"And how are you going to do it?" asked Peter.
Well, it seemed that Temple's prospects were especially bright just then. It happened that Mr. Dibden, the original inventor of "Dibden's Blue Pills," was anxious to "dabble in art." He was ready to put quite a little of his "blue pill" money behind a new critical paper, and the editor of this paper was to be Temple.
"Of course," said Temple. "I'm not going to agree to it unless he guarantees us at least five years' run. A paper of the sort that I have in mind always takes some time to make its impression. In five years the world at least will be able to see what we are made of. I've no fears."
Peter, who was more ingenuous than he knew, was caught by the rather wistful eagerness in Temple's voice.
"This fellow really does care," he thought.
"We want you to come in with us," said Temple. "Of course, we shall have nothing to do with fellows like D—— and W—— and M——; men who've simply made successes by rotten work. No! But I flatter myself that there will be no one of our generation of any merit who won't join us. You must be one."
"I'm too old," said Peter, "for your young lot."
"Too old!" cried Temple. "Rot! Of course, it's a long time since The Vineo, but all the better. You'll be the fresher for the pause. Not like M—— and W——, who turn out novels twice a year as though they were sausages. Besides, you've been in the war. You've seen at first hand what it is. None of these ghastly high spirits about you! You'll have the right pessimistic outlook."
"I don't know that I shall," said Peter, laughing.