stood a fair chance of
being among the selected six or ten whose authors would be invited to
submit final designs for the final award. George tried to be hopeful;
but he could not be hopeful by trying. It was impossible to believe that
he would succeed; the notion was preposterous; yet at moments, when he
was not cultivating optimism, optimism would impregnate all his being,
and he would be convinced that it was impossible not to win. How
inconceivably grand! His chief rallying thought was that he had
undertaken a gigantic task and had accomplished it. Well or ill, he had
accomplished it. He said to himself aloud:

"I've done it! I've done it!"

And that he actually had done it was almost incredible. The very sheets
of drawings were almost incredible. But they existed there. All was
complete. The declaration that the design was G.E. Cannon's personal
work, drawn in his own office by his ordinary staff, was there, in the
printed envelope officially supplied by the Corporation. The estimate of
cost and the cubing was there. The explanatory report on the design,
duly typewritten, was there. Nothing lacked.

"I've done it! I've done it!"

And then, tired as he was, the conscience of the creative artist and of
the competitor began to annoy him and spur him. The perspective drawing
did not quite satisfy--and there was still time. The point of view for
the perspective drawing was too high up, and the result was a certain
marring of the nobility of the lines, and certainly a diminishment of
the effect of the tower. He had previously started another perspective
drawing with a lower view-point, but he had mistakenly cast it aside. He
ought to finish the first one and substitute it for the second one. 'The
perspective drawing had a moral importance; it had a special influence
on the assessors and committees. Horrid, tiresome labour! Three, four,
five, or six hours of highly concentrated tedium. Was it worth while? It
was not. Mr. Enwright liked the finished drawing. He, George, could not
face a further strain. And yet he was not content.... Pooh! Who said he
could not face a further strain? Of course he could face it. If he did
not face it, his conscience would accuse him of cowardice during the
rest of his life, and he would never be able to say honestly: "I did my
level best with the thing." He snapped his fingers lightly, and in one
second had decided to finish the original perspective drawing, and in
his very finest style.