Ercles vein--'God's in His Heaven, all's right with the world.'
No good, Mr. McCunn. All back numbers. Poetry's not a thing of
pretty round phrases or noisy invocations. It's life itself, with
the tang of the raw world in it--not a sweetmeat for middle-class
women in parlours."

"Are you a poet, Mr. Heritage?"

"No, Dogson, I'm a paper-maker."

This was a new view to Mr. McCunn. "I just once knew a paper-maker,"
he observed reflectively, "They called him Tosh. He drank a bit."

"Well, I don't drink," said the other. "I'm a paper-maker, but
that's for my bread and butter. Some day for my own sake I may
be a poet."

"Have you published anything?"

The eager admiration in Dickson's tone gratified Mr. Heritage.
He drew from his pocket a slim book. "My firstfruits," he said,
rather shyly.

Dickson received it with reverence. It was a small volume in grey
paper boards with a white label on the back, and it was lettered:
WHORLS-JOHN HERITAGE'S BOOK. He turned the pages and read a little.
"It's a nice wee book," he observed at length.

"Good God, if you call it nice, I must have failed pretty badly,"
was the irritated answer.