“Very well,” said George submissively.
He went to another, the only one whom he knew rather intimately, a pale, hardworking, energetic young fellow, who had got all manner of distinctions at English and German universities, who had a real critical talent, and who had risen quickly to his present position by his innate superiority over all competitors in his own line. George liked him and admired him. His pay was not brilliant, for he was not on one of the largest papers, but he managed to support his mother and two young sisters on his earnings.
“Look here, Wood,” he said one morning, “this is not the way criticism is done. You are not a critic by nature. Some people are. I believe I am, and I always meant to be one. You do this sort of thing just as you would do any writing that did not interest you, and you do it fairly well, because you have had a good education, and you know a lot of things that ordinary people do not know. But it is not your strong point, and I do not believe it ever will be. Try something else. Write an article.”
“That is what everybody tells me to do,” George answered. He was disappointed, for he believed that what he did was really good, and he had expected that the man with whom he was now speaking would have been the one of all others to appreciate his work. “That is what they all tell me,” he continued, “but they do not tell me how to get my articles accepted. Have you a recipe for that, Johnson?”
The pale young man did not answer at once. He was extremely conscientious, which was one reason why he was a good critic.
“I cannot promise much,” he said at last. “But I will tell you what I will do for you. If you will write an article, or a short story—say five to eight thousand words—I will read it and give you my honest opinion. If I like it, I’ll push it, and it may get into print. If I don’t, I’ll tell you so, and I’ll do nothing. You will have to try again. But I am convinced that you are naturally an author and not a critic.”
“Thank you,” said George gratefully. He knew what the promise meant, from such a man as Johnson, who would have to sacrifice his time to the reading of the manuscript, and whose opinion was worth having.
“Can you give me any work this week?” he asked, before he took his leave.
Johnson looked at him quietly, as though making up his mind what to say.
“I would rather not. You do not do it as well as you did, and I am responsible. If there is anything else I could do for you——” He stopped.