Mrs. MacDermott had begged him to stay beyond the stipulated time in
Ballyards, and Uncle William, with a glance towards Eleanor, had
reinforced her appeal; but John had refused to yield to it. There was
work to be done in London, and Eleanor and he must return to town to do
it. In a short while, his play would be produced ... he must attend the
rehearsals of it ... and then there was his novel for which he had yet
to find a publisher; and he must write another book. Eleanor had
hesitated for a few moments, not irresponsive to Uncle William's look,
but the desire to be in her own home had conquered her desire to remain
in Ballyards, and so she had not asked John to stay away from London
any longer. The flat was a small and incommodious one, but it was in a
quiet street and not very far from Hampstead Heath. They had spent more
money on furnishing it than they had intended to spend, but John had
soothed Eleanor's mind by promising that his play would more than make
up for their extravagance; and when, a fortnight after their return to
town, Mr. Claude Jannissary, "the Progressive Publisher," wrote to John
and invited him to call on him, they felt certain that their anxieties
had been very foolish. John visited Mr. Jannissary on the morning after
he had received that enlightened gentleman's letter, and was
overwhelmed by the praise paid to his book. Mr. Jannissary said that he
was not merely willing, but actually eager to publish it. He felt
certain that its author had a great future before him, and he wished to
be able to say in after years that he had been the first to recognize
John's genius. He did not anticipate that he would make any profit
whatever out of _The Enchanted Lover_ ... the title of the
story ... at all events for several years, partly because John still had
to create a reputation for himself and partly because of the appalling
conditions with which enlightened publishers had to contend. In time,
no doubt, John would attract a substantial body of loyal readers, but
in the meantime there was, if John would forgive the gross
commercialism of the expression, "no immediate money in him."
Nevertheless, Mr. Jannissary was prepared to gamble on John's future.
Even if he should never make enough to cover the expense of publishing
John's book, he would still feel compensated for his loss merely
through having introduced the world to so excellent a novel. Idealism
was not very popular, he said, but thank God he was an idealist. He
believed in Art _and_ Literature _and_ Beauty, and he was
prepared to make sacrifices for his beliefs. He could not offer any
payment in advance on account of royalties to John ... much as he would
like to do so ... for the conditions with which an enlightened
publisher who tried to preserve his ideals intact had to contend were
truly appalling; but he would publish the book immediately if John
would consent to forego all royalties on the first five hundred copies,
and would accept a royalty of ten per cent on all copies sold in excess
of that number, the royalty to rise to fifteen per cent when the copies
sold exceeded two thousand. Mr. Jannissary would put himself to the
great inconvenience of trying to find a publisher for the book in
America, and would only expect to receive twenty-five per cent of the
author's proceeds for his trouble....
John had not greatly liked the look of Mr. Claude Jannissary. So
uncompromising an idealist might have been expected to possess a more
pleasing appearance and a less shifty look in his eyes ... but soothed
vanity and youthful eagerness to appear in print and a feeling that
very often appearances were against idealists, caused him to sign the
agreement which Mr. Jannissary had already prepared for him. A great
thrill of pleasure went through him as he signed the long document,
full of involved clauses. He was now entitled to call himself an
author. In a little while, a book of his would be purchaseable in
bookshops.... "We'll print immediately," said Mr. Jannissary, handing a
copy of the agreement, signed by himself, to John and putting the other
copy carefully away. "I'm sure the book will be a great success ...
_artistically_, at all events ... and after all, that's the chief
thing. _That's_ the chief thing. Ah, Art, _Art_, Mr.
MacDermott, what a compelling thing it is! I often feel that I have
thrown my life away ever since I resolved to publish books instead of
writing them. There are times when I long to throw up everything and
run away into the country and meditate. Meditate! But one can't escape
from the bonds of the body, Mr. MacDermott!"
"Oh, no," John vaguely answered.
"The world is too much for us ... poor, bewildered idealists, searching
for the gleam and so often losing it. Rent has to be paid, butchers
demand payment for their meat ... I'm speaking figuratively, of course,
for I'm a vegetarian myself ... and one must pay one's way. So the body
has us, and we have to compromise. Ah, yes! But at the bottom of
Pandora's box, Mr. MacDermott, there is always.... Hope! This way,
please, and _good_ afternoon! It's been very nice indeed to meet
you!..."
