We were talking about the strange
appearance--a phenomenon of the day--of French wine in German bottles,
and this led to the re-expression of my life-long surprise that
bottles should exist in such numbers as they do--bottles everywhere,
all over the world, with wine and beer in them, and no one under any
obligation to save and return them.
"Well," said the soldier (who may or may not have known that I was one
of those writing fellows), "that has never struck me as odd. Of course
there are lots of bottles. Bottles are necessary. But what beats me is
the number of books. New books and old books, books in shops and books
on stalls, and books in houses; and on top of all that--libraries.
That's rum, if you like. I most cordially hope," he added, "that there
are more bottles than books in the world."
"I don't care how many there are of either," said the _flaneur_; "but
I know this--another book's badly wanted."
"Oh, come off it," said the enemy of authorship. "How can another book
be needed? Have you ever seen the British Museum Reading Room? It's
simply awful. It's a kind of disease. I was taken there once by an
aunt when I was a boy, and it has haunted me ever since. Books by the
million all round the room, and the desks crowded with people writing
new ones. Men _and_ women. Mixed writing, you know. Terrible!"
"All that may be true," said the _flaneur_, "but the fact remains that
another book is still needed.
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