gift, and I
regretted that he did not cultivate it to the full. I hope that you
have inherited his powers, but at the same time I feel it my duty to beg
you to earnestly consider the matter before deciding on your life's
work. Many young people seem to imagine that they can `take up
literature' as they would typewriting or clerical work, which is a vast
mistake, and it would be cruel to encourage you unless you possess the
inherent qualifications. Would it not be better for the aiding of my
judgment if, before coming to see me, you forwarded some _short_ MS for
my perusal? The time at my disposal is limited, but I will contrive to
read anything you send before, say, Monday next, when I shall be pleased
to see you at any time that may be convenient between eleven and one."

The letter was read aloud at the breakfast-table, and the audience
commented on it with the candour which distinguishes family conclaves.

"Very sensible! Short and to the point. How can he tell what sort of
rubbish you write!" said Steve.

"Hope you notice the dash under the `short'! No chance for your novel,
my dear. He doesn't see himself sitting down to read hundreds of pages
of your appalling fist. Grows more like lattice-work every day!"
Philippa cried severely.

"I can just imagine what he is like! A proper little person, with a
shiny bald head. Fancy writing love-scenes for his inspection! My
hat!" and Madge lengthened her chin in an expressive grimace.

"The worst of it is, I don't know what to send. I have nothing short
that's good enough. It ought to be striking, arresting, original. I--I
want an idea," cried poor Theo, staring frantically at the coffee-cups,
and wrinkling her brow until she looked ten years older on the spot.
"It's finding a subject that is the hardest part. I love the writing
when I'm once well started. I can't possibly send anything before next
week."

"Don't try. Take your time, and do your very best. Send a letter to
say you will forward a MS in the course of the next few weeks. It's
important that you should send your best work, and you can't write
happily with a feeling of hurry. It must be a story, of course, not an
article."

"Mind you have a nice hero: six feet high--broad shoulders--big
moustache--"

"No, no; clean shaven--clean shaven, with a firm, determined chin; big
feet and hands, quick-tempered, but too sweet for anything to the girl
he loves."

"Make her slim and willowy,