“Heavens above! this is carrying things with a high hand!” cried Claude. “Perhaps you would not think it too much trouble to suggest a title for the book--that, I understand, is always a difficult business.” “Ah, the representative of Messrs. Shekels & Shackles, the publishers, confided to me his designs in regard to that point also,” said Clare triumphantly. “The poor man had passed days and nights in the Mediterranean thinking over the best title for your book; but only when he got through the Red Sea did the inspiration come to him. I agreed with him that it would be too bad if all his trouble were to no purpose. I agree with him still.” “He went a long way--so did you,” said Claude. “And the title--are you at liberty to divulge it to the author of the book yet unborn?” “The name of the book is to be 'Homeless in Hades,'” laughed Clare. “So much the agent confided in me. He thought that by that title the readers would be prepared for the worst you had to tell them.” “And so they would. I'm sure,” said he. “But I had no idea that the names of books were settled by the publishers.” “Oh, they're not as a rule--he explained that to me; he said that only in your case Messrs. Shekels & Shackles were under the impression that you should know just what the public expected from you.” “And their idea is that the writer of a book of travels should make it his business to provide the public with precisely what they expect? Well, I can't say that the notion is an extravagant one. Most of the volumes of travel which have been written, from the days of Sir John Mandeville, down, have shown a desire on the part of the authors to accommodate themselves to the views of the publishers and the public. I'm not so sure, however, about 'Homeless in Hades.'” “Then you will write the book?” cried Clare, her eyes sparkling. “Oh yes; when you begin by quarrelling with the title you are bound to write the book.” “I don't consider myself in the least compromised in the matter,” said he. “One may surely object to a title without being forced to write the book. The fact is that, since I started for the Zambesi, the public taste has been revolutionised by dry plates. An explorer without a camera is, In the eyes of the public, like--now, what is he like?--a mouse-trap without a bait--a bell without its hammer. Now I did not travel with a camera. My long journey alone through the forests was made with only the smallest amount of personal luggage. All I was able to carry with me will not make an imposing list. Item--one knife; item--one native bow and six poisoned arrows; item--six seeds of the linen plant.” “What, you succeeded in bringing home the seeds of that wonderful plant?” “I made up my mind to accomplish that at all hazards. The seeds are a good deal less interesting to look at than the native weapons. I have got a glass case made for the arrows. They are not the things that should be left lying about.”