“Yes,” said the sub-editor, “Why?”
Evans walked to the window and looked out into the City street and said without showing his face:
“Mr. Price, your proprietor is a very valued member of our party.”
At the word “proprietor,” Mr. Price changed colour. Yet Evans had not meant the proprietor of Mr. Price, he had merely meant the proprietor of the Moon.
“Mr. Price, I will tell you all” (and he told him more than all!). “Your proprietor left for Canada during the Easter Recess; he was taken ill in Montreal; he is on his way back, and he will be home next week.”
Mr. Price nodded and at the same time inwardly admired the omniscience of the Government.
“Now, Mr. Price,” continued Edward, still gazing at the street opposite, “there is the promise of a peerage. These things are hardly ever mentioned, and I tell it to you quite frankly. If that leader appears,”—turning round sharply—“the peerage will not be conferred, and your proprietor shall be told that that leader was the cause of it.”
“But, Mr. Evans,” began the sub-editor blankly.
Evans was suddenly determined. It was astonishing to see the change in the man. His conduct and attitude would have seemed remarkable to the most indifferent observer: to one who knew that the proprietor of the Moon had never been, until that moment, within five hundred miles of a peerage, it would have seemed amazing.
“Mr. Price,” said Evans rapidly and very clearly, “you are in a cleft stick. If you don’t print your present issue, if you must delay it, it will cost your proprietor a heavy sum directly and indirectly. I know that. But if you do print it will cost him no money, but....”