“Coming well, Elice! What a question to ask of probably America’s foremost living writer!” The speaker was still smiling. “What reprehensible misgiving, suspicion even!” Sudden silence, wherein bit by bit the smile faded. Silence continued until in its place came a new expression, one that changed the boy’s face absolutely, made it a man’s face—and not a young one at that.
“Coming well, Elice?” he repeated. “Honest, as you say, I don’t know.” The hammock had become still, but the speaker did not notice, merely lying there looking up into the sunshine and the blue unseeingly. “Sometimes I think it is, and then again—if one could only know about such things, know, not hope—of course 80 every writer in his own soul fancies—and his friends, for that matter, are just about as useful—” The speaker drew himself together with a shrug. For an instant his jaw locked decisively.
“I know I’m more or less irresponsible, as a rule, Elice,” he analyzed swiftly, “and probably create the impression that I’m even more irresponsible than I am; but in this thing, at least, I’m serious. From the bottom of my soul I want to write well, want to. As I said before, sometimes I think I can—auto-intoxication maybe it is, I don’t know—and I’m as happy as a child, or a god, or a bird, or any completely happy thing you can fancy. Then again, as it’s been the past week, or the past month for that matter, I don’t seem to be able to do anything new. On top of this everything I’ve already done fairly personifies and leers at me. I get so that I fairly hate myself for the utter failure that I am, that at least I have been so far. I get to analyzing myself; I can’t help it, and the result isn’t pleasant. I’ve been doing so lately. I don’t overestimate myself in the least, Elice girl. Practically, commercially, I’m a zero. I’m simply not built that way. If I’m ever of any use in the world, ever amount to anything whatever, it will be in an impractical, artistic way. Whether I’ll 81 ever win out so—oh, for light, for light!... Frankly, the new novel is going badly, Elice, cursedly bad!”
“I’m sorry, Steve. You know—”
“Yes, I know.”
“I’ve believed always, and still believe—”
“Yes, I know that too.”
“You’ve got it in you to win; I know it, and you know it. You’ve done good work already, lots of it, and—”
“Wade into him and lick him!” bitterly. “He’s only three sizes larger than you are, and afraid—I know you can lick him. Wade in!”
The girl said nothing.