That we each had a high opinion of the other's talents I
am convinced, but our heads were full of silly saws. We said to
ourselves: "There are many who will praise a man; it is only his friend
who will tell him of his faults." Also, we said: "No man sees his own
shortcomings, but when these are pointed out to him by another he is
grateful, and proceeds to mend them."
As we came to know the world better, we learnt the fallacy of these
ideas. But then it was too late, for the mischief had been done.
When one of us had written anything, he would read it to the other, and
when he had finished he would say, "Now, tell me what you think of
it--frankly and as a friend."
Those were his words. But his thoughts, though he may not have known
them, were:--
"Tell me it is clever and good, my friend, even if you do not think so.
The world is very cruel to those that have not yet conquered it, and,
though we keep a careless face, our young hearts are scored with
wrinkles. Often we grow weary and faint-hearted. Is it not so, my
friend? No one has faith in us, and in our dark hours we doubt
ourselves. You are my comrade. You know what of myself I have put into
this thing that to others will be but an idle half-hour's reading. Tell
me it is good, my friend. Put a little heart into me, I pray you.
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