by J. M. Barrie
CHAPTER IX
MR. NOBLE SIMMS
The new-comer was a young man with an impassive face and weary eyes,who, as he slouched in, described a parabola in the air with one of hisfeet, which was his way of keeping a burned slipper on. Rorrisonintroduced him to Rob as Mr. Noble Simms, after which Simms took himselfinto a corner of the room, like a man who has paid for his seat in arailway compartment and refuses to be drawn into conversation. He wouldhave been a handsome man had he had a little more interest in himself.
'I thought you told me you were going out to-night,' said Rorrison.
'I meant to go,' Simms answered, 'but when I rang for my boots thehousekeeper thought I asked for water, and brought it, so, rather thanexplain matters to her, I drank the water and remained indoors.'
'I read your book lately, Mr. Simms,' Rob said, after he had helpedhimself to tobacco from Simms's pouch, 'Try my tobacco,' being the Pressform of salutation.
'You did not buy the second volume, did you?' asked Simms, with a showof interest, and Rob had to admit that he got the novel from a library.
'Excuse my asking you,' Simms continued, in his painfully low voice; 'Ihad a special reason. You see I happen to know that, besides what wentto the libraries, there were in all six copies of my book sold. Myadmirer bought two, and I myself bought three and two-thirds, so thatonly one volume remains to be accounted for. I like to think that thepurchaser was a lady.'
'But how did it come about,' inquired Rob, while Rorrison smoked onimperturbably, 'that the volumes were on sale singly?'
'That was to tempt a public,' said Simms gravely, 'who would not takekindly to the three volumes together. It is a long story, though.'
Here he paused, as if anxious to escape out of the conversation.
'No blarney, Simms,' expostulated Rorrison. 'I forgot to tell you,Angus, that this man always means (when he happens to have a meaning)the reverse of what he says.'
'Don't mind Rorrison,' said Simms to Rob. 'It was in this way. My greatwork of fiction did fairly well at the libraries, owing to a mistakeMudie made about the name. He ordered a number of copies under theimpression that the book was by the popular novelist, Simmons, and whenthe mistake was found out he was too honourable to draw back. Thesurplus copies, however, would not sell at all. My publisher offeredthem as Saturday evening presents to his young men, but they always leftthem on their desks; so next he tried the second-hand book-shops, in thehope that people from the country would buy the three volumes becausethey looked so cheap at two shillings. However, even the label"Published at 31s. 6d.: offered for 2s.," was barren of results. I usedto stand in an alley near one of these book-shops, and watch the peoplehandling my novel.'
'But no one made an offer for it?'
'Not at two shillings, but when it came down to one-and-sixpence anelderly man with spectacles very nearly bought it. He was undecidedbetween it and a Trigonometry, but in the end he went off with theTrigonometry. Then a young lady in grey and pink seemed interested init. I watched her reading the bit about Lord John entering thedrawing-room suddenly and finding Henry on his knees, and once Idistinctly saw her smile.'
'She might have bought the novel if only to see how it ended.'
'Ah, I have always been of opinion that she would have done so, had shenot most unfortunately, in her eagerness to learn what Henry said whenhe and Eleanor went into the conservatory, knocked a row of books overwith her elbow. That frightened her, and she took to flight.'
'Most unfortunate,' said Rob solemnly, though he was already beginningto understand Simms--as Simms was on the surface.
'I had a still greater disappointment,' continued the author, 'a fewdays afterwards. By this time the book was marked "Very Amusing, 1s.,worth 1s. 6d."; and when I saw a pale-looking young man, who had beenexamining it, enter the shop, I thought the novel was as good as sold.My excitement was intense when a shopman came out for the three volumesand carried them inside, but I was puzzled on seeing the young gentlemandepart, apparently without having made a purchase. Consider my feelingswhen the shopman replaced the three volumes on his shelf with the newlabel, "924 pp., 8d.; worth 1s."'
'Surely it found a purchaser now?'
'Alas, no. The only man who seemed to be attracted by it at eightpenceturned out to be the author of _John Mordaunt's Christmas Box_("Thrilling! Published at 6s.: offered at 1s. 3d."), who was hangingabout in the interests of his own work.'
'Did it come down to "Sixpence, worth ninepence"?'
