Just a line to say that the unexpected has happened! Merritt is all over
the book! ! ! Thinks it’s the biggest thing that ever happened, and has
offered me a first-class contract (£100 advance, 10% to 500, 15% to
1,000 and 20% thereafter, with a firm offer for the next two beginning
at top previous rate), on condition he can get it into print instanter
to publish before the end of Jan. The man’s as mad as a hatter!
I nearly sent round to get him certified, but instead found myself
accepting the terms. When you consider the frightful flop _Deadlock_
was, you realise that the thing is sheer stark raving madness, but who
cares?
Damn it, I always believed there was something in the book, but I
thought I was a fool to think so. But how can he ever imagine that it
will _sell_! . . . But that’s _his_ funeral.
He says it must have a new title. Try and think of something that will
look well on a jacket, there’s an ingenious cherub. It’s fearfully
urgent, because he’s got to get his travellers out with it at the
beginning of next month.
Lathom’s portrait of Miss Milsom is the wickedest piece of satire you
ever saw. She, fortunately, does not see it at all. In fact, she lugged
the parson up to have a look at it yesterday. Perry, though a parson, is
no fool. He looked grave, said that it was a striking picture, and added
that Mr. Lathom had a great gift which should be put to great uses.
Lathom grinned, and Miss Milsom began to babble about the Academy and
Mrs. Harrison’s portrait, at which Perry looked graver still. I suppose
he thinks that idiots should be charitably protected from themselves.
Lathom is in wild spirits and is working like something inspired. _O si
sic omnes_, meaning me!
Jim reports that he is toiling away like stink and really sticking to
it. I hope so. He will be at home when term ends, so you will meet the
white-headed boy of the family. I trust you will be able to bear with us
all. He is inflicting on us a friend of his who went down from Caius
this year—man called Leader—one of those infernally high-spirited
youths who bounce all over the shop like Airedale puppies—he rouses all
my worst instincts, but is perfectly harmless. He is now in London, at
St. Anthony’s College of Medicine, and I suppose one of these days he
will muddle though his hospital work and be turned out as a genial
G.P.—“Dr. Leader is _such_ a nice, cheerful man; he makes you feel
better the minute he comes into the room.” I hate cheerful people.
Still, he and Jimmy will amuse one another, and we shall have a chance
to get off on our own a bit.
Bless you, Bungie! I am counting the days till we meet.
Your own
JACK