"Ah! who knows?" said the Tinker. And after he had cleansed the
pan to his satisfaction, he turned to me with dexter finger
upraised and brow of heavy portent. "Young fellow," said he, "no
man can write a good nov-el without he knows summat about love,
it aren't to be expected--so the sooner you do learn, the better."

"Hum!" said I.

"And then, as I said afore and I say it again, they wants love in
a book nowadays, and wot's more they will have it."

"They?" said I.

"The folk as will read your book--after it is written."

"Ah! to be sure," said I, somewhat taken aback; "I had forgotten
them."

"Forgotten them?" repeated the Tinker, staring.

"Forgotten that people might went to read it--after it is
written."

"But," said the Tinker, rubbing his nose hard, "books are written
for people to read, aren't they?"

"Not always," said I.

Hereupon the Tinker rubbed his nose harder than ever.