'No; when I returned to the spot next day I found volumes One and Threein the "2d. any vol." box, and I carried them away myself. What becameof volume Two I have never been able to discover. I rummaged the box forit in vain.'
'As a matter of fact, Angus,' remarked Rorrison, 'the novel is now inits third edition.'
'I always understood that it had done well,' said Rob.
'The fourth time I asked for it at Mudie's,' said Simms, the latter halfof whose sentences were sometimes scarcely audible, 'I inquired how itwas doing, and was told that it had been already asked for three times.Curiously enough there is a general impression that it has been a greatsuccess, and for that I have to thank one man.'
'The admirer of whom you spoke?'
'Yes, my admirer, as I love to call him. I first heard of him as abusiness gentleman living at Shepherd's Bush, who spoke with rapture ofmy novel to any chance acquaintances he made on the tops of buses. Thenmy aunt told me that a young lady knew a stout man living at Shepherd'sBush who could talk of nothing but my book; and on inquiry at mypublisher's I learnt that a gentleman answering to this description hadbought two copies. I heard of my admirer from different quarters for thenext month, until a great longing rose in me to see him, to clasp hishand, to ask what part of the book he liked best, at the least to walkup and down past his windows, feeling that two men who appreciated eachother were only separated by a pane of glass.'
'Did you ever discover who he was?'
'I did. He lives at 42 Lavender Crescent, Shepherd's Bush, and his nameis Henry Gilding.'
'Well?' said Rob, seeing Simms pause as if this was all.
'I am afraid, Mr. Angus,' the author murmured in reply, 'that you didnot read the powerful and harrowing tale very carefully, or you wouldremember that my hero's name was also Henry Gilding.'
'Well, but what of that?'
'There is everything in that. It is what made the Shepherd's Bushgentleman my admirer for life. He considers it the strangest and mostdiverting thing in his experience, and every night, I believe, afterdinner, his eldest daughter has to read out to him the passages in whichthe Henry Gildings are thickest. He chuckles over the extraordinarycoincidence still. He could take that joke with him to the seaside for amonth, and it would keep him in humour all the time.'
'Have done, Simms, have done,' said Rorrison; 'Angus is one of us, orwants to be, at all events. The _Minotaur_ is printing one of histhings, and I have been giving him some sage advice.'
'Any man,' said Simms, 'will do well on the Press if he is stupidenough; even Rorrison has done well.'
'I have just been telling him,' responded Rorrison, 'that the stupid menfail.'
'I don't consider you a failure, Rorrison,' said Simms, in mildsurprise. 'What stock-in-trade a literary hand requires, Mr. Angus, is afire to dry his writing at, jam or honey with which to gum old stamps onto envelopes, and an antimacassar.'
'An antimacassar?' Rob repeated.
'Yes; you pluck the thread with which to sew your copy together out ofthe antimacassar. When my antimacassars are at the wash I have to take aholiday.'
'Well, well, Simms,' said Rorrison, 'I like you best when you aretaciturn.'
'So do I,' said Simms.
'You might give Angus some advice about the likeliest papers for whichto write. London is new to him.'
'The fact is, Mr. Angus,' said Simms, more seriously, 'that advice insuch a matter is merely talk thrown away. If you have the journalisticinstinct, which includes a determination not to be beaten, as
well as anaptitude for selecting the proper subjects, you will by and by find aneditor who believes in you. Many men of genuine literary ability havefailed on the Press because they did not have that instinct, and theyhave attacked journalism in their books in consequence.'
'I am not sure that I know what the journalistic instinct precisely is,'Rob said, 'and still less whether I possess it.'
'Ah, just let me put you through your paces,' replied Simms. 'Supposeyourself up for an exam. in journalism, and that I am your examiner.Question One: "The house was soon on fire; much sympathy is expressedwith the sufferers." Can you translate that into newspaper English?'
'Let me see,' answered Rob, entering into the spirit of the examination.'How would this do: "In a moment the edifice was enveloped in shootingtongues of flame: the appalling catastrophe has plunged the whole streetinto the gloom of night"?'
'Good. Question Two: A man hangs himself; what is the technical headingfor this?'
'Either "Shocking Occurrence" or "Rash Act."'
'Question Three: "_Pabulum_," "_Cela va sans dire_," "_Par excellence_,""_Ne plus ultra_." What are these? Are there any more of them?'
