"There's no such thing in the whole book," whispered Wagg to Pen. "Invented it myself. Gad! it wouldn't be a bad plot for a high-church novel."
"I remember poor Byron, Hobhouse, Trelawney, and myself, dining with Cardinal Mezzocaldo, at Rome," Captain Sumph began, "and we had some Orvieto wine for dinner, which Byron liked very much. And I remember how the cardinal regretted that he was a single man. We went to Civita Vecchia two days afterward where Byron's yacht was—and, by Jove, the cardinal died within three weeks; and Byron was very sorry, for he rather liked him."
"A devilish interesting story, Sumph, indeed," Wagg said.
"You should publish some of those stories, Captain Sumph, you really should. Such a volume would make our friend Bungay's fortune," Shandon said.
"Why don't you ask Sumph to publish 'em in your new paper—the what-d'ye-call'em?—hay, Shandon," bawled out Wagg.
"Why don't you ask him to publish 'em in your old magazine, the Thingumbob?" Shandon replied.
"Is there going to be a new paper!" asked Wenham, who knew perfectly well; but was ashamed of his connection with the press.
"Bungay going to bring out a paper?" cried Popjoy, who, on the contrary, was proud of his literary reputation and acquaintances. "You must employ me. Mrs. Bungay, use your influence with him, and make him employ me. Prose or verse—what shall it be? Novels, poems, travels, or leading articles, begad. Any thing or every thing—only let Bungay pay me, and I'm ready—I am now, my dear Mrs. Bungay, begad now."
"It's to be called the 'Small Beer Chronicle,'" growled Wagg, "and little Popjoy is to be engaged for the infantine department."
"It is to be called the 'Pall-Mall Gazette,' sir, and we shall be very happy to have you with us," Shandon said.