lve," said Clodd to Peter, and went out
suddenly.

"Well, I think he's an idiot," said the sub-editor.

"I do not often," said the editor, "but on this point I agree with him.
Cadging for advertisements isn't a woman's work."

"But what is the difference between--"

"All the difference in the world," thought the editor.

"You don't know what I was going to say," returned his sub.

"I know the drift of it," asserted the editor.

"But you let me--"

"I know I do--a good deal too much. I'm going to turn over a new leaf."

"All I propose to do--"

"Whatever it is, you're not going to do it," declared the chief. "Shall
be back at half-past twelve, if anybody comes."

"It seems to me--" But Peter was gone.

"Just like them all," wailed the sub-editor. "They can't argue; when you
explain things to them, they go out. It does make me so mad!"

Miss Ramsbotham laughed. "You are a downtrodden little girl, Tommy."

"As if I couldn't take care of myself!" Tommy's chin was high up in the
air.

"Cheer up," suggested Miss Ramsbotham. "Nobody ever tells me not to do
anything. I would change with you if I could."

"I'd have walked into that office and have had that advertisement out of
old Jowett in five minutes, I know I would," bragged Tommy. "I can
always get on with old men."

"Only with the old ones?" queried Miss Ramsbotham.

The door opened. "Anybody in?" asked the face of Johnny Bulstrode,
appearing in the jar.

"Can't you see they are?" snapped Tommy.

"Figure of speech," explained Johnny Bulstrode, commonly called "the
Babe," entering and closing the door behind him.

"What do you want?" demanded the sub-editor.

"Nothing in particular," replied the Babe.

"Wrong time of the day to come for it, half-past eleven in the morning,"
explained the sub-editor.

"What's the matter with you?" asked the Babe.

"Feeling very cross," confessed the sub-editor.

The childlike face of the Babe expressed sympathetic inquiry.

"We are very indignant," explained Miss Ramsbotham, "because we are not
allowed to rush off to Cannon Street and coax an advertisement out of old
Jowett, the soap man. We feel sure that if we only put on our best hat,
he couldn't possibly refuse us."

"No coaxing required," thought the sub-editor. "Once get in to see the
old fellow and put the actual figures before him, he would clamour to
come in."

"Won't he see Clodd?" asked the Babe.

"Won't see anybody on behalf of