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They sat in the sitting-room for a long while after they had returned to Brixton, and Hinde related some of his reminiscences to John. "I'm one of the world's failures," he said. "I came to London to try and do great work, and I'm still a journalist. I can recognise a fine book when I see it, but I can't create one. I'm just a journalist, and a journalist isn't really a man.
"How's the book getting on?" Hinde demanded when they had greeted each other. John told him of what Jannissary had said. "I tell you what I'll do." said Hinde. "I'll work up a boom for it in the Evening Herald. "But you don't like the book," John expostulated. "You told me it wasn't much good!" "Och, I know that," Hinde replied, "but that doesn't matter. I'd like to do you a good turn.
"No, I'll not do that. I'd be ashamed to go home and admit I hadn't done what I set out to do. What time does Mr. Clotworthy want me?" Hinde told him. "I'll write to my mother at once," said John, "and tell her he's sent for me. That'll impress her. Shell be greatly taken, with the notion that he sent for me instead of me running after him!..."
Sir John Hinde Cotton affirmed, that in many parts of England the papists had already begun to use all their influence in favour of those candidates who were recommended by the ministers as members in the ensuing parliament.
Miss Squibb had never heard of a family that had lived in the same house in London for several generations. She did not think it was a nice idea, that. She liked "chynge" herself, and was sorry she could not afford to get as much of it as she would like to have. "I do not understand the people in this place," Mrs. MacDermott had complained to Hinde. "They've no feeling for anything.
He found a pen and ink and wrote under the dedication, "from her devoted husband," and when she saw what he had written, she hugged him and told him again that she was proud of him. "What about the others? Are you going to send them out, too?" she asked, and he proposed to her that one should be sent to Hinde, one to Mr. Cairnduff and one to Mr. McCaughan....
"My mother wanted me to be a clergyman!" "What put it into your head to turn scribbler?" "I just wanted to write a book. I can't make you out, Hinde. One minute you're advising me to go on a paper, and the next minute you're telling me a journalist isn't a man!..." "When you know more of us," Hinde interrupted, "you'll know that all journalists belittle journalism.
Money was good and acceptable and he would gladly have much more of it, but far beyond money he valued recognition. If he had to make choice between a large income and a large reputation, he would unhesitatingly choose a large reputation. He longed to hear Hinde admitting that he had been mistaken in John's quality.
He would stand there for an hour, for two hours ... until his legs began to ache with the pain of standing in one place for a long time ... and then, when it was apparent that waiting was useless and he had, perhaps, aroused the suspicions of policemen and railway porters concerning his purpose in loitering thus so persistently in front of the bookstall, he would go home in his misery to a contemptuous Hinde!...
"I wouldn't hurt Lizzie's feelings for the world," said Hinde. "I'm going to bed now, but you needn't hurry unless you want to. I'm tired, and I shall have a busy day to-morrow. I'll see if there's any work that would suit you on my paper. You ought to have some sort of a job besides scribbling masterpieces. I suppose you left a girl behind you in Ballyards?" John's face flushed. "No," he replied.
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