“Even the old oak-tree where we used to sit,” she smiled—
“Hear it, O Thyrsis, still our tree is there!”
Section 1. Thyrsis was half hoping that the next publisher would decline the manuscript; and he was only mildly stirred when he got a letter saying that although the publisher could not make an offer for the book, one of his readers was so much interested in it that he would like to have a talk with the author. Thyrsis replied that he was willing; and to his surprise he learned that the reader was none other than that Prof. Osborne, who in the university had impressed upon him his ignorance of the art of writing.
He paid a call at the professor’s home, and they had a long talk. There was nothing said about their former interview. Evidently the other recognized that Thyrsis had succeeded in making good his claim to be allowed to hew his own way; and Thyrsis was content with that tacit surrender.
They talked about the book. The professor first assured him that it would not sell, and then went on to explain to him why; and so they came to a grapple.
“The thing is sincere, perhaps even exalted,” said Prof. Osborne; “but it’s overstrained and exaggerated.”
“But isn’t it alive?” asked Thyrsis.
The other pondered; he always spoke deliberately, choosing his words with precision. “Some people might think so,” he said. “For myself, I have never known any such life.”
“But what’s that got to do with it?” cried Thyrsis.
“It has much to do with it—for me. One has to judge by what one knows—”