chaps' people won't like it,” said Naylor, “certain not to. And it sounds Rum.”
“Sounds Weird,” said a boy who had not hitherto spoken.
“We aren't going to do anything Queer,” said Shoesmith, pointedly not looking at Britten.
The question of the title had manifestly gone against us. “Oh! HAVE it ARVONIAN,” I said.
“And next, what size shall we have?” said Cossington.
“Something like MACMILLAN'S MAGAZINE—or LONGMANS'; LONGMANS' is better because it has a whole page, not columns. It makes no end of difference to one's effects.”
“What effects?” asked Shoesmith abruptly.
“Oh! a pause or a white line or anything. You've got to write closer for a double column. It's nuggetty. You can't get a swing on your prose.” I had discussed this thoroughly with Britten.
“If the fellows are going to write—” began Britten.
“We ought to keep off fine writing,” said Shoesmith. “It's cheek. I vote we don't