was genuinely angry--it hurt him personally, and, as it afterwards
turned out, played no small part in the story of his life. The good
reviews, however, were many, and their recommendation of the book
hearty; they all prophesied that it would be a great success. Yet,
spite of this, 'Lynwood's Heritage' didn't sell. Was it, as I had
feared, that Derrick was too devoid of the pushing faculty ever to
make a successful writer? Or was it that he was handicapped by
being down in the provinces playing keeper to that abominable old
bear? Anyhow, the book was well received, read with enthusiasm by
an extremely small circle, and then it dropped down to the bottom
among the mass of overlooked literature, and its career seemed to be
over. I can recall the look in Derrick's face when one day he
glanced through the new Mudie and Smith lists and found 'Lynwood's
Heritage' no longer down. I had been trying to cheer him up about
the book and quoting all the favourable remarks I had heard about
it. But unluckily this was damning evidence against my optimist
view.

He sighed heavily and put down the lists.

"It's no use to deceive one's self," he said, drearily, "'Lynwood'
has failed."

Something in the deep depression of look and tone gave me a
momentary insight into the author's heart. He thought, I know, of
the agony of mind this book had cost him; of those long months of
waiting and their deadly struggle, of the hopes which had made all
he passed through seem so well worth while; and the bitterness of
the disappointment was no doubt intensified by the knowledge that
the Major would rejoice over it.