Now, come along quick before
you change your mind or wake up."
Within a very few days of becoming sole proprietor of 'Squibs,' Roland
began to feel much as a man might who, a novice at the art of steering
cars, should find himself at the wheel of a runaway motor. Young Mr.
Petheram had spoken nothing less than the truth when he had said that
he was full of ideas for booming the paper. The infusion of capital
into the business acted on him like a powerful stimulant. He exuded
ideas at every pore.
Roland's first notion had been to engage a staff of contributors. He
was under the impression that contributors were the life-blood of a
weekly journal. Mr. Petheram corrected this view. He consented to the
purchase of a lurid serial story, but that was the last concession he
made. Nobody could accuse Mr. Petheram of lack of energy. He was
willing, even anxious, to write the whole paper himself, with the
exception of the Woman's Page, now brightly conducted once more by Miss
March. What he wanted Roland to concentrate himself upon was the
supplying of capital for ingenious advertising schemes.
"How would it be," he asked one morning--he always began his remarks
with, "How would it be?"--"if we paid a man to walk down Piccadilly in
white skin-tights with the word 'Squibs' painted in red letters across
his chest?"
Roland thought it would certainly not be.
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