'Labour cheap—eh?'
'Pretty much. Well, I suppose you'd like to try the Times, wouldn't you?'
'No,' said Keller, looking at Winchester Cathedral. ''Might as well try to electrify a haystack. And to think that the World would take three columns and ask for more—with illustrations too! It's sickening.'
'But the Times might,' I began.
Keller flung his paper across the carriage, and it opened in its austere majesty of solid type—opened with the crackle of an encyclopædia.
'Might! You might work your way through the bow-plates of a cruiser. Look at that first page!'
'It strikes you that way, does it?' I said. 'Then I'd recommend you to try a light and frivolous journal.'
'With a thing like this of mine—of ours? It's sacred history!'
I showed him a paper which I conceived would be after his own heart, in that it was modelled on American lines.
'That's homey,' he said, 'but it's not the real thing. Now, I should like one of these fat old Times columns. Probably there'd be a bishop in the office, though.'