“I could do that all right,” said Shoesmith, brightening and manifestly becoming pregnant with judgments.
“One great thing about a magazine of this sort,” said Cossington, “is to mention just as many names as you can in each number. It keeps the interest alive. Chaps will turn it over looking for their own little bit. Then it all lights up for them.”
“Do you want any reports of matches?” Shoesmith broke from his meditation.
“Rather. With comments.”
“Naylor surpassed himself and negotiated the lemon safely home,” said Shoesmith.
“Shut it,” said Naylor modestly.
“Exactly,” said Cossington. “That gives us three features,” touching them off on his fingers, “Epigram, Literary Section, Sports. Then we want a section to shove anything into, a joke, a notice of anything that's going on. So on. Our Note Book.”
“Oh, Hell!” said Britten, and clashed his boots, to the silent disapproval of every one.
“Then we want an editorial.”
“A WHAT?” cried Britten, with a note of real terror in his voice.