'There'll come a day,' he told him, 'when you've played out all your tunes and your barrel is worn smooth, and no one will throw you any more coppers. Then you'll want a regular employment to fall back upon. Why don't you get called?'
'Because I don't want to be tied down,' said Mark. 'I want to go about and study character. I want to enjoy my life while I can.'
'So did the grasshopper,' said Mr. Shelford.
'You don't believe in me, I know,' said Mark. 'You think I shall never do anything like "Illusion" again. Well, I believe in myself. I think my tunes will last out my life at all events. I really work uncommonly hard. I have two novels ready for the press at this moment, which is pretty well for a mere grasshopper.'
'But wearing for a mere barrel-organ,' said the old gentleman. 'Be careful; don't write too much. The public never forgive a disappointment. Whatever you do, give them of your best.'
And shortly after this conversation Mark left his novel, 'Sweet Bells Jangled,' with Chilton and Fladgate, mentioning terms which even to himself seemed slightly exorbitant. He had a note from the firm in the course of a day or two, appointing an interview, and on going up to the publishing office found both of the partners waiting to receive him. Mr. Chilton was a spare angular man, who confined himself chiefly to the purely financial department.
'We have decided to accept your terms, subject to a few modifications which we can discuss presently,' he said.
'You think the book is likely to be a success?' asked Mark, unable to control his anxiety.
'Any work by the author of "Illusion" is sure to command attention,' said Mr. Chilton.
'But you like the subject?' pursued Mark.