tale all the way through. Take this one for instance: From Chrudim. Dear Sir,—As an old subscriber to your esteemed journal, your readers and the whole of the public who are now being harassed by unprofitable disputes"—("He's left out 'will be interested,'" interpolated Mr. Keval)—"'in the remarkable miracle performed by our local pastor, the Rev. Father Zakoupil.' And so on. In Jicin it was the storekeeper of the Co-operative Society, and in Benesov it was the superintendent of schools. In Chotěboř it was even the widow Jirák, who keeps a tobacco shop. Have I to read all this stuff?"
Work went on again in silence for a while.
"Damn it, Rejzek," Keval burst out again, "I say, do you know what would be a real sensation? A giant gooseberry? A lovely canard? Why, if something were to happen quite in the natural way, without any miracle about it. But I don't think anyone would believe us. Wait a bit, I'll try to think up something natural."
Again there was a brief period of quiet.
"Rejzek," cried Keval mournfully, "I simply can't think up anything natural. When I think it over, everything is a miracle really. Whatever is, is a sort of magic."
Just then the editor-in-chief entered.
"Who did the cuttings from the Tribune? Here's a story in it that we haven't got."
