He let me present Lea with an occasional column and a half; and once he promised me that one day he would allow me to get the atmosphere of Arthur Edwards, the novelist.
Then there was Churchill and the _Life of Cromwell_ that progressed slowly.

The experiment succeeded well enough, as I grew less domineering and he less embarrassed.

Toward the end I seemed to have become a familiar inmate of his house.

I used to go down with him on Saturday afternoons and we talked things over in the train.

It was, to an idler like myself, wonderful the way that essential idler's days were cut out and fitted in like the squares of a child's puzzle; little passages of work of one kind fitting into quite unrelated passages of something else.