Alone again, Hector Strong thought keenly for a moment. Then he pressed bell "38." Instantly a footman presented himself with a tray of sandwiches.
"What do you mean by this?" roared Strong, his iron self-control for a moment giving way.
"I b-beg your pardon, Sir," stammered the man. "I th-thought——"
"Get out!" As the footman retired, Strong passed his hand across his forehead. "My memory is bad to-day," he murmured, and pushed bell "48."
A tall, thin man entered.
"Ah, good afternoon, Mr. Brownlow," said the Proprietor. He toyed with his blue pencil. "Let me see, which of our papers are under your charge at the moment?"
Mr. Brownlow reflected.
"Just now," he said, "I am editing Snippety Snips, The Whoop, The Girls' Own Aunt, Parings, The Sunday Sermon, Slosh and Back Chat."
"Ah! Well, I want you to take on Sloppy Chunks, too, for a little while. Mr. Symes has had to leave us."
"Yes, Sir." Mr. Brownlow bowed and moved to the door.