To write for one’s bread and to write for mere pastime are very different matters. When I was compelled to follow journalism as a profession I put my very soul into my work; but now my keen enthusiasm had entirely disappeared, and I had neither patience nor inclination to write for pleasure.
“Man-hunting would be rattling good fun,” remarked Latimer, “especially when one is free, and possesses as much of the world’s good things as you, Burgoyne.”
“What nonsense you fellows talk?” I said. “How could I hope to succeed where Scotland Yard fails?”
“Exactly. But they haven’t seen the man they want; you have.”
“Oh, let’s change the subject. If ever I come across him he shall not go unpunished. Now, I’ve been at the inquest all day, and am bored to death with the whole thing. Come, Bob, let’s go out on the balcony; I want to talk to you,” I added, addressing Nugent.
Rising, we both passed out upon the veranda overlooking the Embankment.