them, cried over
them--myself.

All methods I tried. Sometimes I would send them forth accompanied by
a curt business note of the take-it-or-leave-it order. At other times I
would attach to it pathetic appeals for its consideration. Sometimes
I would give value to it, stating that the price was five guineas and
requesting that the cheque should be crossed; at other times seek to
tickle editorial cupidity by offering this, my first contribution to
their pages, for nothing--my sample packet, so to speak, sent gratis,
one trial surely sufficient. Now I would write sarcastically, enclosing
together with the stamped envelope for return a brutally penned note of
rejection. Or I would write frankly, explaining elaborately that I was a
beginner, and asking to be told my faults--if any.

Not one found a resting place for its feet. A month, a week, a couple of
days, they would remain away from me, then return. I never lost a single
one. I wished I had. It would have varied the monotony.

I hated the poor little slavey who, bursting joyously into the room,
would hold them out to me from between her apron-hidden thumb and
finger; her chronic sniff I translated into contempt. If flying down the
stairs at the sound of the postman's knock I secured it from his hands,
it seemed to me he smiled. Tearing them from their envelopes, I would
curse them, abuse them, fling them into the fire sometimes; but before
they were more than scorched I would snatch them out, smooth them,
reread them. The editor himself could never have seen them; it was
impossible; some jealous underling had done this thing. I had sent them
to the wrong paper. They had arrived at the inopportune moment. Their
triumph would come. Rewriting the first and last sheets, I would send
them forth again with fresh hope.

Meanwhile, understanding that the would-be happy warrior must shine in
camp as well as field, I sought to fit myself also for the social side
of life. Smoking and drinking were the twin sins I found most difficulty
in acquiring. I am not claiming a mental excellence so much as
confessing a bodily infirmity. The spirit had always been willing, but
my flesh was weak. Fired by emulation, I had at school occasionally
essayed a cigarette. The result had been distinctly unsatisfactory, and
after some two or three attempts, I had abandoned, for the time being,
all further endeavour; excusing my faint-heartedness by telling myself
with sanctimonious air that smok