The Death of the Lion

I HAD simply, I suppose, a change of heart, and it must have begun when I received my manuscript back from Mr. Pinhorn. Mr. Pinhorn was my chief, as he was called in the office: he had the high mission of bringing the paper up.

This was a weekly periodical, which had been supposed to be almost past redemption when he took hold of it.

It was Mr. Deedy who had let the thing down so dreadfully: he was never mentioned in the office now save in connexion with that misdemeanour.

Young as I was I had been in a manner taken over from Mr. Deedy, who had been owner as well as editor; forming part of a promiscuous lot, mainly plant and office- furniture, which poor Mrs. Deedy, in her bereavement and depression, parted with at a rough valuation.

I could account for my continuity but on the supposition that I had been cheap.

I rather resented the practice of fathering all flatness on my late protector, who was in his unhonoured grave; but as I had my way to make I found matter enough for complacency in being on a "staff