Triffitt breathed a fervent prayer to all his gods, summoned his resolution and his powers, and spoke. He endeavoured to use as few words as possible, to be lucid, to make his points, to show what he was after--and, driving fear away from him, he kept his own eyes steadily fixed on those penetrating organs which confronted him. And once, twice, he saw or thought he saw a light gleam of appreciation in those organs; once, he believed, the big head nodded as if in agreement. Anyhow, at the end of a quarter of an hour (unheard-of length for an interview with Markledew!) Triffitt had neither been turned out nor summarily silenced; instead, he had come to what he felt to be a good ending of his pleas and his arguments, and the great man was showing signs of speech. "Now, attend!" said Markledew, impressively. "You'll go on with this. You'll follow it up on the lines you suggest. But you'll print nothing except under my personal supervision. Make certain of your facts. Facts!--understand! Wait." He pulled a couple of slips of paper towards him, scribbled a line or two on each, handed them to Triffitt, and nodded at the door. "That'll do," he said. "When you want me, let me know. And mind--you've got a fine chance, young man." Triffitt could have fallen on the carpet and kissed Markledew's large boots. But knowing Markledew, he expressed his gratitude in two words and a bow, and sped out of the room. Once outside, he hastened to send the all-powerful notes. They were short and sharp, like Markledew's manner, but to Triffitt of an inexpressible sweetness, and he walked on air as he went off to other regions to present them. The news editor, who was by nature irascible and whom much daily worry had rendered more so, glared angrily as Triffitt marched up to his table. He pointed to a slip of proof which lay, damp and sticky, close by. "You've given too much space to that Herapath funeral," he growled. "Take it away and cut it down to three-quarters." Triffitt made no verbal answer. He flung Markledew's half-sheet of notepaper before the news editor, and the news editor, seeing the great man's sprawling caligraphy, read, wonderingly:-- "Mr. Triffitt is released from ordinary duties to pursue others under my personal supervision. J. M." The news editor stared at Triffitt as if that young gentleman had suddenly become an archangel. "What's this mean?" he demanded. "Obvious--and sufficient," retorted Triffitt. And he turned, hands in pockets, and strolled out, leaving the proof lying unheeded. That was the first time he had scored off his news editor, and the experience was honey-like and intoxicating. His head was higher than ever as he sought the cashier and handed Markledew's other note to him. The cashier read it over mechanically.