But we shook our heads.
Bulls, we explained, were not a department of research for which we were equipped. What we wanted, we said, was to learn something of his methods of work.
“My methods of work?” he answered, as we turned up the path again. “Well, really, I hardly know that I have any.”
“What is your plan or method,” we asked, getting out our notebook and pencil, “of laying the beginning of a new novel?”
“My usual plan,” said the Novelist, “is to come out here and sit in the stye till I get my characters.”
“Does it take long?” we questioned.
“Not very. I generally find that a quiet half-hour spent among the hogs will give me at least my leading character.”
“And what do you do next?”
“Oh, after that I generally light a pipe and go and sit among the beehives looking for an incident.”
“Do you get it?” we asked.
“Invariably. After that I make a few notes, then go off for a ten mile tramp with my esquimaux dogs, and get back in time to have a go through the cattle sheds and take a romp with the young bulls.”
We sighed. We couldn’t help it. Novel writing seemed further away than ever.
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