“How humiliating it makes labor when one has to work to please a popular taste! I always had fancied that the author or the painter or the musician stood on a sort of pedestal, to the foot of which came the publisher, entreating that he might be permitted to catch the utterings of genius, and become the channel through which they should flow into an expectant world; and now I see it is the music-seller or the print-seller is on the pedestal, and the man of genius kneels at his feet and prays to be patronized.”
“I am sure, Gusty,” said she, drawing her arm within his, as he stood at the window,—“I am sure we must have friends who would find you some employment in the public service that you would not dislike, and you would even take interest in. Let us see first what we could ask for.”
“No; first let us think of whom we could ask for it.”
“Well, be it so. There is Sir Francis Deighton; isn't he a Cabinet Minister?”
“Yes. My father gave him his first rise in life; but I 'm not sure they kept up much intimacy later on.”
“I'll write to him, Gusty; he has all the Colonial patronage, and could easily make you governor of something tomorrow. Say 'yes;' tell me I may write to him.”
“It's not a pleasant task to assign you, dear Nelly,” said he, with a sad smile; “and yet I feel you will do it better than I should.”
“I shall write,” said she, boldly, “with the full assurance that Sir Francis will be well pleased to have an opportunity to serve the son of an old friend and benefactor.”
“Perhaps it is that my late defeats have made me cowardly—but I own, Nelly, I am less than hopeful of success.”
“And I am full of confidence. Shall I show you my letter when I have written it?”