“A fat man!”
“Yes—a fat man. A fat body, and a fat mind, and a fat soul.”
“Please tell me, Thyrsis!”
“He said my book wouldn’t sell, because the public had got tired of that sort of thing.”
“That sort of thing!”
“It seems that people used to buy ‘historical romances’, and now they’ve stopped. The man actually thought my book was one of that kind!”
“I see. But then—couldn’t you tell him?”
“I told him. I said, ‘Can’t you see that this book is original—that it’s come out of a man’s heart?’ ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘perhaps. But you can’t expect the public to see it.’ And so there you are!”
Thyrsis sat with his nails dug into his palms. “It’s just like the book-reviews!” he cried. “He knows better, but that doesn’t count—he’s thinking about the public! And he’s got to the point where he doesn’t really care—he’s a fat man!”
“And so he’ll not publish the book?”