'They are scholarship,' replied Rob, 'and there are two more, namely,"_tour de force_" and "_terra firma_."'
'Question Four: A. (a soldier) dies at 6 P.M. with his back to the foe.B. (a philanthropist) dies at 1 A.M.: which of these, speakingtechnically, would you call a creditable death?'
'The soldier's, because time was given to set it.'
'Quite right. Question Five: Have you ever known a newspaper which didnot have the largest circulation in its district, and was not the mostinfluential advertising medium?'
'Never.'
'Question Six: Mr. Gladstone rises to speak in the House of Commons at 2A.M. What would be the sub-editor's probable remark on receiving theopening words of the speech, and how would he break the news to theeditor? How would the editor be likely to take it?'
'I prefer,' said Rob, 'not to answer that question.'
'Well, Mr. Angus,' said Simms, tiring of the examination, 'you havepassed with honours.'
The conversation turned to Rorrison's coming work in Egypt, and by andby Simms rose to go.
'Your stick, I suppose, Mr. Angus?' he said, taking Rob's thick stafffrom a corner.
'Yes,' answered Rob, 'it has only a heavy knob, you see, for a handle,and a doctor once told me that if I continued to press so heavily on itI might suffer from some disease in the palm of the hand.'
'I never heard of that,' said Simms, looking up for the first time sincehe entered the room. Then he added, 'You should get a stick likeRorrison's. It has a screw handle which he keeps loose, so that theslightest touch knocks it off. It is called the compliment-stick,because if Rorrison is in the company of ladies, he contrives to getthem to hold it. This is in the hope that they will knock the handleoff, when Rorrison bows and remarks exultingly that the stick is likeits owner--when it came near them it lost its head. He has said that tofifteen ladies now, and has a great reputation for gallantry inconsequence. Good-night.'
'Well, he did not get any copy out of me,' said Rob.
'Simms is a curious fellow,' Rorrison answered. 'Though you might notexpect it, he has written some of the most pathetic things I ever read,but he wears his heart out of sight. Despite what he says, too, he isvery jealous for the Press's good name. He seemed to take to you, so Ishould not wonder though he were to look you up here some night.'
'Here? How do you mean?'
'Why, this. I shall probably be away from London for some months, and asI must keep on my rooms, I don't see why you should not occupy them. Thefurniture is mine, and you would be rent free, except that thehousekeeper expects a few shillings a week for looking after things.What do you think?'
Rob could have only one thought as he compared these comfortablechambers to his own bare room, and as Rorrison, who seemed to have takena warm liking to him, pressed the point, arguing that as the rent mustbe paid at any rate the chambers were better occupied, he at lastconsented, on the understanding that they could come to some arrangementon Rorrison's return.
'It will please my father, too,' Rorrison added, 'to know that you arehere. I always remember that had it not been for him you might neverhave gone on to the Press.'
They sat so late talking this matter over that Rob eventually stayed allnight, Rorrison having in his bedroom a couch which many journalists hadslept on.
Next morning the paper whose nickname is the _Scalping Knife_ was servedup with breakfast, and the first thing Rob saw in it was a leaderetteabout a disease generated in the palm of the hand by walking-sticks withheavy knobs for handles.
'I told you,' said Rorrison, 'that Simms would make his half-guinea outof you.'
When Rorrison went down to Simms's chambers later in the day, however,to say that he was leaving Rob tenant of his rooms, he was laughing atsomething else.
'All during breakfast,' he said to Simms, 'I noticed that Angus waspreoccupied, and anxious to say something that he did not like to say.At last he blurted it out with a white face, and what do you think itwas?'
Simms shook his head.
'Well,' said Rorrison, 'it was this. He has been accustomed to go downon his knees every night to say his prayers--as we used to do at school,but when he saw that I did not do it he did not like to do it either. Ibelieve it troubled him all night, for he looked haggard when he rose.'
'He told you this?'
'Yes; he said he felt ashamed of himself,' said Rorrison, smiling. 'Youmust remember he is country-bred.'
'You were a good fellow, Rorrison,' said Simms gravely, 'to put him intoyour rooms, but I don't see what you are laughing at.'
'Why,' said Rorrison, taken aback, I thought you would see it in thesame light.'
'Not I,' said Simms; 'but let me tell you this, I shall do what I canfor him. I like your Angus.'