"Well," continued Charley enthusiastically, "down our way we've a newspaper, of course. What's an Englishman without a newspaper? Why, they start them in the bush! Now, between you and me--it mustn't go farther, mind--my dad is part proprietor, under the rose. What a glorious thing it would be if we could get a London correspondent, who moves in the best society"--Charley winked, and Felix responded--"who is hand-and-glove with all the political nobs and the literary swells; who is behind the scenes everywhere; who knows all the news, and can serve it up piping hot and spicy! Now, then, what do you say? The _Penny Whistle_ is only a weekly, and we could only spare two columns to our London Special." "If you are really serious," said Felix slowly, his colour rising, for he saw a great chance in the proposal, "and the _Penny Whistle_ can afford a special London correspondent, I could send a capital two columns every week, and I would take care to be on the look-out for anything special. Could it afford a pound a week, Charley?" "A pound a week, old fellow!" cried Charley. "It's too little." "It is enough," said Felix firmly; "I could not accept more under the circumstances. If the proprietors write to me to that effect, I shall only be too happy to accept." In a fortnight from that time Felix was engaged as London correspondent at the sum fixed by himself. He ran to Old Wheels, and told the good news. He was really beginning to open his oyster. CHAPTER XXX. JIM PODMORE HAS A "DAZE."