I used to play billiards with Simmons, to talk to Simmons, but not to
read Simmons.
There are limits to friendship.
I met him the other day in a very depressed state.
"Look at these munition workers," he said. "See what the Government is
doing for them. Paying them wages all the time that they're out of work.
What about me?"
"Well, you weren't on munitions."
"I have been on intellectual munitions," replied Simmons. "And now all
my editors write to me, 'Get away from the War.' I have to transfer my
machinery to peace work. I have to turn away from the production of the
German spy. Think of it. I have almost lived on him for years. I have
created hundreds of him during the War. All my laboriously acquired
knowledge of German terms--like '_Schweinhund_,' you know--goes for
nothing. I shall have to make all my villains Bolsheviks. That will
require close study of Russia. All my old Russian knowledge goes for
nothing. They have abolished the knout and exile to Siberia. I have to
start afresh.
"Then look at my heroes. I have mastered the second lieutenant. My
typewriter almost automatically writes 'old top,' 'old soul,' 'old
bean,' 'old egg.' All my study of this type is thrown away. And
heroines--why, I shall have to study dress again. The hospital nurse is
done for; the buxom proportions of the land-girl avail me no more.
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