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Updated: May 18, 2025
His contributions were noticed with approval in rival columns; and they had even been quoted by Continental critics with whom The Museion passed as being the only British review that had the true interests of literature at heart. But though Rickman helped to bring fame to The Museion, The Museion brought none to him.
"Too busy." To signify his annoyance, or to keep himself from temptation, he bent closer over the article he was writing for The Museion. She came and stood beside him, watching him as he worked, still with his air of passionate preoccupation. Presently he found himself drawn against his will into the following conversation. "How long does it take you to do one of those things?" "It depends."
While the details of the change were being planned in the offices of The Museion, the burning question for the proprietors was this: would their editor, their great, their unique and lonely editor, be prepared to go with them? Mr. Jewdwine had shown himself fairly amenable so far, but would he be any use to them when it really came to the point?
That promise to marry Flossie in the autumn had made Rickman very uneasy on this head. The sources of his income had been hitherto uncertain; for The Planet might at any moment cease to be, and only indomitable hope could say that The Museion would be long for this world. The amount of his income, too, depended on conditions which were, to some extent, beyond his own control.
In the shade of the Museion a brilliant assembly Ptolemy, Euclid, Hipparchus, Apollonius, and Eratosthenes made great discoveries and added materially to the sum of human knowledge. Here Euclid wrote his immortal "Elements;" and Herophilos, the father of surgery, added valuable information to the knowledge of anatomy.
It had indeed provided the editor of The Museion with much matter for disagreeable thought. He knew that Rickman the journalist had no more deadly enemy than Rickman the poet; and at that particular moment he did not greatly care to be reminded of his existence. Jewdwine's attitude to Rickman and his confidences was the result of a change in the attitude of The Museion and its proprietors.
He had read Rickman's book before Jewdwine had seen it, and while Jewdwine was still shaking his head over it in the office of the The Museion, its chances were being eagerly discussed in the office of The Planet. Maddox was disgusted with the publishers, Stables with the price, Rankin with the illustrations. "It's all very well," said Rankin; "but those borrowed plumes will have to be paid for."
It has nothing to do with The Museion. "In that case, I don't see why I shouldn't try it, if I can be of any use to you." From the calmness of his manner you would have supposed that salaried appointments hung on every lamp-post, ready to drop into the mouths of impecunious young men of letters. "Thanks. Then we'll consider that settled for the present."
He added with a smile, "besides your own?" "I'm a journalist." Rickman mentioned his connection with The Museion and The Planet. "Ah, I knew there was an unlucky star somewhere. Well, at any rate, you won't have to turn your Muse on to the streets to get your living. But a trade's better than a profession; and a craft's better than a trade. It doesn't monopolize the higher centres.
But whenever Rickman mentioned Maddox to Jewdwine, Jewdwine would shrug his shoulders and say, "Maddox is not important"; and when he mentioned The Museion to Maddox, Maddox would correct him with a laugh, "The Museum, you mean," and refer to his fellow-contributors as "a respectable collection of meiocene fossils." Maddox had conceived a jealous and violent admiration for Savage Keith Rickman.
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