“They’re your well-earned enemies, and they’re saving the paper for you.”
“Somebody’s certainly done a job in that direction.-But how? These sound like mostly women.”
“So they are. As to how they’re pulling your paper through, that’s the simplest thing in the world. We got up a War Reading Club.”
“Reading Club,” repeated Jeremy. “Perfectly simple! Of course! Andy Galpin said the whole town had gone crazy since I was laid up. Andy was right.”
“A great authority once proposed a classic question: ‘Who’s loony now?’ Wait until you hear the rest of this. The club meets here every morning to do knitting and other war-work while certain extracts from the local papers are read to them.”
“Good idea,” remarked Jeremy, weary but polite. “Shall I have something put in the paper about it?”
“My Lord, no!” almost shouted Dana.
Jeremy leaped in his chair. “I wish you would n’t do that sort of thing,” he protested.
“Still a bit jumpy? Well, I’ll explain in words of one syllable. But first apply your eye to this peep-hole and tell me what you think of our membership.”
Doing as he was directed, the editor looked out over what, in earlier days, he would have identified as a mass-meeting of The Guardian’s enemies.