"Yes. Why? Have they sent it? How did you know it was rejected?"

"By your face, my dear boy," answered my father.

"It's odd that these failures knock you up still. You must be
accustomed to them now!"

That was cutting, and it cut.

"One does not easily get accustomed to anything that is against
natural law," I said, coldly.

"Oh! and you mean that it is against the natural law of things that
so brilliant a genius as yourself should be perpetually rejected?"

I nodded. "Just so," I answered.

"It is a pity they will not take your estimation of your own
powers!"

"There is very little difference in the estimation," I said. "The
difference is in the courage. I have the courage to write things
they have not the courage to print. There is no question as to my
powers. No one, except yourself, perhaps, has ever denied those."

"Well, why the dickens don't you write something that they will
accept? Why not make up something quite conventional?"

I looked across the hearth at him with a half amused, half ironical