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'I live by selling your papers, but
I could sell a heap more if I had a better chance.' 'Chance in what way?'
said he. 'Building your first page,' said I. He said, 'Sure. What is it
that you want?' 'I'll show you,' said I. 'I'll give you the call I used
this morning.' Then I cut loose and just like on the street I cried it,
and he yelled some himself. 'What more do you want?' he asked me. 'A lot,'
I said. 'You see I only got a little time on the cars before my men begin
to get on, and my time is precious. I can't read second, third, and forty-
eleventh pages hunting up eye-openers. I must get them _first_ page,
'cause I'm short time, and got my pack to hang on to. Now makin'-up, if
you'd a-put that "Germans driven from the last foot of Belgian soil,"
first, it would a-been better, 'cause that's what every living soul wants.
Then the biggest thing about _ourselves_. Place it prominent in big black
letters, where I get it quick and easy, and then put me in a scream. Get
me a laugh in my call, and I'll sell you out all by myself.


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