Mr. Judson threw up his hands with an air of weary scorn. “My good girl, to seek dollars in Fleet Street is like looking for a flea in a five-acre plot. Never have they been so scarce or so many people after ’em. And pretty spry too, you know. They’ve studied the newspaper public and can give it just what it wants.”
Mame was undaunted. “A chance to see what I can do—that’s all I ask.”
“What can you do?”
“Suppose I write a bunch of articles on British social life as it strikes an on-time American.”
“Let us suppose it.” The editor had no enthusiasm.
“Will you print the guff and pay for it?”
This was in the nature of a leading question. Time was needed for Mr. Judson’s reply. “Rather depends, you know, on the sort of thing it is.” Out of deference for the feelings of his visitor he did his best to hide the laugh in his eyes. “You see what we chiefly go for is first-hand information about the aristocracy.”
Miss Du Rance was aware of that.
“Are you in a position to supply it?”
“I expect I’ll be able to supply it as well as most if I get the chance.”