At the time I left London to join J. P. at Mentone I had stipulated that, if I should chance to be selected to fill the vacant post, I should not be called upon to take up my duties until I had returned to London and spent a fortnight there in clearing up my private affairs.

After we had been a few weeks at Wiesbaden it became absolutely necessary for me to go to London for that purpose; and this led to a struggle with J. P. which nearly brought our relations to an end.

As soon as I broached the subject of a fortnight’s leave of absence J. P. set his face firmly against the proposal.  This was due not so much to any feeling on his part that my absence would be an inconvenience to him, for both Paterson and Pollard had returned to duty, but to an almost unconquerable repugnance he had to any one except himself initiating any plan which would in the slightest degree affect his arrangements.  His sensitiveness on this point was so delicate that it was impossible, for instance, for any of us to accept an invitation to lunch or dine with friends who might happen to be in our neighborhood, or to ask for half a day off for any purpose whatever.

I do not mean to say that we never got away for a meal or that we were never free for a few hours; as a matter of fact, J. P. was by no means ungenerous in such things once a man had passed the trial stage; but, although J. P. might say to you, “Take two days off and amuse yourself,” or “Take the evening off, and don’t trouble to get back to work until lunch-time to-morrow,” it was out of the question for you to say to J. P.:  “An old friend of mine is here for the day, would you mind my taking lunch with him?”

No one, I am sure, ever made a suggestion of that kind to J. P. more than once—­the effect upon him was too startling.

J. P.’s favors in the way of giving time off were always granted subject to a change of mind on his part; and these changes were often so sudden that it was our custom as soon as leave was given to disappear from the yacht or the villa at the earliest possible moment.  But at times even an instant departure was too slow, for it might happen that before you were out of the room J. P. would say:  “Just a moment, Mr. So-and-So, you wouldn’t mind if I asked you to put off your holiday till to-morrow, would you?  I think I would like you to finish that novel this evening; I am really interested to see how it comes out.”

This, of course, was rather disappointing; but the great disadvantage of not getting away was that Mr. Pulitzer’s memory generally clung very tenaciously to the fact that he had given you leave, and lost the subsequent act of rescinding it.  The effect of this was that for the practical purpose of getting a day off your turn was used up as soon as J. P. granted it, without any reference to whether you actually got it or not; and the phrase, “until to-morrow,” was not to be interpreted literally or to be acted upon without a further distinct permission.