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The author's labours were cut short by the sudden intrusion of a maidservant. "A gentleman to see you, sir," said the maid, handing a card with the name Caiaphas Dwelf inscribed on it; "says it's important." Mellowkent hesitated and yielded; the importance of the visitor's mission was probably illusory, but he had never met any one with the name Caiaphas before.
He took a seat before it had been offered him, placed the book on the table, and began to address Mellowkent in the manner of an "open letter." "You are a literary man, the author of several well-known books " "I am engage on a book at the present moment rather busily engaged," said Mellowkent, pointedly. "Exactly," said the intruder; "time with you is a commodity of considerable importance.
Augustus merely suggests idle splendour, but such a name as Mark Mellowkent, besides being alliterative, conjures up a vision of some one strong and beautiful and good, a sort of blend of Georges Carpentier and the Reverend What's-his-name." One morning in December Augustus sat in his writing-room, at work on the third chapter of his eighth novel.
"I don't read novels," said Caiaphas tersely. "Oh, but you ought to read this one, every one ought to," exclaimed Mellowkent, fishing the book down from a shelf; "published at six shillings, you can have it at four-and-six.
"If he had been burnt in these days every one would have suspected the Suffragettes," observed Mellowkent. "Poultry-keeping, now," resumed Caiaphas, "that's a subject that might crop up in a novel dealing with English country life. Here we have all about it: 'The Leghorn as egg-producer. Lack of maternal instinct in the Minorca. Gapes in chickens, its cause and cure.
Augustus Mellowkent was a novelist with a future; that is to say, a limited but increasing number of people read his books, and there seemed good reason to suppose that if he steadily continued to turn out novels year by year a progressively increasing circle of readers would acquire the Mellowkent habit, and demand his works from the libraries and bookstalls.
Now Right Here gives you the scenery, traffic, ferry-boat charges, the prevalent types of fish, boatmen's slang terms, and hours of sailing of the principal river steamers. If gives you " Mellowkent sat and watched the hard-featured, resolute, pitiless salesman, as he sat doggedly in the chair wherein he had installed himself, unflinchingly extolling the merits of his undesired wares.
"On a polished rose-wood stand behind you there reposes a reliable and up- to-date atlas," said Mellowkent; "and now I must really ask you to be going." "An atlas," said Caiaphas, "gives merely the chart of the river's course, and indicates the principal towns that it passes.
"I wonder if you would care for one of my earlier books, The Reluctance of Lady Cullumpton," said Mellowkent, hunting again through the bookshelf; "some people consider it my best novel. Ah, here it is. I see there are one or two spots on the cover, so I won't ask more than three-and-ninepence for it.
A spirit of wistful emulation took possession of the author; why could he not live up to the cold stern name he had adopted? Why must he sit here weakly and listen to this weary, unconvincing tirade, why could he not be Mark Mellowkent for a few brief moments, and meet this man on level terms? A sudden inspiration flashed across his. "Have you read my last book, The Cageless Linnet?" he asked.
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