“Do you mean to tell me,” I replied, “that a man writes such twaddle as that.”
“Oh! you’re jealous, that’s what’s the matter with you. A man write them? of course he does.”
“And do you pay him for these precious contributions,” I exclaimed in surprise.
“I promise to pay him ever so much a year,” said the Crow, “but—er—ahem—I have a very bad memory. I have several contributors whom I pay on the same system, it’s a very cheap way,” he sniffled. “I’ve copied it from a contemporary.”
“Well, we’re very busy just dow,” said A. Fish, Esq., “would you bind telling us your busidess ad goig, because we wandt to ged to work agaid.”
“Oh! to tell you the truth,” said the Crow, “I wanted to know if the Wallypug would let me print an interview with him in to-morrow’s paper. You have just returned from Wer-har-wei, I believe, haven’t you; I was sitting on the signal post at the station just now and saw you arrive. I think my readers would be very interested in hearing your impressions of the country.”
I took his Majesty aside and pointed out to him that very possibly an interview with him appearing in the paper would have a good effect on his people, and he could use it as a means of advertising the reforms he intended making in the government of the land; and his Majesty agreeing with me on the point, he seated himself comfortably in his own particular chair, and the Crow, perching on the back of another, the interview began.
“Let’s see,” said the Crow, making a great spluttering with his pen, which was cross-nibbed and broken. “When were you born?”
“Well, really,” said his Majesty, “I, er—was so young at the time that I scarcely remember.”
“Oh, well, I’ll put it down as Y. D. 987; that will do as well as any other date.”