Randall smiled grimly at the implied compliment to his pen.
“It’s a low underhand game we are playing,” Randall exclaimed. “We are nice Americans to be doing such work. I’d like to see that yellow sheet, the ‘Shimbunshi,’ suppressed; then you and I would be out of a job.”
“Yes, and ten thousand a year,” Wells answered; “that’s more than we’ll ever make again; and most of mine is going to a bank at home.”
Randall heaved a sigh.
“I wish I was on to Impey’s real game,” he said thoughtfully. “He knows all the big men here. He goes up to see the Chinese ambassador and dines with him informally. He just came back from Peking the other day and let drop a remark to me in a thoughtless way that told me that he knew Lord Li, and Chang-Shi-Tung well. He learned Chinese from one of the big men there who has a seat on the Wai-Wu-Pu, the privy council to the throne of China. There’s more in it than just selling battle-ships, I’ll make a bet on that.”
Randall shook himself very much as a big dog would after coming out of the water, as he exclaimed feelingly:
“Of course there’s more in it. Impey’s stirring up a war between our country and Japan, and what attracts me is the risk we run. It’s stimulating to know that if we’re ever caught a Japanese prison and rice three times a day will be our reward. And then you see, Jim, if we can bring on this war, we’re right on the ground for war correspondents. That’s an inducement for even an old shell-back newspaper man like you.”
“The world owes each of us a living, I suppose,” Wells answered sadly. “The more risks, the better pay.”
He picked up Randall’s “copy” from his desk and glanced carelessly over it. Then a spark of interest showed in his sombre face, almost immediately supplanted by oblivious concentration. Randall gave an impatient shrug and, seeing that his friend would be absorbed for quite half an hour, he threw himself in a chair to wait patiently until the reading was over.
The minutes ticked away on the big clock opposite him, and he drummed nervously with his finger nails on the arm of his chair. His glance roamed from his companion and back to the clock.