had been set in type immediately, straight off! A few slight alterations. . . . A couple of errors in writing amended. . . . Worked out with talent . . . be printed to-morrow . . . half-a-sovereign.
I laughed and cried, took to jumping and running down the street, stopped, slapped my thighs, swore loudly and solemnly into space at nothing in particular. And time went.
All through the night until the bright dawn I "jodled" about the streets and repeated—"Worked out with talent—therefore a little masterpiece—a stroke of genius—and half-a-sovereign."