Mogley. It's very late, but I'll see what I can do."
Mogley passed out, walking down the five flights of stairs to the street,
forgetful of the elevator.
The dramatic editor looked at his watch. "Half-past twelve," he said; then,
to a man at another desk:
"Jack, I can't come just yet. I'll meet you at the club. Order devilled
crabs and a bottle of Bass for me."
He ran up-stairs to the night editor. "Mr. Dorney, have you the theatre
proofs? I'd like to make a change in one of the theatre notices."
"Too late for the first edition, my boy. Is it important?"
"Yes, an exceptional case. I'll deem it a personal favour."
"All right. I'll get it in the city edition. Here are the proofs."
"Let's see," mused the dramatic editor, looking over the wet proofs. "Who
covered the ---- Theatre to-night? Some one in the city department. I
suppose he 'roasted' Gugley, or whatever his name is. Ah, here it is."
And he read on the proof:
"The revival of an ancient burlesque on 'Faust' at the ---- Theatre last
night was without any noteworthy feature save the pitiful performance of
the part of Mephisto by a doleful gentleman named Thomas Mogley, who showed
not the faintest of humour and who was tremendously guyed by a turbulent
audience.
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