Jewdwine didn’t know.  How should he?  He had a horror of this forcing of the sensuous and passionate note.  The author of the Prolegomena to AEsthetics recoiled from “too much temperament.”  He felt, moreover, the jealous pang of the master who realizes that he has lost his hold.  This was not that Rickman who used to hang all flushed and fervid on Jewdwine’s words.  He remembered how once on an April day, a year ago, the disciple had turned at the call of woman and of the world, the call of the Spring in his heart and in his urgent blood.

And yet this was not that Rickman either.

“My dear Rickman, I don’t understand.  Are you talking about the world?  Or the flesh?  Or the devils?”

“All of them, if you like.  And you can throw in the sun and the moon and the stars, too.  There are moments, Jewdwine, when I understand God.  At any rate I know how he felt the very day before creation.  His world’s all raw chaos to me, and I’ve got to make my world out of it.”

“I’m afraid I cannot help you there.”

As they parted he felt that perhaps he had failed to be sufficiently sympathetic.  “I’ll do my best,” said he, “to set you right with the public.”

Left alone, he stood staring earnestly at the chair where Rickman had sat propping his chin in his hands.  He seemed to be contemplating his phantom; the phantom that had begun to haunt him.

What had he let himself in for?

CHAPTER XLIII

There was one man who was sure, perfectly sure; and that man was Maddox.  He had read Rickman’s book before Jewdwine had seen it, and while Jewdwine was still shaking his head over it in the office of the The Museion, its chances were being eagerly discussed in the office of The Planet.  Maddox was disgusted with the publishers, Stables with the price, Rankin with the illustrations.

“It’s all very well,” said Rankin; “but those borrowed plumes will have to be paid for.”

“Borrowed plumes with a vengeance,” said Maddox.  “Vaughan might just as well have turned him out tarred and feathered as illustrated by Mordaunt Crawley.  Mind you, some of that tar will stick.  It’ll take him all his time to get it off.”

“Did you see,” said Stables, “that Hanson bracketed him with Letheby in this morning’s Courier?”

“No, did he?” said Maddox; “I’m sorry for that.  It’s rough on little Rickman.”

“It’s what you must expect,” said Rankin, “if you’re illustrated by Crawley.”

“It’s what you must expect,” said Stables, “if you go out of your way to offend people who can help you.  You know he refused an introduction to Hanson the other day?”

“No!”

“Fact.  And it was in his sublimest manner.  He said he hadn’t any use for Hanson.  Hanson couldn’t help him till he’d helped himself.  I don’t know whether any one was kind enough to tell that tale to Hanson.”