LEOPOLD ERNST, Literary Critic.
Quincy remained all night with Leopold, sleeping on the bed lounge in
the sitting-room. He was up at six o'clock the next morning, but found
that his friend was also an early riser, for on entering the library he
saw the latter seated at his desk regarding the pile of manuscript which
Quincy had read to him.
Leopold looked up with a peculiar expression on his face.
"What's the matter," asked Quincy, "changing your mind?"
"No," said Leopold, "I never do that, it would spoil my value as a
reader if I did. My decisions are as fixed as the laws of the Medes and
Persians, and are regarded by literary aspirants as being quite as
severe as the statutes of Draco; but the fact is, Quincy, you and your
_protege_--you see I consider you equally culpable--have neglected to
put any real name or pseudonym to these interesting stories. Of course I
can affix the name of the most popular author that the world has ever
known,--Mr. Anonymous,--but you two probably have some pet name that you
wish immortalized."
"By George!" cried Quincy, "we did forget that.
Pages:
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302