"Do I read first?" he asked, opening the newspaper. "Right-oh. Say when you're ready."
I drew up my chair. "Right," I said.
And in his rapid, clear, high-pitched voice he began to read.
It was the speech of some politician or other he read, and my pencil flew over the paper, swiftly taking down. Page after page I wrote, and I had almost forgotten that I was engaged on anything more than an ordinary exercise when suddenly he called "Time!" I stopped, and took a long breath.
"Now transcribe," he said. "You'll find paper under those gloves."
"No," I said. "You take down now. Saves time. Transcribing's the slow part, and we can both be doing that together."
"All right," he said, passing over the paper and making ready.
"Right? Go," I said.
And I began in my turn to read.
He had given me a continuous speech, but I gave him the Police Column. "Big Blaze in Bermondsey: Suspected Arson," I gave him. ("That chap'll get a couple of years for that," he interdicted). And then I passed to "Alleged Bucket-shop Frauds." I had already got my paper from my breast-pocket, that paper I had compiled in the reading-room of the British Museum....