“All that costs off two thousand four hundred francs a year,” said Thuillier.
“Well, that’s something; but your error consists in calculating on the yearly cost. When do the elections take place?”
“In two months,” said Thuillier.
“Very good; two months will cost you thirty thousand francs, even supposing the paper had no subscribers.”
“True,” said Thuillier, “the expense is certainly less than I thought at first. But does a newspaper really seem to you essential?”
“So essential that without that power in our hands, I won’t have anything to do with the election. You don’t seem to see, my poor fellow, that in going to live in the other quarter you have lost, electorally speaking, an immense amount of ground. You are no longer the man of the place, and your election could be balked by the cry of what the English call ‘absenteeism.’ This makes your game very hard to play.”
“I admit that,” said Thuillier; “but there are so many things wanted besides money,—a name for one thing, a manager, editorial staff, and so forth.”
“A name, we have one made to hand; editors, they are you and I and a few young fellows who grow on every bush in Paris. As for the manager, I have a man in view.”
“What name is it?” asked Thuillier.
“L’Echo de la Bievre.”