It was to have been published in the autumn, but the London firm decided to postpone its appearance one year. The author employed these months in completely rewriting the story, which he had named _Owd Bob_. Meanwhile, the New York publishers, who had a copy of the original manuscript, fearing that the title _Owd Bob_ lacked magnetism, wisely rechristened it _Bob, Son of Battle_. And so, in September, 1898, the novel in its first form, but with a new name, was printed in America; simultaneously in England it appeared in a new form, but with the old name. In other words, the London first edition, _Owd Bob_, is a thoroughly revised version of the American first edition, _Bob, Son of Battle_, although they were published at the same time. It does not seem as though the author could have improved a book that so completely satisfies us as it stands; and Americans, to whom _Owd Bob_ is unknown, may not believe that it can be superior to _Bob, Son of Battle_. Nevertheless it is. The two versions are of course alike in general features of the plot and in outline; but no one who has read both can hesitate an instant. One has only to compare the manner in which Red Wull made his _début_ in America with the chapter where he first appears (in a totally different way) in the English edition, to see how clearly second thoughts were best. And yet, despite the enormous popularity of _Bob, Son of Battle_ in the United States, and despite the fact that Englishmen had the opportunity to read the story in a still finer form, it has not until very recently made any impression on British readers or on London critics. Is it possible that a book, like a dog, may be killed by a bad name? The novel was written by an Englishman, the scenes were laid in Britain, it dealt with manners and customs peculiarly English, and it was aimed directly at an English public. And yet, for nearly ten years after its publication, _Owd Bob_ remained in obscurity.[12] But its day is coming, and the prophet will yet receive honour in his own country. In 1908 it was reprinted in a seven-pence edition, of which fifty thousand copies have already seen the light. This is nothing to the American circulation; but it is promising. Bearing in mind the futility of literary prophecy, I still believe that the day will come when _Owd Bob_ will be generally recognised as belonging to English literature. [12] A year or two ago I asked one of the foremost English dramatists, one of the foremost English novelists, and one of the foremost English critics, men whose names are known everywhere in America, if they had read _Bob_; not one of them had ever heard of the book.