While the new editor and the recent proprietor were gaining experience in lines entirely novel, the position of the paper was parlous in the extreme. The circulation sank to so low an ebb that it was only by a generous courtesy that it could be considered to have a circulation at all.
But when things were at their worst, they began to mend. Hubert Didcott settled himself firmly in his editorial chair, used the intelligence which survived his education, and, shaking himself free from academic trammels, began to grope for the heart of the public. In the end, he found it. When ten years had elapsed, the Didactic Weekly had made for itself a distinct position.
One day, while Didcott sat at his desk, Mr. William Winder, M.P., the proprietor, was announced.
"Good morning, good morning," he began, with great cordiality.
Didcott responded politely.
"Things all right?"
The editor nodded. "Quite a rush for our last number," he said, thawing as he always did when alluding to a success of his beloved paper. "The Bishop of Brighton's article on 'Reunion' has made quite a stir in some circles."
"So I've heard," replied Mr. Winder. "The Prime Minister spoke to me about it. I hadn't read it. Of course," he smiled genially, "I didn't say so."
"The Prime Minister?" echoed the editor. "I wonder if——"
"I asked him," replied Mr. Winder, promptly. "But he couldn't. Too busy. Besides his public works, he's bringing out a new edition of Homer, or the Psalms, or something. He talked to me about it." He smiled again. "I hope he thought my silence betokened intelligence. It didn't."