Mr. Forsyth had been stopping a tooth for me and then talked a little, as
he generally does, and asked me if I knew a certain distinguished
literary man, or rather journalist. I said No, and that I did not want
to know him. The paper edited by the gentleman in question was not to my
taste. I was a literary Ishmael, and preferred to remain so. It was my
rôle.
“It seems to me,” I continued, “that if a man will only be careful not to
write about things that he does not understand, if he will use the
tooth-pick freely and the spirit twice a day, and come to you again in
October, he will get on very well without knowing any of the big-wigs.”
“The tooth-pick freely” and “the spirit twice a day” being tags of Mr.
Forsyth’s, he laughed.