I've got these letters done I must rough out something for the journalists on 'How "Trixie" came to me,' or 'What it feels like to Emerge,' or 'Should Archdeacons write novels?' They'll want to photograph me, of course. I'd better be done here at my desk, like this" he cupped his chin in his left palm, and gazed soulfully upwards—" or like this" he leant back in his chair, folded his arms, stuck a pipe in his mouth and adopted a frown of intense concentration—"or like this"—he seized a pen, put a finger to his brow and assumed the attitude of one who writes—"or like this"—he took a copy of "Trixie" in his left hand and a copy of "Edgar and Lilian" in his right, and held them up, one on each side of his grinning face, so that their titles were plainly visible.
"And," he went on, "how about sending this fountain pen of mine, this Pirene, to
