancing from one to the other.