“At much cost” said Selia simply so with a delited smile he drew forth the copious money and stuffed the notes in her bag which was like a crocodil with head tail and paws but it was only a little one and lined with stuff. Then Mr. Withersq waved her away so she [76] ]departed getting a bit mixed up in the roundabout at the door which is only meant for fun but she got jamd.
“Now gentlemen” said he stripping off his new butter coloured gloves like banana skins as he had seen heros do on the pictures, “and what may I do for you.” This he had learnt in shops in the old days so it was not very smart.
Now these new folk, most men in servicable suits and white collars wearing nose-glasses before their keen eyes but a few ladys in prim attire, stepped up and they were all from newspapers, for the fame of Harold Withersq had spread and he was the talk of the hour. So that the newspapers had snapt at the chance of a bit from him.
As the babbel ceased Mr. Withersq made a motion of modesty and sought to retire, but was cort short by a ruddy one in checks who asked him would he write a little for his paper, [77] ]and another thin one who asked him when he was born, and a lady who commanded him to tell her about love for the ladys page.
All agog Mr. Withersq who was never one to lose a chance, made to tell them, knowing no guile, when a sudden thought smote him, he clasped his brow rather earnest for a moment, then brushing them from him, he darted into the glassy telephone box near by.
“Hello” cried he to the invisible voice of the girl of the wires, “get me the editer of the Daily Pull” and so stood waiting for it.
The assembled crowd breathed in distress for this was a bold move. The girl got Mr. Withersq on after he had stamped a little because of being hot in the glassy box and he sweated so much.
“This is Mr. Withersq” he was heard to utter. All were aghast to think he dared to summons that great editor to the phone. The [78] ]voice of our hero continued very proud for who was he to bend before editors now:
“You have heard of me. My unckle Burt having died leaving the goods, you know how I stept into glory, and how I am in society and I have become the Head Poet. Some folks have come to tap my brains for their papers, so I thought I would ring you up instead and proffer to make you a chatty little bit for the front page about how I got on in the world.”
“Very good then” he chortled in response to the editors unheard words, “yes indeed it is too true that all are willing to be told how to get there but few arrive. I will do my best by the public.” Cramming down the hear-piece he burst from the box and ambled up to his apartment humming a little air and leaving the crushed crowd below.