Presently, after laughter, snipping out of pages with scissors, and some unseemly language, Mr. Heeley began to write.
'Oh, he's shot up to six foot eight!' exclaimed Jack, interrupting the scribe.
'Snow!' observed the bearded man styled Clementina. 'He dies in the snow. Listen.' He read a passage from Henry's final scene, ending with 'His spirit had passed.' 'Chuck me the scissors, Jack.'
Mr. Heeley paused, looked up, and then drew his pen through what he had written.
'I say, boys,'he almost whispered, 'I'll praise it, eh? I'll take it seriously. It'll be simply delicious.'
'What about the chief?'
'Oh, the chief won't notice it! It'll be just for us three, and a few at the club.'
Then there was hard scribbling, and pasting of extracts into blank spaces, and more laughter.
'"If an advance were possible,"' Clementina read, over Mr. Heeley's shoulder. 'You'll give the show away, you fool!'
'No, I shan't, Clemmy, my boy,' said Mr. Heeley judicially. 'They'll stand simply anything. I bet you what you like Onions Winter quotes that all over the place.'