"Now," he said, when they had settled down comfortably, "we shall be quite undisturbed all night. We have a good fire, tobacco, and drink of the best; let us seriously map out our little campaign." "Take the evening papers first then," said Gobion. "Now there is the _Moon_, an organ devoted to playfully redressing wrongs. We will do an article for it on 'How Barmaids Live.' We can describe the horrors of their lot: a sleeping-room, 12 feet by 12, with six girls in it, and a window that won't open; the insults they are exposed to, _et cetera_." "Do you think that will take?" "Yes, and I'll tell you why. The ordinary beast who reads the _Moon_ loves anything about a barmaid; they are his society." "Where shall we get our facts?" "Invent them, of course; there is no need for investigation. We can make it much more interesting without. Put it down: 'Barmaid--_Moon_.' Now we come to the _Resounder_. We must try quite a different line. It's a newspaper in a strait waistcoat, so to speak, and it's just been subsidized by the anti-gambling people. How would 'The Gambling Evil at the Universities' do? We could easily make some astounding revelations, and your name as president of the Union would have weight with the editor. What else is there?" "Well, there's the _Evening Times_ and the _Wire_," said Sturtevant. "Yes; I think with them we must do short stories. I have three or four MSS. not yet printed which I will revise. All these things shall go in under your name, and I will invent two-stick pars about celebrities, and send three or four to each paper. For instance-- 'It is not generally known that the Queen has a great liking for that very plebeian dish, tripe and onions. Indeed, so fond is Her Majesty of this succulent preparation, that a few sheep are always kept in the home paddocks of each of the royal residences to be in readiness if Her Majesty should suddenly express her desire. They are mountain bred, and are brought from the Highlands of Scotland as soon as they can travel without their dams.' The British public love this kind of thing." As Gobion suggested an article, one of them put it down on a piece of paper with the name of the journal to which they proposed to send it. "I have a beautiful idea," said Sturtevant, after a pause. "Yes?" "Look here, you know all the High Church goings-on at Oxford, don't you?" "Yes, but why?" "There's a paper run in London called _The Protesting Protestant_, which discovers a new popish plot every week. Well, you supply me with enough facts and names to prove that there is widespread conspiracy going on to Romanize the undergraduates. See?" "Ripping!"