"Sit down," he said, "and 'fais feu!' Don't spare me!"
But the revision was a thankless task. Only a determination on my part that such a book shouldn't be lost supported me through it at all. Paul came to work irregularly, and in a mood that oscillated between a careless acceptance of every suggestion I made and a peremptory refusal to consider any alteration at all. But it was done at last, and I admit I waited hopefully for news from Carroll and Hugus.
After three weeks, in fact, I got a postcard asking me to call. Bonnyman was sitting in his sanctum, looking as young and as wise as on the day he came down from Balliol, and with his habitual air of finding the publishing trade a great lark.
"How's the industrious Prentice?" he cried, as soon as he saw me. "What's he been doing with himself these many moons?"
I shook hands and sat down. I profess I have never felt so jumpy when work of my own has been in question.
Bonnyman put his finger to his forehead. "What did I want to see you about, Prentice?... Oh, yes!" He touched an electric button on his desk.
"Byrne!" said he to the clerk who answered it, "bring me down 'Sad Company.' I sent it up to the packing-room the day before yesterday. It ought to be ready."
My heart sank into my boots. "Aren't you going to publish it?" I faltered.
Bonnyman shook his head.
"No go, my boy! No go at all. You've brought it to the wrong shop."