I finish this book in the place where I began it, in Forfarshire, but
not in Tarbonny Village. Hustling Herbert Jenkins sent me the galley
proofs this morning with an urgent demand that I should return them at
once. I do dislike publishers. At first I took them at their own
valuation: I believed what they said.
"Machines waiting," Jenkins would wire. "Send MS. at once."
And I, simple I, would sit up late correcting proofs. I know better
now. I know that Jenkins always divides time by 20. His "at once"
means that twenty days hence he will say to his Secretary: "That new
book of Neill's . . . has it gone to the printer yet?" And his
Secretary will 'phone down to the office secretary and say: "You've got
to send Neill's new book to the printer." Then this lady will order
the office-boy to take the MS. to the printer . . . and I bet the
little devil reads _Deadwood Dick on the Boomerang Prairie_ as he
crawls to the printer's office with my masterpiece under his arm.
Hence, understanding Jenkins, I tossed the proofs into a corner this
morning, and went out to continue the game of ring quoits that Nellie
and I had to give up as darkness fell last night. Nellie is a Dundee
lassie of thirteen and she is spending her holidays with her auntie
here.
Nellie won, and we sat down on the bank and I began to ask her about
her school-life.
"I dinna like the school, and I wish I was left," she said.
"Tell me why you dislike it, Nellie."
"If ye speak ye get the strap."
"What!" I cried, "are you _never_ allowed to speak?"
"Only at playtime," she replied. "And ye never get less than six
scuds."
And it was only the other day that a lady wrote me saying that when I
preach against Prussianism in schools I am merely resuscitating a dead
bogey for the purpose of knocking it down.
I get quite a lot of information of schools from children. I remember
when I was in Lyme Regis last Easter I went out sketching one day. As
I passed a village school a troupe of happy children came out. Joy lit
up their faces.
"The ideal school!" I cried, and stopped to speak to them.
"Tell me, children, tell me why you have laughter in your eyes," I
said, "tell me of your happy school."
The oldest boy grinned.
"Master's gone off for the day to a funeral," he said.