He found Cleary busily engaged in making his final
arrangements, and persuaded him to cut them short and travel with him.
Sam had hardly time to take breath from the moment of his departure
from Slowburgh to the evening on which he and Cleary at last sat down
in their sleeping-car. His friend heaved a deep sigh.
"Well, here we are actually off and I haven't got anything to do for a
change. This is what I call comfort."
"Yes," said Sam, "but I wish we were in the Cubapines. This inaction is
terrible while so much is at stake. It's a consolation to know that I
am going to help to save the country, but it is tantalizing to wait so
long. Then in your own way you're going to help the country too," he
added, thinking that he might seem to Cleary to be monopolizing the
honors.
"I'll help it by helping you," laughed Cleary. "I've got another
contract for you. You see the magazines are worth working. They handle
the news after the newspapers are through with it, and they don't
interfere with each other. So I got permission to tackle them from
_The Lyre_, and I saw the editor of _Scribblers' Magazine_ yesterday
and it's a go, if things come out as I expect."
"What do you mean?" asked Sam.
"Why, you are to write articles for them, a regular series, and the
price is to be fixed on a sliding scale according to your celebrity at
the time of each publication.
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