wley Street. His name, so the landlady
had told her, was Phillips. She put the suggestion in a whisper to
Flossie.

"Quite likely," thought Flossie; "just the type that sort of man does
marry. A barmaid, I expect."

Others continued to arrive until altogether there must have been about a
dozen women present. One of them turned out to be an old schoolfellow of
Joan's and two had been with her at Girton. Madge had selected those who
she knew would be sympathetic, and all promised help: those who could not
give it direct undertaking to provide introductions and recommendations,
though some of them were frankly doubtful of journalism affording Joan
anything more than the means--not always, too honest--of earning a
living.

"I started out to preach the gospel: all that sort of thing," drawled a
Miss Simmonds from beneath a hat that, if she had paid for it, would have
cost her five guineas. "Now my chief purpose in life is to tickle silly
women into spending twice as much upon their clothes as their husbands
can afford, bamboozling them into buying any old thing that our
Advertising Manager instructs me to boom."

"They talk about the editor's opinions," struck in a fiery little woman
who was busy flinging crumbs out of the window to a crowd of noisy
sparrows. "It's the Advertiser edits half the papers. Write anything
that three of them object to, and your proprietor tells you to change
your convictions or go. Most of us change." She jerked down the window
with a slam.

"It's the syndicates that have done it," was a Mrs. Elliot's opinion. She
wrote "Society Notes" for a Labour weekly. "When one man owned a paper
he wanted it to express his views. A company is only out for profit.
Your modern newspaper is just a shop. It's only purpose is to attract
customers. Look at the _Methodist Herald_, owned by the same syndicate
of Jews that runs the _Racing News_. They work it as far as possible
with the same staff."

"We're a pack of hirelings," asserted the fiery little woman. "Our pens
are for sale to the highest bidder. I had a letter from Jocelyn only two
days ago. He was one of the original staff of the _Socialist_. He
writes me that he has gone as leader writer to a Conservative paper at
twice his former salary. Expected me to congratulate him."

"One of these days somebody will start a Society for the Reformation of
the Press," thought Flossie. "I wonder how the papers will take it?"

"Much as Ro