An Interview.
It was naturally not without difficulty that I won my way to the
presence of so busy and influential a publicist. A man who spends his
whole time in instructing the readers of so many different papers in the
delicate art of discerning the best and ignoring the rest cannot have
much margin for inquisitive strangers.
However, I succeeded in penetrating to his sanctum and, while waiting
for the lion to appear, had an opportunity to look round. It was
severely furnished--obviously the room of a great thinker. I noticed on
the desk, which was covered with paper and note-books, a copy of Roget's
_Thesaurus_ and Taylor's _Natural History of Enthusiasm_. With two such
works one can, of course, go far. On the wall were the mottoes, "We
needs must love the highest when we see it," and (from _The Bellman_)
"What I tell you three times is true." I noticed two portraits also: one
was of a delightful grande dame who might have graced a pavane in the
days of Louis Quinze, inscribed to her "fellow-worker in the great
cause, from Madame de Boccage," and another was the photograph of a gay
young Frenchman in English clothes, signed "To mon cher colleague from
'is sincere friend Alphonse." There were also three telephones on the
table and several typewriters here and there.
A moment later the wizard came in--a tall scholarly-looking figure, with
all the stigmata of the great thinker beneath one of the highest brows
in Europe.
"And what," he asked, bowing with perfect courtesy, "can I do for you?"
"I have come hoping for the privilege of an interview," I said.
"But why," he replied with charming diffidence, "should you interview
me? Why am I thus honoured?"
"Because you are a very remarkable person," I replied. "You are the only
journalist who can contribute the same articles regularly to _The Pall
Mall_, _The Westminster_ and I don't know to how many other papers
besides. That is a feat in itself. You are the only journalist who
always has the same subject."
He admitted these fine performances.
"So I should like to ask you a few questions," I continued. "The public
is naturally interested in the personality of so widely read an author.
May I know how you obtained your amazing command of words? Your
fluency?"
"I have ever made a study of the finest writers," he said. "From Moses
to De Courville, I have read them all. These studies and constant
intercourse with the brainiest Americans I can meet have made me what I
am."
"But your certainty in discrimination," I said--"how did you acquire
that? Most of us are so doubtful of ourselves."
"I never am," he replied; "I am sure. One thing at a time is my theory.
Concentrate on one thing and forget all the rest. In other words, trust
to elimination. That's what I do. Having found something that I know to
be good I instantly eliminate all thought of the existence of rival
claimants and concentrate on that discovery and its exploitation."
"Marvellous," I murmured. "And how do you think of all your variations
on the one stimulating theme?"
"Ah!" he said, "that is my secret." He tapped his massive forehead. "It
wants a bit of doing, but I think I may say that up to date I have
delivered the goods."
"You may," I said. "Have you no assistants?"
He flushed angrily and I changed the subject.
"In your spare time----" I began.
"I have none," he said. "I want none."
"But surely now and then," I urged, "after office hours?"
"I never relax," he said. "If I am not writing I am worshipping. I walk
up and down on the other side of the street, gazing this way, wondering
and adoring."
What a man!
"Now and then," I said, "you puzzle me a little. The columns in the
evening papers go fairly straight to the point, but you are not always
so direct. One now and then has to search for the true purpose of the
article."
He bent his fine brows in perplexity.
"As when?" he asked.
"Well," I said, "those third leaders in _The Times_, for example. I
often read them without making perfectly sure which department of the
great House you are recommending: to which of its varied activities you
are drawing particular attention."
He looked more bewildered. "The third leaders in _The Times_?" he asked.
"Yes," I said. "Don't you write those?"
"No," he replied with emphasis.
"Great Heavens!" I said, "I'm very sorry if I've hurt you. But I always
assumed that you did."
The simultaneous ringing of the three telephones warned me that my time
was up and I rose to go.
"Good-bye," he said, "Good-bye. You know where to go if you want
anything, don't you? No matter what it is--ties, socks, dress--suits,
scent, afternoon tea, civility, perfection. You know where to go?"--and
he bowed me out.
And that is how I met Callisthenes.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "'Arf a mo, Chawley; let's wait an' see 'im sit down."]
* * * * *