"And how I am to stave them off, the deuce only knows," observed Gerald. "I want to keep in with them if I can. The notion of my finding fifty pounds!"
"There must be proceeds from a book with such reviews as these," said Hamish. "Let them take it out of their first returns."
"Oh, ah! that's all very well; but I don't know," was the answer given gloomily.
"Well, good night, old friend, for I must be off; you have my best wishes in every way. I am going to take home the book for a day; I should like to look over it; Winny says you have other copies."
"Take it if you like," growled Gerald, who heard the maid's step on the stairs, and knew he was going to be appealed to. "Now then!" he angrily saluted her, as she came in. "I've told you before you are not to bring messages up to me after dusk. How dare you disobey?"
"It's that gentleman that always will see you, sir," spoke the discomfited girl.
"I am gone to bed," roared Gerald; "be off and say so."
And Hamish Channing, running lightly downstairs, heard the bolt of the room slipped, as the servant came out of it. That Gerald had a good deal of this kind of worry, there was no doubt; but he did not go the best way to work to prevent it.
As soon as Hamish got home, he sat down to his writing-table, and set himself to examine Gerald's book. Gradually, as he turned page after page of the three volumes in rotation, a perplexed, dissatisfied look, mixed with much disappointment, seated itself in his face.
There had been no alterations made at all. All the objectionable elements were there, just as they had been in the manuscript. The book was, in fact, exactly what Hamish had found it--utterly worthless and terribly fast. It had not a chance of ultimate success. Not one reader in ten, beginning the book, would be able to call up patience to finish it. And Hamish was grievously vexed for Gerald's sake; he could have set on to bewail and bemoan aloud.