His colleague whistled.
“My dear chap, here am I writing a racing article ‘From the Man in the Paddock’—I haven’t been on a racecourse for years.”
“Oh! well—that’s venial.”
“All’s venial in our game. Shut your eyes, and swallow. You’re only devilling.”
“Ga!” said Taggart. “Give a thing a decent label, and it is decent.”
“I say, old man, what did you have for breakfast?”
“Look here, Jimmy, I’m inclined to think I’ve struck a snag. It never occurred to me before.”
“Well, don’t let it occur to you again. Think of old Dumas; I’ve heard he put his name to sixty volumes in one year. Has that done him any harm?”
Taggart rumpled his hair, reddish and rather stiff.