“Where were your eyes, man? But are you sure that your sister did not copy from this print? You told me it was her own sketch, but you might be mistaken.”
Charles explained that the figures represented his sisters and brother.
“Well, it is a singular thing: but if her sketches are thought so good, it is a pity she should waste her drawings on workboxes, which hundreds of people can make as well. I think she might turn her talents to greater advantage. May I ask, whether she has been doing any thing of the kind lately?”
Charles hesitated for an instant whether he should confide to Mr Blyth his anxieties about Isabella’s little volume. A moment’s thought decided him to be open about it. He knew Mr Blyth very well: he thought he might obtain directions and assistance from him better than from any one else in London. He accordingly said, “I have some of my sister’s handiwork now in my pocket. I do not quite know what to do with it. If we were not in the street, I would shew it you and consult you.”
“Come in here, then,” said Mr Blyth, and he entered the shop, and first bought the print and gave it to Charles, and then was ready to hear what his young friend had to say. When he had heard of the unsuccessful application to a bookseller, he asked his name.
“Is he the only one you have applied to?”
“Yes, at present.”
“Then perhaps I can help you. You know Mr — is a great publisher. Well: he is a friend of mine, and, if you like it, we will ask his opinion. He will not, at all events, neglect your business. If the volume is not worth the expense of publication, he will tell you so at once; if it is, he will give you a fair price for it.”
Charles was much pleased.
“If you have time,” said Mr Blyth, “we will go to him now, for he lives near. I shall be very glad to help you,” he added, kindly, “for you look rather too anxious.”