im.

So for the first time I understood the joy of talking "shop" with a
fellow craftsman. I told him my favourite authors--Scott, and Dumas,
and Victor Hugo; and to my delight found they were his also; he agreeing
with me that real stories were the best, stories in which people did
things.

"I used to read silly stuff once," I confessed, "Indian tales and that
sort of thing, you know. But mamma said I'd never be able to write if I
read that rubbish."

"You will find it so all through life, Paul," he replied. "The things
that are nice are rarely good for us. And what do you read now?"

"I am reading Marlowe's Plays and De Quincey's Confessions just now," I
confided to him.

"And do you understand them?"

"Fairly well," I answered. "Mamma says I'll like them better as I go
on. I want to learn to write very, very well indeed," I admitted to him;
"then I'll be able to earn heaps of money."

He smiled. "So you don't believe in Art for Art's sake, Paul?"

I was puzzled. "What does that mean?" I asked.

"It means in our case, Paul," he answered, "writing books for the
pleasure of writing books, without thinking of any reward, without
desiring either money or fame."

It was a new idea to me. "Do many authors do that?" I asked.

He laughed outright this time. It was a delightful laugh. It rang
through the quiet Park, awaking echoes; and caught by it, I laughed with
him.

"Hush!" he said; and he glanced round with a whimsical expression of
fear, lest we might have been overheard. "Between ourselves, Paul," he
continued, drawing me more closely towards him and whispering, "I don't
think any of us do. We talk about it. But I'll tell you this, Paul; it
is a trade secret and you must remember it: No man ever made money or
fame but by writing his very best. It may not be as good as somebody
else's best, but it is his best. Remember that, Paul."

I promised I would.

"And you must not think merely of the money and the fame, Paul," he
added the next moment, speaking more seriously. "Money and fame are very
good things, and only hypocrites pretend to despise them. But if you
write books thinking only of money, you will be disappointed. It is
earned easier in other ways. Tell me, that is not your only idea?"

I pondered. "Mamma says it is a very noble calling, authorship," I
remembered, "and that any one ought to be very proud and glad to be able
to write books, because they give people happiness and make them forget