"What's the matter with the old sheet this week?" he asked.

"Matter? I don't understand you."

"Well, I have just sent an order to the printer to run off an extra ten
thousand, and here comes a demand from Smith's for the whole lot. The
extra ten thousand were to go to different newsagents all over the
country who have sent repeat orders, so I have told the printer now to
run off at least twenty-five thousand, and to keep the plates on the
press. I never read the _Sponge_ myself, so I thought I would drop
in and ask you what the attraction was. This rush is unnatural.

"Better read the paper and find out," said Shorely.

"I would, if there wasn't so much of your stuff in it," retorted
McCabe.

Next day McCabe reported an almost bewildering increase in orders. He
had a jubilant "we've-done-it-at-last" air that exasperated Shorely,
who felt that he alone should have the credit. There had come no answer
to the note he had sent Gibberts, so he went to the Club, in the hope
of meeting him. He found Johnson, whom he asked if Gibberts were there.

"He's not been here to-day," said Johnson; "but I saw him yesterday,
and what do you think he was doing? He was in a gun-shop in the Strand,
buying cartridges for that villainous-looking seven-shooter of his. I
asked him what he was going to do with a revolver in London, and he
told me, shortly, that it was none of my business, which struck me as
so accurate a summing-up of the situation, that I came away without
making further remark. If you want any more stories by Gibberts, you