"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, Slosh, The Sunday Sermon, 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.
"By the way," Strong said, "your last number of Slosh was very good. Very good indeed. I congratulate you. Good day."