But why ask that question?
"Because I should like to have all the stories that you have been
in the habit of relating to our friends set down fairly in
writing, by way of preserving them from ever being forgotten."
Would I bathe his left eye now, because that felt the hottest
to-night? I began to forbode that his growing indifference to what
I was saying would soon end in his fairly going to sleep before I
had developed my new idea, unless I took some means forthwith of
stimulating his curiosity, or, in other words, of waking him into
a proper state of astonishment and attention. "William," said I,
without another syllable of preface, "I have got a new plan for
finding all the money we want for our expenses here."
He jerked his head up directly, and looked at me. What plan?
"This: The state of your eyes prevents you for the present from
following your profession as an artist, does it not? Very well.
What are you to do with your idle time, my dear? Turn author! And
how are you to get the money we want? By publishing a book!"
"Good gracious, Leah! are you out of your senses?" he exclaimed.
I put my arm round his neck and sat down on his knee (the course
I always take when I want to persuade him to anything with as few
words as possible).
"Now, William, listen patiently to me," I said. "An artist lies
under this great disadvantage in case of accidents--his talents
are of no service to him unless he can use his eyes and fingers.
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