Despite of his apparent boredom and dislike of what he was reading, Mr. Brooks read the article to the last word, then he sighed, looked up at Garry, and said with a weak, exhausted voice:
" Mr. Mance, I have told you ten times already that you do not have what it takes to be a writer. I don't know how many times we have to go through this conversation".
The 20 years old Garry opened his mouth to speak, but a silent gesture from the old publisher's hand stopped the words in his mouth. He looked dismal in his shabby overcoats and his mangled hair.
Mr. Brooks continued:
" I have read your works many times, and each time there has been the same mistakes, same mundane descriptions, same unimaginative ideas".
He paused, scanning Garry's face with unmistakable petty then added:
" I have done that because your father was a dear friend of mine, but my boy, you have to let it go. You are not a writer. Go study engineering or any field that requires solid facts and soulless pursuits of knowledge. Writing is an art, not a mathematical equation you can work out. Sorry. I cannot offer you the internship you want".
Garry, feeling hopeless and looking as if he was on the verge of tears, gathered his papers, and with a disappointed shake of the head he greeted the old man and left the office.