Rudyard Kipling pf I'd even sacrifice you, if that would bring me what I want.” “My poor little darling! I know that state of mind. It doesn’t lead to good work.” “You aren’t angry? Remember, I do despise myself.” “Pm not exactly flattered, — I had guessed as much before, — but I’m not angry. I’m sorry for you. Surely you ought to have left a littleness like that behind you, years ago.” “You've no right to patronize me! I only want what I have worked for so long. It came to you without any trouble, and — and I don’t think it’s fair.” “What can I do? Pd give ten years of my life to get you what you want. But I can’t help you; even I can’t help.” A murmur of dissent from Maisie. He went on — “And I know by what you have just said that you’re on the wrong road to success. It isn’t got at by sacrificing other people, — I’ve had that much knocked into me; you must sacrifice yourself, and live under orders, and never think for yourself, and never have real satisfaction in your work except just at the beginning, when you're reaching out after a notion.” “How can you believe all that?” “There’s no question of belief or disbelief. That’s the law, and you take it or refuse it as you please. I try to obey, but I can’t, and then my work turns bad on my hands. Under any circumstances, remember, fourfifths of everybody’s work must be bad. But the remnant is worth the trouble for it’s own sake.” “Isn’t it nice to get credit even for bad work?” “It’s much too nice. But — May I tell you something? It isn’t a pretty tale, but you’re so like a man that I forget when I’m talking to you.” “Tell me.” “Once when I was out in the Sudan I went over some