All I tell you is: Don't say anything about
the Rose. Don't open your mouth, in fact. Leave the gassing to me."
It was upon this repeated injunction that my poor George tottered up
the stairs of the _Daily_ office, cat in arm, in Bill's wake.
II.
Bill rapped upon Mr. Bitt's door; poked in his head at the answering
call; motioned my trembling George to wait; stepped over the
threshold.
Mr. Bitt sat behind a broad table; before him, deep in an armchair,
smoking a cigarette, lay Mr. Vivian Howard.
"Ah! Wyvern," spoke Mr. Bitt. "Mr. Howard, this is Mr. Wyvern, one of
my brightest young men. From to-day he takes in hand this business."
Mr. Vivian Howard did not rise; stretched a white hand to Bill. This
man had an appreciation of the position he had won. This man stood for
English literature. Within a wide estimate of public opinion, and
within that immense estimate of him that was his own, this man stood
for literature. In a manner worthy of his proud standing this man
comported himself. The talents that were his belonged to the nation,
and very freely he gave them to the people. This man did not deny
himself to the crowd as another might have denied himself. Of him it
never could be said that he missed opportunity to let the public feed
upon him. This man made such opportunities.
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