Hinde had disturbed John's complacency very considerably when he saw
the agreement which John had signed. Eleanor had begun the process by
failing to understand why the first five hundred copies of the novel
should be published free of royalty. If Mr. Jannissary was to make
money out of these five hundred copies why was John not to make any? He
quelled her doubts momentarily by informing her that she was totally
ignorant of the conditions of publishing. If she only knew how
appalling they were!... Mr. Jannissary had so impressed John with the
terrible state of the publisher's business that he had gone away from
the office feeling exceedingly fortunate to have his book published at
all without being asked to pay for it. Eleanor's doubts, however, had
revived when Hinde, who dined with them on the evening of the day on
which the agreement had been signed, declared with extraordinary
emphasis that Mr. Jannissary was a common robber and would, if he had
his way, be enduring torture in gaol.
"He's a notorious little scoundrel who has been living for years on
robbing young authors by flattering their vanity. I suppose he told you
you were a marvel and bleated about his ideals?"
John could not deny that Mr. Jannissary had spoken of his ideals
several times during their interview.
"I know him, the greasy little bounder!" Hinde exclaimed. "You'll never
get one farthing from that book of yours, for he won't print more than
five hundred copies!..."
"He will if they're demanded."
"_If_ they're demanded. Do you think they will be?"
"I hope so!"
"Oh, we can all hope, but there's not much chance of you realising your
hope. Your book isn't a very good one!..." Eleanor glanced up at this.
She had not felt very certain about John's book herself, but now that
Hinde was belittling it, she was angry with him.
"_I_ think it's good," she said decisively.
"Even if it is," Hinde retorted, "it will only sell well if it's
advertised well. Lots of good books don't sell even when they are
advertised. But Jannissary doesn't advertise. He hasn't got enough
money to advertise. Look at the newspapers! How many times do you see
Jannissary's list in the advertisements?" John could not remember.
"Very seldom," said Hinde. "His books get less attention from reviewers
than other people's because the reviewers know that he's a rascal and
that nine out of ten of his books aren't worth the paper they're
printed on. Booksellers will hardly stock them. He makes his living by
selling copies to the libraries and persuading mugs to pay for the
publication of their books. That's how Jannissary lives!..."
"He didn't ask me to pay for publishing my book," John murmured.
"That's a wonder," Hinde replied. "Why didn't you ask for advice before
you signed this thing?"
"I want the book published as soon as possible. I have to make my name
and I daresay I shall have to pay for making it!"
Hinde put the agreement down. "Oh, well, if you look at it like that,"
he said, "there's no more to be said, but you've done a silly thing!"
"I don't see it," John boldly asserted, though there was doubt in his
mind.
"You'll see it some day!"
Hinde had parted from them earlier that evening than he had intended or
they had expected. He made an excuse for leaving them by saying that he
was tired and needed sleep after late nights of work, but he went
because John's vanity had been hurt by his criticism of the agreement
and also because he had said that John's book had no remarkable
qualities. "I'm telling you the truth that you're always demanding, and
I won't tell you anything else. You've been very anxious to tell it to
other people and now you'll have a chance of hearing it yourself. Your
book is not a good book. There are dozens like it published every year.
The _Sensation_ reviews them six-a-time in three or four hundred
words. You may write good books some day, but _The Enchanted
Lover_ is just an ordinary, mediocre book. I think your tragedy is
better!..."
"Well, it ought to be. It was written afterwards," John said, trying
hard to speak without revealing resentment.
"Yes. Yes, of course!" Hinde murmured.
A little later, he had taken his leave of them.
"I wonder if he's right!" Eleanor said to John when he had gone.
"Of course he isn't," John tartly replied. "I believe he's jealous!"
"Jealous!"
"Yes. He's been talking for years of writing a tragedy about St.
Patrick, but he's not done it, and then I come along and do it quite
easily and get the play accepted. And my novel's to be published, too.
Of course he's jealous! Any disappointed man's jealous when he sees
someone else doing things he's failed to do. I'm sorry for him really!"
"Perhaps that is it," Eleanor said, taking comfort to herself.
"No doubt about it. Anyhow, even if the novel is a failure, there's the
play. That's good. I know it's good. The novel was bound to have some
faults. All first books have!"