And, in hot haste, he began tearing away the pink paper, till out came the clean, folded bits of printing and the dirty and dishevelled blue foolscap, the look of which I knew so well. It is an odd feeling, that first seeing one’s self in print, and I could guess, even then, what a thrill shot through Derrick as he turned over the pages. But he would not take them into the sitting-room, no doubt dreading another diatribe against his profession; and we solemnly played euchre, and patiently endured the Major’s withering sarcasms till ten o’clock sounded our happy release. However, to make a long story short, a month later--that is, at the end of November--‘Lynwood’s Heritage’ was published in three volumes with maroon cloth and gilt lettering. Derrick had distributed among his friends the publishers’ announcement of the day of publication; and when it was out I besieged the libraries for it, always expressing surprise if I did not find it in their lists. Then began the time of reviews. As I had expected, they were extremely favourable, with the exception of the Herald, the Stroller, and the Hour, which made it rather hot for him, the latter in particular pitching into his views and assuring its readers that the book was ‘dangerous,’ and its author a believer in--various thing especially repugnant to Derrick, at it happened. I was with him when he read these reviews. Over the cleverness of the satirical attack in the Weekly Herald he laughed heartily, though the laugh was against himself; and as to the critic who wrote in the Stroller it was apparent to all who knew ‘Lynwood’ that he had not read much of the book; but over this review in the Hour he was genuinely angry--it hurt him personally, and, as it afterwards turned out, played no small part in the story of his life. The good reviews, however, were many, and their recommendation of the book hearty; they all prophesied that it would be a great success. Yet, spite of this, ‘Lynwood’s Heritage’ didn’t sell. Was it, as I had feared, that Derrick was too devoid of the pushing faculty ever to make a successful writer? Or was it that he was handicapped by being down in the provinces playing keeper to that abominable old bear? Anyhow, the book was well received, read with enthusiasm by an extremely small circle, and then it dropped down to the bottom among the mass of overlooked literature, and its career seemed to be over. I can recall the look in Derrick’s face when one day he glanced through the new Mudie and Smith lists and found ‘Lynwood’s Heritage’ no longer down. I had been trying to cheer him up about the book and quoting all the favourable remarks I had heard about it. But unluckily this was damning evidence against my optimist view. He sighed heavily and put down the lists. “It’s no use to deceive one’s self,” he said, drearily, “‘Lynwood’ has failed.”