description and
reports, but only to sell them to idly curious people, has nothing but
honor to lose by inaccuracy and unveracity), he has perforce become a
journalist, and has to keep up an air of high spirits through a
daily struggle with his own illiteracy and the precariousness of his
employment. He has a note-book, and occasionally attempts to make a note;
but as he cannot write shorthand, and does not write with ease in
any hand, he generally gives it up as a bad job before he succeeds in
finishing a sentence.

THE NEWSPAPER MAN [looking round and making indecisive attempts at
notes] This is the studio, I suppose.

WALPOLE. Yes.

THE NEWSPAPER MAN [wittily] Where he has his models, eh?

WALPOLE [grimly irresponsive] No doubt.

THE NEWSPAPER MAN. Cubicle, you said it was?

WALPOLE. Yes, tubercle.

THE NEWSPAPER MAN. Which way do you spell it: is it c-u-b-i-c-a-l or
c-l-e?

WALPOLE. Tubercle, man, not cubical. [Spelling it for him]
T-u-b-e-r-c-l-e.

THE NEWSPAPER MAN. Oh! tubercle. Some disease, I suppose. I thought he
had consumption. Are you one of the family or the doctor?

WALPOLE. I'm neither one nor the other. I am Mister Cutler Walpole. Put
that down. Then put down Sir Colenso Ridgeon.

THE NEWSPAPER MAN. Pigeon?

WALPOLE. Ridgeon. [Contemptuously snatching his book] Here: youd better
let me write the names down for you: youre sure to get them wrong. That
comes of belonging to an illiterate profession, with no qualifications
and no public register. [He writes the particulars].

THE NEWSPAPER MAN. Oh, I say: you have got your knife into us, havnt
you?

WALPOLE [vindictively] I wish I had: I'd make a better man of you. Now
attend. [Shewing him the book] These are the names of the three doctors.
This is the patient. This is the address. This is the name of the
disease. [He shuts the book with a snap which makes the journalist
blink, and returns it to him]. Mr Dubedat will be brought in here
presently. He wants to see you because he doesnt know how bad he is.
We'll allow you to wait a few minutes to humor him; but if you talk to
him, out you go. He may die at any moment.

THE NEWSPAPER MAN [interested] Is he as bad as that? I say: I am in
luck to-day. Would you mind letting me photograph you? [He produces a
camera]. Could you have a lancet or something in your hand?

WALPOLE. Put it up. If you want my photograph you can get it in Baker
Street in any of the series of celebrities.

THE NEWSP