Scoop-Evelyn-Waugh [68]
The Managing Editor of the Beast was not easily moved to pity. "I say, Salter," he said, almost reverently, "you look terrible." "Yes," said Mr. Salter, lowering himself awkwardly into a chair, "that's the only word for it." "These heavy drinking country squires, eh?" "No. It wasn't that." "Have you got Boot?" "Yes and no. Have you?" "Yes and no. He signed all right." "So did mine. But he won't come to the banquet." "I've sent my Boot off to the Antarctic. He said he had to go abroad at once. Apparently some woman is pursuing him." "My Boot," said Mr. Salter, "is afraid of losing the esteem of his old nurse." "Women," said the Managing Editor. One thought was in both men's mind. "What are we going to say to Lord Copper?" The Social Secretary, whom they went to consult, was far from helpful. "Lord Copper is looking forward very much to his speech," she said. "He has been rehearsing it all the afternoon." "You could rewrite it a little," said the Managing Editor. "'Even in the moment of triumph, duty called. Here today, gone tomorrow...honouring the empty chair...the high adventure of modern journalism...'" But even as he spoke, his voice faltered. "No," said the Social Secretary. "That is not the kind of speech Lord Copper intends to make. You can hear him, in there, now." A dull booming sound, like breakers on shingle, rose and fell beyond the veneered walnut doors. "He's getting it by heart," she added. The two editors went sadly back to their own quarters. "I've worked with the Megalopolitan, one way and another, for fifteen years," said Mr. Salter. "I've got a wife to consider." "You at least might get other employment," said the Managing Editor. "You've been educated. There's nothing in the world I'm fit to do except edit the Beast." "It was your fault in the first place for engaging Boot at all. He wasn't a Foreign Page man." "You sent him to Ishmaelia." "I wanted to sack him. You made him a hero. You made a monkey of him. It was you who thought of that article which upset him." "You encouraged Lord Copper to give him a knighthood." "You encouraged the banquet." "We were both at fault," said the Managing Editor. "But there's no point in our both suffering. Let's toss for who takes the blame." The coin spun in the air, fell and rolled away out of sight. Mr. Salter was on his knees, searching, when the Features Editor looked in. "Do either of you know anything about an old chap called Boot?" he asked. "I can't get him out of my room. He's been sitting there telling me dirty stories since I got back from lunch. Says Salter sent him."
chapter 3
Lord Copper quite often gave banquets; it would be an understatement to say that no one enjoyed them more than the host, for no one else enjoyed them at all, while Lord Copper positively exulted in every minute. For him they satisfied every requirement of a happy evening's entertainment; like everything that was to Lord Copper's taste, they were a little over life-size, unduly large and unduly long; they took place in restaurants which existed solely for such purposes, amid decorations which reminded Lord Copper of his execrable country seat at East Finchley; the provisions were copious, very bad and very expensive; the guests were assembled for no other reason than that Lord Copper had ordered it; they did not want to see each other; they had no reason to rejoice in the occasions which Lord Copper celebrated; they were there either because it was part of their job or because they were glad of a free dinner. Many were already on Lord Copper's pay-roll and they thus found their working day prolonged by some three hours without recompense �with the forfeit, indeed, of the considerable expenses of dressing up, coming out at night, and missing the last train home; those who were normally the slaves of other masters were, Lord Copper felt, his for the evening. He had bought them and bound them, hand and foot, with consomm�nd cream of chicken, turbot and saddle, duck and p�e Melba, and afterwards when the cigars had been furtively pocketed and the brandy glasses filled with the horrible brown compound for which Lord Copper was paying two pounds a bottle, there came the golden hour when he rose to speak at whatever length he liked and on whatever subject, without fear of rivalry or interruption. Often the occasion was purely contingent on Lord Copper's activities