"What a pity! That Lundholm gang of thieves is playing there. Impudent fellow, the director! He sent no seats to the Copper-Snake, and when we arrived at the theatre last night, he turned us out. But he'll pay for it! You give it to the dog! Here's paper and pencil. Heading: 'Theatre and Music. Deer Park Theatre.' Now, you go on!"
"But I haven't seen the company."
"What does that matter? Have you never written about anything you hadn't seen?"
"No! I've unmasked humbugs, but I have never attacked unoffending people, and I know nothing about this company."
"They are a miserable lot. Just scum," affirmed the stout man. "Sharpen your pen and bruise his heel; you are splendid at it."
"Why don't you bruise him yourselves?"
"Because the printers know our handwriting and some of them walk on in the crowds. Moreover Lundholm is a violent fellow; he will be sure to invade the editorial office; then it will be a good thing to be able to tell him that the criticism is a communication from the public. And while you write up the stage, I will do the concerts. There was a sacred concert last week. Wasn't the man's name Daubry? With a 'y'?"
"No, with an 'i,'" corrected the fat man. "Don't forget that he's a tenor and sang the 'Stabat Mater.'"
"How do you spell it?"
"I'll tell you in a minute."