“No, not just at present.”
“Not? Don't you think that you might find it possible to produce something just a little more in accordance with the public taste? Don't you think, for instance, that you might possibly write a novel?”
(Some hesitation.) “I have thought of a novel.”
“Ah! And might I ask—would it be a character study?—or perhaps historical?—or—”
“It would be historical.”
“Ah! And of what period?”
“The Civil War.”
(A great look of satisfaction.) “Dear me! Why, that is very interesting indeed, Mr. Stirling! I should like to see such a work from your pen. And are you thinking of completing it soon?”
(General discomfort on my part.) “I had never thought of the time exactly. I had feared it would take a great many years.”
(Perplexity.) “Oh, pshaw!—still, of course, that is the way all great work is done. Yes, one has to obey one's own inspiration. I understand perfectly how he can not adjust himself to the market. I have seen too often how disastrous such attempts are.”