"I can cadge some paper," said Robin. "And printing will cost nothing. We'll print it ourselves."
"I say, this sounds exciting!" said Little John. "With one of those rubber printing-presses, eh, Robin? I love messing about with those."
"I don't," said Dave. "It's all right making up the lines, but what about putting the type back in its place afterwards? That gets skipped."
"Don't worry," said Robin. "When I said 'print', I meant pen-print. The magazine will consist of thirty-six small sheets of paper, pocket-size. Each Merry Man will write or draw his contribution on a sheet of the paper, and hand it back to me within two days. I'll then fasten the sheets together and pass the 'Mag' from boy to boy in the Form. No reader will be allowed to keep it longer than a day. Otherwise, it wouldn't go the rounds before the term-end."
Though some of them may have felt that this was not a very practical scheme they withheld their criticism, accepted sheets of unruled paper from Robin, and went to seek inspiration in the most secluded spot available.
A day or so later contributions started rolling in, and Robin began to realise how much more trouble than joy there is in the life of an editor.
Allan a Dale's serial gave him a topping send-off. It was called "King of the Road", and concerned a highwayman whose adventures had those of Dick Turpin beaten to a frazzle. This gentleman, proudly calling himself "Helter-skelter Hal", chivied a coachful of fat politicians over a cliff, made a king stand on his head in a snowdrift, held up three stage-coaches simultaneously with two pistols, rescued a maiden in distress by hauling her through a carriage-window and riding with her across a tree that bridged a raging torrent, and then attacked single-handed, and put to flight, a score or more armed footpads who were robbing the Governor of the Bank of England. Not such a bad series of incidents for a first instalment!
So far, so good. The first jar came when Little John, trustiest of Robin's comrades, brought in his contribution. This was a full-page drawing of a football match, supposed to be the final tie for the County Schools' Cup. Little John had written this title beneath it, and he had put goal-posts at each end of the field. But for these descriptive touches it might just as well have pictured a bull-fight, or a cannibal dance round a missionary in a stew-pot.
"I say, old chap, this is a bit fierce," Robin commented, rather blankly. "A wee bit out of perspective, isn't it? These trees, for instance, look as if they were in the middle of the field."
"What trees?" asked Little John, wonderingly. "Those? Here, don't be silly. Those are our forwards and St. Cuthbert's halves having a wrestle for the ball."