"Do you suppose," he asked, desperately, "that Jules Verne ever traveled sixty thousand leagues under the sea or made a journey to the moon?"
Mr. Weil could not help uttering a little laugh. Mr. Gouger struck his hands together and clinched them.
"No," said he. "But he could have written neither of those wonderful tales without a knowledge of the sciences of which they treat."
"He has read, and I have read," responded Roseleaf. "What is the difference?"
"He has studied, and you have not," retorted the critic. "That makes all the difference in the world. He has a correct idea of the structure of the moon and what should be found in the unexplored caverns of the ocean; while you, in total ignorance, have attempted to deal in a science to which these are the merest bagatelles! You know as little of the tides that control the heart of a girl as you do of the personal history of the inhabitants of Jupiter! Your powers of description are good; those of invention feeble. Either throw yourself into a love affair, till you have learned it root and branch, or never again try to depict one."
Mr. Archie Weil smiled and nodded, as if he entirely agreed with the speaker.
"What a novel I could make, my dear fellow!" he exclaimed, "if I only had the talent. I have had experiences enough, but I could no more write them out than I could fly."
"It is quite as well," was the response, "your women would all be Messalinas and fiction has too many now."
"Not all of them, Lawrence," was the quick and meaning reply.
"In that case," said Gouger, "I wish heartily you could write. The world is famishing for a real love story, based on modern lines, brought up to date. I tell you, there has been nothing satisfactory in that line since Goethe's day."