“I think I’ll make it kick over the centre pole, only then perhaps some of the other reporters will catch it for not having seen the kick also. I once wrote an account of a garden party, and left out that the horses of the Prime Minister’s carriage shied and swerved, and one wheel caught against the gate-post. As a matter of fact, it did not do much more than graze it, but some journalist wrote a thrilling account of how the carriage nearly turned over; and I’ve never forgotten the chief’s face when he asked me why I hadn’t mentioned the accident to the Prime Minister’s carriage. I said there wasn’t an accident, and he snapped: ‘Well you’d better have turned them all in a heap in the road than left it out altogether!’ “I’ve never made the same mistake since,” she finished, “and now, if the chief sees my paragraphs, he has to ring some one up occasionally, and make sure I haven’t gone out of bounds altogether.” “Well, if you’re quite determined to lie... I mean romance... why not do it thoroughly? Let the King leap out of the carriage, with the Queen in his arms, and the royal coachman fall backwards off the box—and—and—both the horses burst out laughing?” “I’d get the sack for that,” Hal spluttered, busily plying her pencil, “and then I’d break my heart, because I’m in love with the chief.” “Oh”—with a low laugh, “and is it quite hopeless?” “Quite. The most hopeless _grande passion_ that ever was. He’s been married twice already, and the second is still very much alive. Did the Queen wear a black hat, or a dark purple one?” “Dark purple, of course, like her dress. Why, I could write the thing better than you.” “I’m sure you could, if you might have half the newspaper. I don’t know where you’d be in thirty-six lines!” “By Jove! Have you got to squeeze it all into thirty-six lines?” “Less, if possible. There’s been a row in Berlin, and we have to allow for thrilling developments, which may crowd out lots of other paragraphs.” “And supposing you want it a few lines longer?” “Then the compiler will add a bit on about the weather, or throw in another dress description, or something. I’m putting you in now,” scribbling on; “but I don’t know your name?” “And I’m not going to tell it to you for your precious paragraph, so you’ll have to cross that bit out again.” “Not at all,” airily: “a well-known aeronaut, who has recently beaten the distance-record, and is looking remarkably well in spite of his advanced years, was among the distinguished guests!” He had to cry “pax” then. “I give you up,” he said; “you’re too much for me! But I’ll take you for a fly the first opportunity I get. Will you come?” “Will I come!...” in eager tones. “Oh, won’t I?” And he promised to arrange it. When they reached Euston, Hal had to dash for the first taxi, and tear to the office with her report, and it was not until she was leaving that the call boy told her a gentleman had asked for her on the telephone in the afternoon.