complex transaction, he departed, taking, as he drew away, his hat, as
Mrs. Nickleby says, "completely off."

Instead of ascending directly to that regal domain which is unaware of
our existence, Mr. James, with the inclination of a bow, approached us
one day and inquired, in a manner as though the decision rested largely
with us, whether he "could see" the head of the firm. The lady who was
his escort swept past him. "Oh, I am sure he will see him," she
declared; "this" (with impressive awe) "is Mr. James." Had we said,
No, right off the bat, so to say, like that, we believe (unchampioned)
Mr. James would have gently withdrawn.




VIII

MEMORIES OF A MANUSCRIPT

I was born in Indiana. That was several years ago, and I have since
seen a good deal of the world. I was reading in a newspaper the other
day of a new film which shows on the screen the innumerable adventures
of a book in the making, from the time the manuscript is accepted to
the point where the completed volume is delivered into the hands of the
reader. And it struck me that the intimate life of a manuscript before
it is accepted might be even more curious to the general public. The
career of many an obscure manuscript, I reflected, doubtless is much
more romantic than its character. I wonder why, I said, manuscripts
have all been so uncommonly reticent concerning themselves. But
manuscripts, one recollects, have sensitive natures; and their