But my friend Sidney Mandragon is, indeed, at the final stage now, for he had been “the well-known writer” for at least a dozen years previously.  Of course, he has been helped by his name.  Shakespeare may say what he likes, but a good name goes a long way in the writing profession.  It was my business at one time to consider contributions for a certain paper, and there was one particular contributor whose work I approached with an awe begotten solely of his name.  It was not exactly Milton, and not exactly Carlyle, and not exactly Charles Lamb, but it was a sort of mixture of all three and of many other famous names thrown in, so that, without having seen any of his work printed elsewhere, I felt that I could not take the risk of refusing it myself.  “This is a good man,” I would say before beginning his article; “this man obviously has style.  And I shouldn’t be surprised to hear that he was an authority on fishing.”  I wish I could remember his name now, and then you would see for yourself.

Well, take Mr. Hugh Walpole (if he will allow me).  It is safe to say that, when Mr. Walpole’s first book came out, the average reader felt vaguely that she had heard of him before.  She hadn’t actually read his famous Letters, but she had often wanted to, and—­or was that his uncle?  Anyway, she had often heard people talking about him.  What a very talented family it was!  In the same way Sidney Mandragon has had the great assistance of one of the two Christian names which carry weight in journalism.  The other, of course, is Harold.  If you are Sidney or Harold, the literary world is before you.

Another hall-mark by which we can tell whether a man has arrived or not is provided by the interview.  If (say) a Lepidopterist is just beginning his career, nobody bothers about his opinions on anything.  If he is moderately well-known in his profession, the papers will seek his help whenever his own particular subject comes up in the day’s news.  There is a suggestion, perhaps, in Parliament that butterflies should be muzzled, and “Our Representative” promptly calls upon “the well-known Lepidopterist” to ask what he thinks about it.  But if he be of an established reputation, then his professional opinion is no longer sought.  What the world is eager for now is to be told his views on Sunday Games, the Decadence of the Theatre or Bands in the Parks.

The modern advertising provides a new scale of values.  No doubt Mr. Pelman offers his celebrated hundred guineas’ fee equally to all his victims, but we may be pretty sure that in his business-like brain he has each one of them nicely labelled, a Gallant Soldier being good for so much new business, a titled Man of Letters being good for slightly less; and that real Fame is best measured by the number of times that one’s unbiased views on Pelmanism (or Tonics or Hair-Restorers) are considered to be worth reprinting.  In this matter my friend Mandragon is doing nicely.