Part 6 (1/2)
”Of course, a volume doesn't fill a whole exercise-book. They are penny exercise-books. I have a great many three-volume stories in the three exercise-books.”
”But are they really three-volume novels?”
”Yes, for they are in chapters, and one of them has twenty chapters.”
”And how many chapters are there in a page?”
”Not very many.”
Some authors admit that they take their characters from real life, while others declare that they draw entirely upon their imagination.
”Do you put real people into your novels?”
”Yes, Maurice and other people, but generally Maurice.”
”I have heard that some people are angry with authors for putting them into books.”
”Sometimes Maurice is angry, but I can't always make him an engine-driver, can I?”
”No. I think it is quite unreasonable on his part to expect it. I suppose he likes to be made an engine-driver?”
”He is to be an engine-driver when he grows up, he says. He is a silly boy, but I love him.”
”What else do you make him in your books?”
”To-day I made him like Stanley, because I think that is what papa would like him to be; and yesterday he was papa, and I was his coachman.”
”He would like that?”
”No, he wanted me to be papa and him the coachman. Sometimes I make him a pirate, and he likes that, and once I made him a girl.”
”He would be proud?”
”That was the day he hit me. He is awfully angry if I make him a girl, silly boy. Of course he doesn't understand.”
”Obviously not. But did you not punish him for being so cruel as to hit you?”
”Yes, I turned him into a cat, but he said he would rather be a cat than a girl. You see he's not much more than a baby--though I was writing books at his age.”
”Were you ever charged with plagiarism? I mean with copying your books out of other people's books.”
”Yes, often.”
”I suppose that is the fate of all authors. I am told that literary people write best in an old coat----.”
”Oh, I like to be nicely dressed when I am writing. Here is papa, and I do believe he has another portrait of Stanley in his hand. Mamma will be so annoyed.”
THE CAPTAIN OF THE SCHOOL.
When Peterkin, who is twelve, wrote to us that there was a possibility (”but don't count on it,” he said) of his bringing the captain of the school home with him for a holiday, we had little conception what it meant. The captain we only knew by report as the ”man” who lifted leg-b.a.l.l.s over the pavilion and was said to have made a joke to the head-master's wife. By-and-by we understood the distinction that was to be conferred on us. Peterkin instructed his mother to send the captain a formal invitation addressed ”J. Rawlins, Esq.” This was done, but in such a way that Peterkin feared we might lose our distinguished visitor.
”You shouldn't have asked him for all the holidays,” Peterkin wrote, ”as he has promised a heap of fellows.” Then came a condescending note from the captain, saying that if he could manage it he would give us a few days. In this letter he referred to Peterkin as his young friend.