“Ah, now you're talking. If you can afford expensive amusements, go ahead.”
He put his feet on the table, and lit a short pipe. His gloomy views on the subject of 'Squibs' gave way to a wave of optimism.
“You know,” he said, “there's really a lot of life in the old rag yet. If it were properly run. What has hampered us has been lack of capital. We haven't been able to advertise. I'm bursting with ideas for booming the paper, only naturally you can't do it for nothing. As for editing, what I don't know about editing—but perhaps you had got somebody else in your mind?”
“No, no,” said Roland, who would not have known an editor from an office-boy. The thought of interviewing prospective editors appalled him.
“Very well, then,” resumed Mr. Petheram, reassured, kicking over a heap of papers to give more room for his feet. “Take it that I continue as editor. We can discuss terms later. Under the present regime I have been doing all the work in exchange for a happy home. I suppose you won't want to spoil the ship for a ha'porth of tar? In other words, you would sooner have a happy, well-fed editor running about the place than a broken-down wreck who might swoon from starvation?”
“But one moment,” said Roland. “Are you sure that the present proprietors will want to sell?”
“Want to sell,” cried Mr. Petheram enthusiastically. “Why, if they know you want to buy, you've as much chance of getting away from them without the paper as—as—well, I can't think of anything that has such a poor chance of anything. If you aren't quick on your feet, they'll cry on your shoulder. Come along, and we'll round them up now.”
He struggled into his coat, and gave his hair an impatient brush with a note-book.
“There's just one other thing,” said Roland. “I have been a regular reader of 'Squibs' for some time, and I particularly admire the way in which the Woman's Page——”
“You mean you want to reengage the editress? Rather. You couldn't do better. I was going to suggest it myself. Now, come along quick before you change your mind or wake up.”