“Oh I don’t want to say anything, I’ve had my lesson. But I could listen to you all day.” Francie gave an exclamation of impatience and incredulity, and Mr. Flack pursued: “Don’t you remember what you told me that time we had that talk at Saint-Germain, on the terrace? You said I might remain your friend.” “Well, that’s all right,” said the girl. “Then ain’t we interested in the development of our friends--in their impressions, their situations and adventures? Especially a person like me, who has got to know life whether he wants to or no--who has got to know the world.” “Do you mean to say I could teach you about life?” Francie beautifully gaped. “About some kinds certainly. You know a lot of people it’s difficult to get at unless one takes some extraordinary measures, as you’ve done.” “What do you mean? What measures have I done?” “Well, THEY have--to get right hold of you--and its the same thing. Pouncing on you, to secure you first--I call that energetic, and don’t you think I ought to know?” smiled Mr. Flack with much meaning. “I thought _I_ was energetic, but they got in ahead of me. They’re a society apart, and they must be very curious.” “Yes, they’re very curious,” Francie admitted with a resigned sigh. Then she said: “Do you want to put them in the paper?” George Flack cast about--the air of the question was so candid, suggested so complete an exemption From prejudice. “Oh I’m very careful about what I put in the paper. I want everything, as I told you; Don’t you remember the sketch I gave you of my ideals? But I want it in the right way and of the right brand. If I can’t get it in the shape I like it I don’t want it at all; first-rate first-hand information, straight from the tap, is what I’m after. I don’t want to hear what some one or other thinks that some one or other was told that some one or other believed or said; and above all I don’t want to print it. There’s plenty of that flowing in, and the best part of the job’s to keep it out. People just yearn to come in; they make love to me for it all over the place; there’s the biggest crowd at the door. But I say to them: ‘You’ve got to do something first, then I’ll see; or at any rate you’ve got to BE something!’” “We sometimes see the Reverberator. You’ve some fine pieces,” Francie humanely replied. “Sometimes only? Don’t they send it to the old gentleman--the weekly edition? I thought I had fixed that,” said George Flack. “I don’t know; it’s usually lying round. But Delia reads it more than I; she reads pieces aloud. I like to read books; I read as many as I can.” “Well, it’s all literature,” said Mr. Flack; “it’s all the press, the great institution of our time. Some of the finest books have come out first in the papers. It’s the history of the age.” “I see you’ve got the same aspirations,” Francie remarked kindly. “The same aspirations?” “Those you told me about that day at Saint-Germain.”