We are always anxious in our interviews to be all things to all men. But we were compelled to admit that we were not much of a pig man.
“Ah,” said the Great Novelist, “perhaps you are more of a dog man?”
“Something,” we said (we were once stung by a bee).
“Ah,” he said, “you shall have a go at the beehives, then, right away?”
We assured him that we were willing to postpone a go at the beehives till later.
“Come along, then, to the styes,” said the Great Novelist, and he added, “Perhaps you’re not much of a breeder.”
We blushed. We thought of the five little faces around the table for which we provide food by writing our interviews.
“No,” we said, “we were not much of a breeder.”
“Now then,” said the Great Novelist as we reached our goal, “how do you like this stye?”
“I’ve put in a new tile draining--my own plan. You notice how sweet it keeps the stye.”
“I am afraid,” said the Novelist, “that the pigs are all asleep inside.”
We begged him on no account to waken them. He offered to open the little door at the side and let us crawl in. We insisted that we could not think of intruding.
“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.”
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.
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.