“Flattery and champagne,” laughed Cornish—“the two principal ingredients of popularity.”
“I have here a number of photographs,” continued Roden, “taken by a good man in the neighbourhood. He has thrown in a view of the sea at the back, you see. It is not there; but he has put in the sky and sea from another plate, he tells me, to make a good picture of it. We shall send them to the principal illustrated papers.”
“And I suppose,” said Cornish, with his gay laugh, “that some of the journalists will throw in background also.”
“Of course,” answered Roden, gravely. “And the sentimentalists will be satisfied. The sentimentalists never stop at providing necessaries; they want to pamper. It will please them immensely to think that the malgamite makers, who have been collected from the slums of the world, have a sea view and every modern luxury.”
“We must humour them,” said Cornish, practically. “We should not get far without them.”
At this moment the sound of wheels made them both turn towards the entrance. It was an omnibus—the best omnibus with the finest horses—which brought the journalists. These gentlemen now descended from the vehicle and came towards the cottage, where Cornish and Roden awaited them. They were what is euphemistically called a little mixed. Some were too well dressed, others too badly. But all carried themselves with an air that bespoke a consciousness of greatness not unmingled with good-fellowship. The leader, a stout man, shook hands affably with Cornish, who assumed his best and most gracious manner.
“Aha! Here we are,” he said, rubbing his hands together and looking at the champagne.
Then somehow Cornish came to the front and Roden retired into the background. It was Cornish who opened the champagne and poured it into their glasses. It was Cornish who made the best jokes, and laughed the loudest at the journalistic quips fired off by his companions. Cornish seemed to understand the guests better than did Roden, who was inclined to be stiff towards them. Those who are assured of their position are not always thinking about it. Men who stand much upon their dignity have not, as a rule, much else to stand upon.
“Here's to you, sir,” cried the stout newspaper man, with upraised glass and a heart full of champagne. “Here's to you—whoever you are. And now to business. Perhaps you'll trot us round the works.”
This Cornish did with much success. He then stood beside the correspondents while the malgamite workers descended from the omnibus and took possession of their new quarters. He provided the journalists with photographs and a short printed account of the malgamite trade, which had been prepared by Von Holzen. It was finally Cornish who packed them into the omnibus in high good humour, and sent them back to The Hague.