Manchurian Books

"
"Oom! No harm TRYING, George. We can but try."
I would suck my pipe. "Hard to get at. Unless we sold our stuff
specially at the docks. Might do a special at Cook's office, or in the
Continental Bradshaw."
"It 'ud give 'em confidence, George."
He would Zzzz, with his glasses reflecting the red of the glowing coals.
"No good hiding our light under a Bushel," he would remark.
I never really determined whether my uncle regarded Tono-Bungay as a
fraud, or whether he didn't come to believe in it in a kind of way by
the mere reiteration of his own assertions. I think that his average
attitude was one of kindly, almost parental, toleration. I remember
saying on one occasion, "But you don't suppose this stuff ever did a
human being the slightest good all?" and how his face assumed a look of
protest, as of one reproving harshness and dogmatism.
"You've a hard nature, George," he said. "You're too ready to run things
down. How can one TELL? How can one venture to TELL!..."
I suppose any creative and developing game would have interested me
in those years.


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