"What we would like," we said, "is to hear something of
your methods of work in novel writing." We said this with
very peculiar conviction. Quite apart from the immediate
purposes of our interview, we have always been most
anxious to know by what process novels are written. If
we could get to know this, we would write one ourselves.
"Come and see my bulls first," said the Novelist. "I've
got a couple of young bulls here in the paddock that will
interest you."
We felt sure that they would.
He led us to a little green fence. Inside it were two
ferocious looking animals, eating grain. They rolled
their eyes upwards at us as they ate.
"How do those strike you?" he asked.
We assured him that they struck us as our beau ideal
of bulls.
"Like to walk in beside them?" said the Novelist, opening
a little gate.
We drew back. Was it fair to disturb these bulls?
The Great Novelist noticed our hesitation.
"Don't be afraid," he said. "They're not likely to harm
you. I send my hired man right in beside them every
morning, without the slightest hesitation."
We looked at the Eminent Novelist with admiration. We
realized that like so many of our writers, actors, and
even our thinkers, of to-day, he was an open-air man in
every sense of the word.
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