No doubt there were greater things in Sir James Barrie's speech to
the undergraduates at St. Andrews than the story of his conquest of
Fleet Street; but for me, as for many others, there was nothing so
interesting. It touched old chords of memory. There are many who
have shared Sir James's youthful struggles without sharing his
dazzling triumphs. My own thoughts went back more than forty years
ago, about the time when Barrie came to London to try his luck in the
enchanted street. I recalled two brothers--I knew them well--living
in a country town, whose eyes were fixed on the starry realm of Fleet
Street from afar. What a remote, impossible, golden world it seemed!
Once they had known a fellow that had gone into it. He had been as
one of themselves, familiar, companionable, ordinary; but one
incredible day he had flown away to Fleet Street as naturally as a
bird flies home to its nest, and they remained behind to imagine the
sea of glory into which he had passed.
Then one day something happened. The younger of the two boys,
Jonathan, noticed that the family copy of the _Standard_ (that fine
old paper that perished so lamentably of Tariff Reform) had been cut.
An article, a column in length, had disappeared from the leader page.
His curiosity was awakened. There was only one person in the
household who was likely to have done this thing, and that was his
brother, Geoffrey. But to ask Geoffrey about it was impossible. He
was a reticent person, who did not throw his confidences about, least
of all among younger brothers. But Jonathan knew that he had been
writing in the privacy of his bedroom late at night, and suspected
that something had come of it. So he went out and purchased another
copy of the _Standard_, turned to the column that had been missing,
and there saw an article: