Part 9 (2/2)

”There must have been a spring cleaning,” he thought.

He felt remarkably well. ”I believe that I fell asleep during a sermon.

Well, the sleep has done me good and cleared my brain. But who on earth brought me here? Strange: but I'll think it out when I have time. Just now I want to write. That was a capital idea for my new novel. I must work it out at once while the inspiration is still active; for I never felt keener and fitter in my life. Let me see.--Yes, _Dual Personality_ was to be the t.i.tle.” These were his first reflections.

Then without more ado he sat down to the table; lit his pipe; ruminated for five minutes, and began to write.

He wrote rapidly and continuously for many hours, and midnight had pa.s.sed when Piecraft flung down the last sheet on the floor and uttered a triumphant ”Done!”

”I thought,” he said aloud, ”that it would run to at least 100,000 words. But I don't believe there's a fifth that number. The thing has come out a Short Story. Never mind, I'm safe for a twenty-pound note anyhow. Not so bad for one day's work. I'll read it over in the morning.” Then, feeling hungry, he rang the bell.

To his great surprise there entered not the fussy old lady who usually waited on him, but a girl neatly dressed and with a remarkably intelligent face.

”Are you the new servant?” said he.

The girl made no reply, but, having placed food on the table, withdrew.

”As modest as she is pretty,” thought Piecraft as he ate his meal.

”Well, I'll give her no cause to complain of me. And I hope she'll continue to wait on me. For in all my life I never knew bread and wine to taste so delicious.”

On the following morning he had barely finished his breakfast, supplied him in the same silent manner, when a tap came at the door and a young man stepped into the room. ”Is there anything I can do for you, sir?”

said he.

”Who are you?” said Piecraft. ”I have never seen you before.”

”Oh,” said the young man, ”I'm a messenger. Your friends have sent me to look after you.”

”It's the first time they have ever done such a thing,” returned the other, ”and I'm much obliged to them. Anyhow, you came at the right time. There _is_ something you can do for me; at least I think so. Can you read aloud?”

”I like nothing better,” said the young man.

”Well, then, you are the very man I want. It so happens that I wrote a story for the press last night, and I was just wis.h.i.+ng that I had a kind friend who would do me the service of reading it aloud. There's nothing that gives an author a better idea of the effect of his work than to hear it read aloud.”

”I will read it with the greatest pleasure,” said the youth.

”Then let us get to work at once,” said Piecraft--and he handed his ma.n.u.script across the table.

The young man settled himself in a good light and began to read. The first sentence ran as follows:

”_For the fourth time that day, Abdulla, the water-seller of Damascus, had come to the river's bank to fill his water-skin._”

”Stop!” cried Piecraft. ”I never wrote that! I must have given you the wrong ma.n.u.script. What is the t.i.tle on the outside?”

”_The Hole in the Water-skin_,” answered the reader.

”It's not the t.i.tle of my story,” said Piecraft. ”Here, hand the papers over to me and let me look at them. Extraordinary! Where did this thing come from? I presume you're attempting some kind of practical joke. What have you done with the ma.n.u.script I gave you?”

”The confusion will soon pa.s.s,” said the other.

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