“Mine is not such a one as this one,” said Bumpus. “I have had some delay with it. I left it in old Crabbe’s room that night he died; and it was got rid of with the other things. Crabbe’s illness brought on your novel, Herrick, but it held back mine. But it is the better for the rewriting of it.”
“Old Crabbe’s room? That night he died?” said Herrick. “Did you leave your book in the room, did you say, Bumpus? Ah, yes, it was a sad night, that, for us. Good old Crabbe! I always wondered that he never wrote. I have often said it. Did you leave your book in the room, did you say, Bumpus?”
“He never wrote. Not a line,” said Bumpus. “He was of the different kind. Yes, I left my only copy of it in the room, the typed copy; I always tear up manuscript; and it was cleared away with the other things. And rewriting it has meant reworking at it. You must make the best of it. I find I don’t take up writing again so easily. My best went into that early thing. Well, I have told my tale. That is the better thing, there where it is. Not that that matters now.”
“Couldn’t you write the early one again?” said Emily, keeping her face turned from her brother. “You could make it come back to you. A book when it is written could hardly go. William and I are the only people Nicholas has no influence over. It makes me admire Nicholas, but not you.”
“Well, does one do that thing?” said Bumpus. “Having done the other. Besides, that sort of thing comes and goes, and then exists of itself, if it has got on paper. But I confess I should like to be able to bring it out, and have the credit of it.”
“Exists of itself when it has got on paper!” said Emily. “It was as good as that, was it? Then I wish you could have the credit of it.”
“Perhaps somebody could really begin to read it,” said Mr. Fletcher.
“Perhaps it could read itself,” said Theresa.
“Emily, Emily!” said Herrick. “Please forgive this sister of mine, Bumpus. She quite puts me off reading my own book today. She does indeed. We will just have yours. Anyhow, we will have yours first. Yours is not finished, so anything we don’t like in it, we shall think is not going to be there. So it is easier for you.”
“Why should the first be last, and the last first?” said Bumpus. “Mine will not bear hearing as yours will. My real book is where we know it is.”
“Why, yours will do as well, Dickie,” said Emily. “Much better, I am afraid. You can see that Nicholas is too frightened to read his, now that the moment comes. And perhaps it is a good sign. Good writers always feel a great wave of depression about their work: and Nicholas’ symptoms were so bad. Yours are all right now.”
“Well, well, then, I will start,” said Bumpus. “But I wish it were not this book that I was reading.”
“Richard,” said Masson, in a quick, expressionless voice, “you know that copy of your other book, that you gave to me once, when you thought it was too illegible to be used? I think now is the time to tell you that I kept it. I put it by, before … when there was no question of the book’s not coming out. And then I did not feel sure in taking on myself to destroy it. So I have it, if you can use it.”
“You have it? You kept the copy? That copy I gave you all those years ago, that I was going to burn? Oh, I remember now. You had not read it, had you? We were going to put it on the fire without your reading it?”
“I did not read it then,” said Masson. “I seldom read any but scientific books, as you know, even my friends’ books. I did not even in those days. But when it was to go, I read it; to have my own impression of something of yours. I knew I had been at liberty to read it. And then I could not feel sure in destroying it. I should not have spoken of it, had you not expressed a wish for it, and I had provided for it to be burned at my death. I may seem to have taken much on myself. But I was helpless. I felt I could do nothing else.”
There was a silence.
“Oh, well, I will look over it again,” said Bumpus. “It may not be what I thought. But it is good news to me in a way. Thank you, William, thank you. I will try to use it, indeed. I will let this one go by for the time, and get the other out as soon as possible. After all, it is foolish not to change my mind when I have really changed it. And I have shown you all that I have done that.”
“Yes, even William,” said Emily. “And it is such an opportunity for being above self-consciousness and convention and other things. It would be dreadful to waste it.”
“Well, I will not waste it,” said Bumpus. “I would rather work on the other book. I couldn’t deal with the two at once. I dare say it isn’t as good as I thought. I was greatly younger then. But I don’t feel I could go against you, William. Or myself either. And I won’t read this one today. This book will go to the wall for some time to come. Who ever had so good a friend?”
“And I won’t read mine,” said Herrick. “I too will wait for a future day. It wouldn’t be a good thing now. I shouldn’t take any interest in it, myself. My congratulations, my congratulations, Bumpus.
