Well, what I was going to say was this: would you come with me to
the office of Chat, and have a talk with my friend Lake, the sub-
editor? I know your time is very valuable, but then you're often
running into the Will-o'-the-Wisp, and Chat is just upstairs, you
know.'
'What use should I be?'
'Oh, all the use in the world. Lake would pay most respectful
attention to your opinion, though he thinks so little of mine.
You are a man of note, I am nobody. I feel convinced that you
could persuade the Chat people to adopt my idea, and they might
be willing to give me a contingent share of contingent profits,
if I had really shown them the way to a good thing.'
Jasper promised to think the matter over. Whilst their talk still
ran on this subject, a packet that had come by post was brought
into the room. Opening it, Milvain exclaimed:
'Ha! this is lucky. There's something here that may interest you,
Whelpdale.'
'Proofs?'
'Yes. A paper I have written for The Wayside.' He looked at Dora,
who smiled. 'How do you like the title?--"The Novels of Edwin
Reardon!"'
'You don't say so!' cried the other.
Pages:
815
816
817
818
819
820
821
822
823
824
825
826
827
828
829
830
831
832
833
834
835
836
837
838
839