But he never reached it. Perhaps an entire ignorance of what he should do when he got there paralysed him, as it did his creator. After all, you can hardly run a five-Act comedy on stage directions and a single epigram, though I admit that the attempt has been made.
So there the thing rested. From time to time I had wild ideas of advertising it in the literary papers: "For sale, original epigram, mint condition, wide application, never been used. Cheap; or would accept typewriter, or workable film-plots." But even then I might have no offers. I began to think that my little property was going to prove unrealisable.
But only yesterday something happened.
"I'm awfully sorry, dear," said Ursula, entering the study with an air of contrition. "It isn't my fault; but the Carter girls are here having tea, and the eldest one has brought her birthday-book." She held out the detestable little volume as she spoke.
"You know perfectly well that I never—— Is the eldest the one with dark eyes?"
"Yes, that's the girl. She's going to be a lady-gardener."
It was like a voice from heaven. "For this once," I said benevolently, "I will make an exception." I took the book, already open at some absurd date in April, and wrote in a clear hand:—
"The professional horticulturist should beware lest he (or she) make that a master which should remain a mistress."
Ursula read it twice. "It's awfully clever," she said, "and on the spur of the moment too! I can't imagine how you think of these things."
"Oh, they just come," I said. So it was not wholly wasted, though I own I should have preferred cash on delivery. Still we can't have everything.