"Don't let me disturb you," he said to the worker. "I'll just have a smoke to kill wakefulness."
"If you can't sleep," said O'Rourke, "just listen to this as long as your eyes will stay open."
He sorted over his pages of copy and began to read. His voice was low-pitched, and through it sounded the whispering of the steamer's passage across the rocking waters. The style was full of colour, and Hemming was keenly interested from start to finish. Not until the last page was turned over did O'Rourke look up.
"What! not asleep yet!" he exclaimed.
"That seems to me very fine," said Hemming, seriously, "and I should certainly take it for literature of an unusually high order if I did not know that journalists cannot write literature."
"Do you think it will do?" asked O'Rourke, modestly.
"My dear chap," replied Hemming, "it will do for anything,—for a book, or to carve on a monument. It's a dashed sight too good for any newspaper."
"It certainly wouldn't do for a newspaper," laughed the younger man. "Just imagine an editor with a blue pencil, loose on those descriptions of vegetation. When I do newspaper stuff, I throw in the blood and leave out the beauty. That is for Griffin's Magazine."
"Are you sure of your market?" asked the Englishman, wondering for even in England, Griffin's was known for its quality.
"It was ordered," said O'Rourke, "and this will make the ninth article I have done for them within five years. After months of seeing and feeling things, I put the heart of it all, at one sitting, into a story for Griffin's. After that I cook my experiences and hard-earned knowledge into lesser dishes for lesser customers. Sometimes I even let it off in lyrics."