Words, and figures, and little morsels of sketches came very fast now, the secret of his present success being that he did not try to force himself to think, and my readers will find that our best thoughts come to us when we do not try to worry after them.
Yes, Captain Lyle’s ideas were flowing now, so quickly that he had to jot them down, or sketch them down here and there all over a great sheet of paper, and in about an hour’s time the rush of thought had, in a measure, expended itself. He leant back in his chair, and gave a sigh of relief.
Once more Effie came stealing up on tiptoe and peeped over his shoulder.
“Oh, what a scrawl!” she cried.
“My dear Eff,” said her father, “that is only the crude material.”
“Leonardie,” cried Effie, “come and see the rude material.”
“Well, it does seem rude enough material,” said Leonard.
“Yes,” said Effie, “but I’m sure my clever papa will make something out of it before he has done.”
Note 1. Dool, Scottice—Grief or sorrow.