Now, one of the salient defects in the work of the author of this story, according to his reviewers, is that he makes his personages talk more smartly than they would naturally. But, he asks, would it be tolerable to the reader, would it be just to the printer—to force upon them the literal transcript of the ordinary conversation that passes between people every day? When we were schoolboys we had a pudding served to us on Wednesdays which we call milestone pudding, not because it was hard, but because it was a plum-pudding with a mile between the plums. Is there not a good mile between our bon mots? Is it legitimate art, is it kind, to make the reader pursue a conversation through several pages of talk void of thought, stuffed with matter of everyday interest? Is it not more artistic, and more humane, to steam the whole down to an essence, and then—well, add a grain of salt and a pinch of spice?
The reader shall be the judge. We will take the morning dialogue between Mrs. Sidebottom and Salome at breakfast.
'Good-morning, Mrs. Sidebottom.'
'I wish you good-morning, Salome.'
Author: Cannot that be taken for granted? May it not be struck out with advantage?
'I hope you slept well,' said Salome.
'Only so so. How is your poor mother?'
'Not much better, thank you.'
'And darling baby?'
'About the same. We have, indeed, a sick house. Tea or coffee, please?'