Mr. Daily burst into the room, slamming the door behind him, to find
Mr. Maily seated before the fire.
"Maily, you're not getting things done," he shouted as he walked
swiftly up and down the Turkey carpet.
"Only buttoning my spat, Daily," said Mr. Maily. Then he too,
springing from his chair, walked rapidly to and fro. But whereas Mr.
Daily chose the route between the window and the motto, "Do something
else NOW!" Mr. Maily took the line between the fireplace and "Keep on
keeping on!" for they seldom felt compelled to stick to one direction.
"Maily, I'm worried," exclaimed Mr. Daily in passing. "Things seem to
be easing down. Even you are not so nimble as you were. This silence
of the public troubles me--haven't been saying things about us for a
long time."
"Some people even praise us," remarked Mr. Maily, disgust mingling
with the perspiration on his face.
"We'll be damned if we put up with praise," Mr. Daily declared.
"We shall. We'd give praise if they'd damn us," said Mr. Maily.
"Never be funny, Maily, if you can help it," warned Mr. Daily. Then
he remarked wistfully, "If they'd only burn us again!"
"Couldn't we go for the Archbishop of CANTERBURY?" asked Mr. Maily.
"To be burnt during morning service in a cathedral--"
"No, these church-people couldn't be roused, Maily. Too much
dillydally about them. They'd never fall to it."
Mr. Daily jabbed his thumb against a white bell-push, and a clerk
appeared. "Got enough work to do?" asked Mr. Daily.
"And then some," said the clerk.
"Well, get on with it," shouted Mr. Daily impatiently, and pressed a
red bell-push.
"Plenty doing?" he asked the compositor who appeared.
"Twice that," said the compositor.
"Then go to it," barked Mr. Daily. Turning to behold Mr. Maily mopping
his brow, he cried, "For heaven's sake don't let anybody see you
standing still, Maily."
"I was only thinking," said Mr. Maily.
"Whatever for?" asked Mr. Daily.
"Do you suppose--"
"Suppose nothing. Know!"
"How would it be to--to denounce beer?" asked Mr. Maily.
"Gad, but you've still got pluck," said Mr. Daily with something like
admiration. "They'd burn us right enough. But there is such a thing as
too much pluck, Maily. Think again, if you must think."
"No," Mr. Daily went on, "I doubt if a satisfactory burning can be
worked--it only comes by accident. Meanwhile, if the public won't
talk about us, we must boom ourselves;" and he sprinted to a yellow
bell-push to summon the editor.
"This peace business," said Mr. Daily to him--"_Peace must be signed!_
How's that for a new stunt? Cut out 'The Soldiers' Paper' and call
ourselves 'The Paper that gets Peace.' Get the boys together, work out
a scheme and come and show us in half-an-hour."
"But, Daily, is there any likelihood of peace not being signed?" asked
Mr. Maily, when the editor had gone.
"For goodness' sake, Maily, pull yourself together. Don't you
understand that one of the principles of our job is to back certs?"
said Mr. Daily.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Manager of Kinema Theatre_ (_referring to the two
turbulent members of audience who have been ejected_). "HOW DID THE
QUARREL COMMENCE?"
_Doorkeeper_. "THEY WERE FIGHTING, SIR, ABOUT WHICH OF THEM THE GIRL
IN THE PICTURE WAS WINKING AT."]
* * * * *