"'Mr. Prelude,' said Mr. Cheeseman, waving his arm at the cover sketches, 'this stuff won't do. It's—it's too banal. We want something fresher, something with a touch of imagination. What I want to see on the cover is—well, say a dawn—a very calm and simple scene, mostly colour, mountain range far away just flushed with sunrise, valley blue and still, high streamer clouds touched with pink. See? Trees perhaps in the foreground—just budding—spring motif and morning motif. See? All a little faint and backgroundy. Then a big hand and wrist across the page pointing at something, something high and far away. See?'
"He surveyed Mr. Prelude with the glow of creative enthusiasm on his face. Mr. Prelude looked disapproval. 'The Sun will like that,' he said.
"'It's the goods,' said Mr. Cheeseman.
"'Why not those flying machines?'
"'Why not midges?' asked Mr. Cheeseman.
"Mr. Prelude shrugged his shoulders. 'I've got no use for a magazine on progress without a flying machine or a Zeppelin,' he said. 'Still—it's your affair.'
"Mr. Cheeseman looked a little dashed by his colleague's doubt, but he held to his idea. 'We'll get a sketch made,' he said. 'How about Wilkinson?'
"They discussed some unknown Wilkinson as a possible cover designer. Then Mr. Cheeseman turned to me. 'By the by, here's a youngster we've got to make use of, Prelude. We don't know what he can do, but he seems intelligent. I thought we'd use him to sift some of those scientific books. What he likes, they'll like. I can't read that stuff. I'm too busy.'
"Mr. Prelude surveyed me. 'You never know what you can do till you try,' he said. 'Do you know anything of science?'
"'Not very much,' I said. 'But I've done some physiography and chemistry and a little geology. And read a lot.'