And with earnestly expressed but not very confident wishes for his success, they did. He managed the thing admirably. "What's this about a mermaid?" he demanded of the local journalists when they returned. They travelled together for company, being, so to speak, emergency journalists, compositors in their milder moments, and unaccustomed to these higher aspects of journalism. "What's this about a mermaid?" repeated my cousin, while they waived precedence dumbly one to another. "I believe some one's been letting you in," said my cousin Melville. "Just imagine!--a mermaid!" "That's what we thought," said the younger of the two emergency journalists. "We knew it was some sort of hoax, you know. Only the _New Paper_ giving it a headline----" "I'm amazed even Banghurst--" said my cousin Melville. "It's in the _Daily Gunfire_ as well," said the older of the two emergency journalists. "What's one more or less of these ha'penny fever rags?" cried my cousin with a ringing scorn. "Surely you're not going to take your Folkestone news from mere London papers." "But how did the story come about?" began the older emergency journalist. "That's not my affair." The younger emergency journalist had an inspiration. He produced a note book from his breast pocket. "Perhaps, sir, you wouldn't mind suggesting to us something we might say----" My cousin Melville complied. II The rising young journalist who had first got wind of the business--who must not for a moment be confused with the two emergency journalists heretofore described--came to Banghurst next night in a state of strange exultation. "I've been through with it and I've seen her," he panted. "I waited about outside and saw her taken into the carriage. I've talked to one of the maids--I got into the house under pretence of being a telephone man to see their telephone--I spotted the wire--and it's a fact. A positive fact--she's a mermaid with a tail--a proper mermaid's tail. I've got here----" He displayed sheets. "Whaddyer talking about?" said Banghurst from his littered desk, eyeing the sheets with apprehensive animosity. "The mermaid--there really _is_ a mermaid. At Folkestone." Banghurst turned away from him and pawed at his pen tray. "Whad if there is!" he said after a pause. "But it's proved. That note you printed----" "That note I printed was a mistake if there's anything of that sort going, young man." Banghurst remained an obstinate expansion of back. "How?" "We don't deal in mermaids here." "But you're not going to let it drop?" "I am." "But there she is!" [Illustration: "Stuff that the public won't believe aren't facts."]