months'--

'Don't be idiotic,' broke in the other. 'There's a strong feminine
element in you, Malkin; that's exactly the kind of talk with which
women drive men to frenzy.'

'Feminine element!' shouted the traveller with hot face. 'What do you
mean? I propose to take a cab with you, and you'--

Earwaker turned away laughing. 'Time and distance are nothing to you,
and I shall be very glad of your company. Come by all means.'

His friend was instantly appeased.

'Don't let me make you late, Earwaker. Must we start this moment? Come
along, then. Can I carry anything for you? Lord! if you could only see
a tropical forest! How do you get on with old Runcorn? _Write_? What
the devil was the use of my writing, when words are powerless to
describe--? What a rum old place this seems, after experiences like
mine; how the deuce can you live here? I say, I've brought you a ton of
curiosities; will make your rooms look like a museum. Confound it! I've
broken my shin against the turn in the staircase! Whew! Who are you
going to dine with?--Moxey? Never heard the name.'

In Holborn a hansom was hailed, and the friends continued their
dialogue as they drove westward. Having at length effervesced, Malkin
began to exchange question and answer with something of the calm
needful for mutual intelligibility.

'And how do you get on with old Runcorn?'

'As well as can be expected where there is not a single subject of
agreement,' Earwaker replied. 'I have hopes of reducing our
circulation.'

'What the deuce do you mean?'

'In other words, of improving the paper. Runcorn is strong on the side
of blackguardism. We had a great fight the other day over a leader
offered by Kenyon,--a true effusion of the political gutter-snipe. I
refused point-blank to let it go in; Runcorn swore that, if I did not,
_I_ should go _out_. I offered to retire that moment. "We must write
for our public," he bellowed. "True," said I, "but not necessarily for
the basest among them. The standard at the best is low enough." "Do you
call yourself a Radical?" "Not if this be Radicalism." "You ought to be
on the _Morning_ instead of the _Weekly Post_." I had my way, and
probably shall end by sending Mr Kenyon back to his tinker's work shop.
If not, I must look out for cleaner occupation.'

'Go it, my boy! Go it!' cried Malkin, slapping his companion's knee
violently. 'Raise the tone! To the devil with mercenary considerations!
Help the proletariat out of its gr