photograph to a good drawing. I will send them down to you at once, and you
can choose. As far as I can see, the Record is well ahead of the situation,
except that you will not be able to get a special man down there in time to be
of any use for tomorrow's paper.'

Sir James sighed deeply. 'What are we good for, anyhow?' he enquired
dejectedly of Mr. Silver, who had returned to his desk. 'She even knows
Bradshaw by heart.'

Miss Morgan adjusted her cuffs with an air of patience. 'Is there anything
else?' she asked, as the telephone bell rang.

'Yes, one thing,' replied Sir James, as he took up the receiver. 'I want you
to make a bad mistake some time, Miss Morgan--an everlasting bloomer--just to
put us in countenance.' She permitted herself the fraction of what would have
been a charming smile as she went out.

'Anthony?' asked Sir James, and was at once deep in consultation with the
editor on the other side of the road. He seldom entered the Sun building in
person; the atmosphere of an evening paper, he would say, was all very well if
you liked that kind of thing. Mr. Anthony, the Murat of Fleet Street, who
delighted in riding the whirlwind and fighting a tumultuous battle against
time, would say the same of a morning paper.

It was some five minutes later that a uniformed boy came in to say that Mr.
Trent was on the wire. Sir James abruptly closed his talk with Mr. Anthony.

'They can put him through at once,' he said to the boy.

'Hullo!' he cried into the telephone after a few moments.