New Grub Street

hand; sixty written slips of the kind of paper he habitually used would represent - thanks to the astonishing system which prevails in such matters: large type, wide spacing, frequency of

ng him a hundred pounds; seventy-five perhaps. But even that small sum would enable him to pay the quarter's rent, and then give him a short time, if only two or three weeks, of mental rest. If

a difference of note which seemed to Reardon very appropriate - a thin, querulous voice, reminding one of the community it represented. After lying awake for awhile he would hear quarters sounding; if they ceased before the fourth he was glad, for he feared to know what time it was. If the hour was complete, he waited anxiously for its number. Two, three, even four, were grateful; there was still a long time before he need rise and face the dreaded task, the horrible four blank slips of paper that had to be filled ere he might sleep

of genuine success. If he earned a bare living, that would be the u

y it would not be long before Amy married again, this time a man of whose competency to maintain her there would be no doubt. His own behaviour had been cow

uld that, again, be cowardly? The opposite, when once it was certain that to live meant poverty and wretchedness. Amy's grief, however sincere, would be but a short trial compared with what else might lie before her. The burden of suppo

on to his mind, began to be frequent, and would soon succeed each other

kingly when he strove to fix them. But he had decided upon a story of the kind natural to him; a 'thin' story, and one which it would be difficult to spin int

sired rate; then came once mor

st content himself; characters, situations, lines of motive, were laboriously schemed, and he felt ready to begin writing. But scarcely had he done a chapter or two when all the structure fell into flatness. He had made a mistake. Not this story, but that other one, was what he should have taken. The other one in question, left out of mind for a

ked into a cloudy chaos, a shapeless whirl of nothings. He talked aloud to himself, not knowing that he did so. Little phrases which indicated dolorously the subject of his preoccupation often escaped him in the street: 'What could I m

uld. His will prevailed. A day or two of anguish such as there is no describing to the inexperienced, and again he was dismissi

the remainder of the day's toil, and companionship would have been fatal. At about half-past three he again seated himself; and wrote until half-past six, when he had a meal. Then once more to work from half-past seven t

nce beginning thus: 'She took a book with a look of -;' or thus: 'A revision of this decision would have made him an object of derision.' Or, if the period were otherwise inoffensive, it ran in a rhythmic gallop which was torment to the ear. All th

he wrote a page with fluency which recalled his fortunate ye

ffort for his present condition. He kept as much as possible to dialogue; the space is filled so

when he opened the d

ered from the bedroom.

oon as you

she feared he was going to lament his inability to work. Instead

claimed. 'Are you going

f you will come

em very well. He c

like to sta

ile. I'll co

led through, in a grateful sense of the portion that was achieved. In a few minutes it occurred to him that it would be delightful to read a scrap

r woman; I am awed as I look upon thee. In Delos once, hard by the alta

clanging its admonition at the poet's ear. How it freshened the soul! How the

into the

er with a bright smile. 'Do you remembe

speech into free p

they must make shift with the dining-room for that evening. And you pulled the book out of

hear lamentations her voice would not have rippled thus soothing

at her with an uncertain smile. 'A pract

for inst

ain. Her unconsciousness in doing so prevented Reardo

d the phrase sligh

of course. It always has that

nstance. True, he had occasionally spoken of Jasper with someth

'I meant quite simply that my bookish habits d

't think of it in th

sig

t leas

east

the whole I

fingers togeth

I don't like it. It has one disagreeable effect on me, and that is, when people ask me about you, how you are getting on

ou, r

t. As I say, it's very

sanguine nature, and that I easily fall int

yes. B

ut

o try and keep you in

y, with a smile like

half joking, you know. But unfortunately it's true that I can't be as

try to overcome it. But you must try on your side as

e right. It

ngs began to look about as bad as they could. But now th

about anything as he himself saw it. It was a pity. To the ideal wife a man speaks out all that is in him; she had infinitely rather share his full conviction than be treated as one from whom facts must be disguised. She says: 'Let us face the

have read you something, now you shall read something to me; it is a lon

her too tir

yo

o much. But read me some more Home

the child; Willie was always an excuse - valid enough - for Amy's feeling tired. The little boy had come between him and the mother, as must always be t

in London. It's monstrous that an educ

ng of that. A creche, indeed! No chil

f of the child. That was love; whereas - But

nds for a book,' she added, laughing, 'there

repeated it with a shake of the

could name say if they were offered three hundred pounds for a

t all, ten to one

six hundred pounds before th

'm sick of the

am

enting thus on h

spite of natural dumps, wouldn't it be fa

have Odysseus down in Hades, and Aja

r brows knitted to the epic humour. In a few minutes it was as if no difficulties threatened their life

he stepped behind his wife's chair, leane

my

, de

ill love m

re than

to writing a wre

bad as a

ashamed to see it in print; th

ut why

arest. So you don't love me

about it, Edwin. It's dreadful to me to t

the r

nstant. He stood up with dark

pon your attention. Now, promise me that. Neglect them absolutely, as I do. They're not worth a glance of

o avoid it; but other people, our

e. Let our friends read and talk as much as they like. Can't you console yourself with

t look at it

ant you to disregard other people. You and I are surely eve

But I am sensitive to peo

make you feel asham

was si

good work, you mustn't do bad. We must th

you urged me to write a t

ed and loo

you know, if you had tried something entirely unlike your usual work,

le! P

was so exasperatingly womanlike in avoiding the important issue to which he tried to confine her; another moment, and his

have some supper?

to-morrow morning's chapter

really be so poor. You couldn't possi

in sound health. Bu

er with me, dear, a

and smil

e able to resist an inv

enzas, sore-throats, lumbagoes, had tormented him from October to May; in planning his present work, and telling himself that it must be finished before Christmas, he had not lost sight of these possible interruptions. But he said to himself: 'Other men have worked hard in seasons of illness; I must do the same.' All very well, but Reardon

the morning, 'you'll have brain fever.

ow to. I wi

he result upon his mind was far worse than if he had been at the desk. He looked a

s of second volumes; they are generally right, simply because a story which would have made a tolerable book (the common run of stories) refuses to fill three b

luxury came into their home; articles of clothing all but indispensable were left unpurchased. But to what pur

er, Reardon said to

finish the se

replied, 'we shan't h

ell him the state of things, lest it should bring him to a dead s

calmness. 'Then I will go personally to the publishers, and beg them

that with the f

ing will be bad enough; but to beg on an i

drops on hi

if they knew,' said

oor devil. No; I will sell some books. I can p

uld be. The imminence of distr

ose two volumes to the

k has been considered. I can't allow you to go, dearest. This morning I'll choose some books that I can spare, and after dinner I'll ask a man to come and

es

her face a

y quietly. 'If the books won't bring enou

ay, and Amy went on w