Crackamup"--Mr. Lavender saw a small man like
Beethoven frowning from behind spectacles--"could we run this German
prisoner stunt alongside the British, or d'you think it would kill it?"
Mr. Lavender almost rose from his chair in surprise. "Are you----" he
said; "is it----"
The small man hiccoughed, and said in a raw voice:
"The letters are falling off."
"Ah!" murmured the editor, "I thought we should be through by Thursday.
We'll start this new stunt Thursday. Give it all prominence, Crackamup.
It'll focus fury. All to the good--all to the good. Opinion's ripe."
Then for a moment he seemed to hesitate, and his chin sank back on his
chest. "I don't know," he murmured, "of course it may----"
"Please," began Mr. Lavender, rising, while the small man hiccoughed
again. The two motions seemed to determine the editor.
"That's all right, sir," he said, rising also; "that's quite all right.
We'll say Thursday, and risk it. Thursday, Crackamup." And he held out
his hand to Mr. Lavender. "Good morning, sir, good morning. Delighted to
have seen you. You wouldn't put your name to it? Well, well, it doesn't
matter; only you could have written it. The turn of phrase--immense!
They'll tumble all right!" And Mr.
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