"Don't you feel flat now it is finished?" I asked.

"I felt so miserable that I had to plunge into another story three
days after," he replied; and then and there he gave me the sketch of
his second novel, 'At Strife,' and told me how he meant to weave in
his childish fancies about the defence of the bridge in the Civil
Wars.

"And about 'Lynwood?' Are you coming up to town to hawk him round?"
I asked.

"I can't do that," he said; "you see I am tied here. No, I must
send him off by rail, and let him take his chance."

"No such thing!" I cried. "If you can't leave Bath I will take him
round for you."

And Derrick, who with the oddest inconsistency would let his MS. lie
about anyhow at home, but hated the thought of sending it out alone
on its travels, gladly accepted my offer. So next week I set off
with the huge brown paper parcel; few, however, will appreciate my
good nature, for no one but an author or a publisher knows the
fearful weight of a three volume novel in MS.! To my intense
satisfaction I soon got rid of it, for the first good firm to which
I took it received it with great politeness, to be handed over to
their 'reader' for an opinion; and apparently the 'reader's' opinion
coincided with mine, for a month later Derrick received an offer for
it with which he at once closed--not because it was a good one, but
because the firm was well thought of, and because he wished to lose
no time, but to have the book published at once. I happened to be