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You, yourself, an old accountant, and I, an old journalist, can very well manage the affair between us. Also rent, we needn't count that; you have your old apartment in the rue Saint-Dominique which is not yet leased; that will make a fine newspaper office." "All that costs off two thousand four hundred francs a year," said Thuillier.

And yet I suppose the knowledge of being able to jump through a hoop better than any other wolf would justify a certain amount of 'side." Fortunately at this moment a young Italian journalist at another table rose from his seat and delivered a two-minute oration in praise of the heroine of the evening.

The journalist took a tone of refined corruption to prove that love obeys no law, that the character of the lovers gives infinite variety to its incidents, that the circumstances of social life add to the multiplicity of its manifestations, that in love all is possible and true, and that any given woman, after resisting every temptation and the seductions of the most passionate lover, may be carried off her feet in the course of a few hours by a fancy, an internal whirlwind of which God alone would ever know the secret!

"Yes, by this evening, of course," he answered unperturbed, "or we become ipso facto defaulters and bankrupts." That was a lie to be sure; but it served his purpose. Guy was a child at business, and believed whatever nonsense Nevitt chose to foist upon him. The journalist rose and paced the room twice or thrice with a frantic air of unspeakable misery.

I went aboard a little five hundred ton vessel with steam up, and stood near two other men on the narrow deck, where I watched in considerable awe the silent preparations to cast away. A man stepped out of the cabin. "I presume, sir, that you are the American journalist," he said. He explained that he was the steward.

Helen Cumberly, though perfectly self-reliant, as only the modern girl journalist can be, was fully aware that, not being of the flat-haired, bespectacled type, she was called upon to exercise rather more care in her selection of companions for copy-hunting expeditions than was necessary in the case of certain fellow-members of the Scribes' Club.

"The provincial women I have met in Paris," said Lousteau, "were, in fact, rapid in their proceedings " "My word, they are strange," said the lady, giving a significant shrug of her shoulders. "They are like the playgoers who book for the second performance, feeling sure that the piece will not fail," replied the journalist. "And what is the cause of all these woes?" asked Bianchon.

There was a Canadian journalist and poet once who was so impressed with the news that the Ahkoond was dead, so bowed down with regret that he had never known the Ahkoond while alive, that he forthwith wrote a poem in memory of The Ahkoond of Swat.

Villette, as being a member of the Convention, obtained redress; but had he been only a journalist, the liberty of the press would not have rescued him. The patriots of Belfast were not more fortunate in the adaption of their civilities they addressed the Convention, in a strain of great piety, to congratulate them on the success of their arms in the "cause of civil and religious liberty."*

He had none of the versatility of a journalist, and the editors entrusted him with little besides the preparation of bibliographical notes. Oddly enough, it was with this unworldly and least resourceful of men that I had to discuss my plan for the conquest of Paris, that is, of musical Paris, which is made up of all the most questionable characters imaginable.