Next to arrive was the artist.
"Aha!" said the editor, "very good!
I have a subject for a cartoon in view of the latest cable from Germany."
"What about this?" said the artist. '"The Steel Helmet and the General Situation in Germany'?"
"All right, you work something out and then show it to me."
The artist went back to his department.
He took a square of drawing-paper and made a pencil sketch of an emaciated dog.
On the dog's head he drew a German helmet with a spike.
Then he turned to the wording.
On the animal's body he printed the word
'Germany', then he printed 'Danzig Corridor' on its curly tail, 'Dreams of Revenge' on its jaw, 'Dawes Plan' on its collar, and 'Stresemann' on its protruding tongue.
In front of the dog the artist drew a picture of Poincare holding a piece of meat in his hand.
He thought of something to write on the piece of meat, but the meat was too small and the word would not fit.
Anyone less quick-witted than a cartoonist would have lost his head, but, without a second thought, the artist drew a shape like a label of the kind found on necks of bottles near the piece of meat and wrote
'French Guarantees of Security' in tiny letters inside it.
So that Poincare should not be confused with any other French statesman, he wrote the word 'Poincare' on his stomach.
The drawing was ready.
The desks of the art department were covered with foreign magazines, large-size pairs of scissors, bottles of India ink and whiting.
Bits of photographs-a shoulder, a pair of legs, and a section of countryside-lay about on the floor.
There were five artists who scraped the photographs with Gillette razor blades to brighten them up; they also improved the contrast by touching them up with India ink and whiting, and wrote their names and the size (3? squares, 2 columns, and so on) on the reverse side, since these directions are required in zincography.
There was a foreign delegation sitting in the chief editor's office.
The office interpreter looked into the speaker's face and, turning to the chief editor, said:
"Comrade Arnaud would like to know .. ."
They were discussing the running of a Soviet newspaper.
While the interpreter was explaining to the chief editor what Comrade Arnaud wanted to know, Arnaud, in velvet plus fours, and all the other foreigners looked curiously at a red pen with a No. 86 nib which was leaning against the wall in the corner.
The nib almost touched the ceiling and the holder was as wide as an average man's body at the thickest part.
It was quite possible to write with it; the nib was a real one although it was actually bigger than a large pike.
"Hohoho! " laughed the foreigners. "Kolossal! " The pen had been presented to the editorial office by a correspondents' congress.
Sitting on Vorobyaninov's chair, the chief editor smiled and, nodding first towards the pen and then at his guests, happily explained things to them.
The clamour in the offices continued.
Persidsky brought in an article by Semashko and the editor promptly deleted the chess section from the third page.
Maestro Sudeikin no longer battled for Neunyvako's wonderful study; he was only concerned about saving the solutions.
After a struggle more tense than his match with Lasker at the San Sebastian tournament, he won a place at the expense of Life-and-the-Law.
Semashko was sent to the compositors.
The editor buried himself once more in the editorial.
He had decided to read it at all costs, just for the sporting interest.
He had just reached the bit that said ". . . but the contents of the pact are such that, if the League of Nations registers it, we will have to admit that . . ." when Life-and-the-Law, a hairy man, came up to him.
The editor continued reading, avoiding the eyes of Life-and-the-Law, and making unnecessary notes on the editorial.
Life-and-the-Law went around to the other side of him and said in a hurt voice:
"I don't understand."
"Uhunh," said the editor, trying to play for time. "What's the matter?"
"The matter is that on Wednesday there was no Life-and-the-Law, on Friday there was no Life-and-the-Law, on Thursday you carried only a case of alimony which you had in reserve, and on Saturday you're leaving out a trial which has been written up for some time in all other papers. It's only us who-"
"Which other papers?" cried the editor. "I haven't seen it."
"It will appear again tomorrow and we'll be too late."
"But when you were asked to report the Chubarov case, what did you write?
It was impossible to get a line out of you.
I know.
You were reporting the case for an evening paper."
"How do you know?"
"I know.