A Great Man

lats in Charing Cross Road. Love in Babylon was firmly gripped under his right arm. Partly this strange burden and partly the brilliant aspect of the building made h

live by every possible means. Dirt and gloom were omnipresent. Cleanliness and ample daylight would have been deemed unbusinesslike, as revolutionary and dangerous as a typewriter. One day, in winter, Sir George had taken cold, and he had attributed his misfortune, in language which he immediately regretted,

sed through another pair of swinging doors, and discovered himself in a spacious marble hall, with a lift-cabinet resembling a confessional, and broad stairs behind curving up to Paradise. On either side of him, in place of priceless works by old masters, were

der?' as

the flunkey, thus giving the tab

s flunkey as travelling companion, he could not help contrasting that offi

'Mark Snyder, Literary Agent,' pointed along another corridor. And as he progressed, the merry din of typewriters grew louder and louder. At length he stood in front of a glassy door, and on the face of the do

y pa

t a literary agent was, and, struck by the man's astuteness and geniality, had mentioned the matter of Love in Babylon. Mr. Snyder had kindly promised to look into the matter of Love in Babylon himself if Henry could call on him i

, Henry wondered whether, after all, he was

bows at the backs of their necks, looked up from two typew

appeared to say. Her voice, however, said nothing except, 'Will you take a s

in blue and white. Tables more massive bore enormous piles of all shapes and sizes of manuscripts, scores and hundreds or unprinted literary works, a

anting smile that Henry had ever seen on the face of a pretty woman,

ndsome man of about forty, and he sat at a broad table playing with a revolver. 'What do

right,' said

I told you, didn't I? Never been there before. So I thought I'

eased laughing, an

fice?' Henry asked him

brass fender, and the receptacle for coal was of burnished copper. Photogravures in rich oaken frames ad

Snyder, pushing across towa

not usually smoke, and he pu

sniffed the

I do for you?'

n Babylon, and Mr. Snyder stretched out an arm and idly turned

nuensis?' he de

t,' sai

l, 'It's too short, you know,' he added

ree hundre

n here,' Mr. Snyder laugh

ty-two

ousand words the

Henry demanded. 'I s

began at eight and finished at half-past, would you go out satisfied with th

again, and looked at the fire

uality. But it absolutely insists on six shillings' worth of quantity, and doesn't object to more. What can I do with

ammatic remarks impressed him. He saw the art of Richardson and Balzac in an entirely new aspec

ly put Love in Ba

!' he murmured

er of the onion-cart, at which

ons Winter? No? He's always called Spring Onions in the trade. Pushing man. What a

used a moment. During his absence Henry reflected upon the singularly unbusinesslike nature

,' said Mr. Snyd

y I ask, Mr. Snyder, what are you

gross receipts. Generally, to unknown men, I char

ent.?' Hen

t.,' repeate

n per cent.?' Henr

yder n

ssively, 'that if a book of mine makes a profit of ten thousand po

that,' Mr. Sn

aghast, astounded.

'A thousand pounds

pets and the photogravures and

usand

ck the revolve

Henry discreetly. 'How lo

smiled brightly. Henry could not find a satisfa

rteously. 'And I'm much obliged to you for giving me an

been a futile and