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"Pray be seated," he said, as he did so.
Then he ran across the room and came back with some pink and yellow
tickets and pushed them into my hand. "Opera Comique," he said, "Thursday;
Friday, the Surrey; Saturday, the Frivolity. That's all, I think."
"But--" I began.
"Glad you're free," he said, snatching some proofs off the desk and
beginning to read.
"I don't quite understand," I said.
"_Eigh_?" he said, at the top of his voice, as though he thought I
had gone and was startled at my remark.
"Do you want me to criticise these plays?"
"Do something with 'em... Did you think it was a treat?"
"But I can't."
"Did you call me a fool?"
"Well, I've never been to a theatre in my life."
"Virgin soil."
"But I don't know anything about it, you know."
"That's just it. New view. No habits. No _cliches_ in stock. Ours is
a live paper, not a bag of tricks. None of your clockwork professional
journalism in this office. And I can rely on your integrity----"
"But I've conscientious scruples----"
He caught me up suddenly and put me outside his door.


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