When a Man's Single: A Tale of Literary Life

by J. M. Barrie

'There is everything in that. It is what made the Shepherd's Bush gentleman my admirer for life. He considers it the strangest and most diverting thing in his experience, and every night, I believe, after dinner, his eldest daughter has to read out to him the passages in which the Henry Gildings are thickest. He chuckles over the extraordinary coincidence still. He could take that joke with him to the seaside for a month, and it would keep him in humour all the time.'

'Have done, Simms, have done,' said Rorrison; 'Angus is one of us, or wants to be, at all events. The Minotaur is printing one of his things, and I have been giving him some sage advice.'

'Any man,' said Simms, 'will do well on the Press if he is stupid enough; even Rorrison has done well.'

'I have just been telling him,' responded Rorrison, 'that the stupid men fail.'

'I don't consider you a failure, Rorrison,' said Simms, in mild surprise. 'What stock-in-trade a literary hand requires, Mr. Angus, is a fire to dry his writing at, jam or honey with which to gum old stamps on to envelopes, and an antimacassar.'

'An antimacassar?' Rob repeated.

'Yes; you pluck the thread with which to sew your copy together out of the antimacassar. When my antimacassars are at the wash I have to take a holiday.'

'Well, well, Simms,' said Rorrison, 'I like you best when you are taciturn.'

'So do I,' said Simms.

'You might give Angus some advice about the likeliest papers for which to write. London is new to him.'