Mr. Hobson's principles were very liberal according to the idea of
that time; they seemed to grudge no expense with regard to the
transmission of news.
Telegrams were costly things in those days, but Mr. Hobson sometimes
sent off half-a-dozen in the course of a morning. He was served too,
and exceedingly well, by special agents of his own, who came to him at
all hours--in cabs driven recklessly, or on foot, in a stealthy,
apologetic way, as though doubtful whether the news they brought would
be acceptable.
The office upstairs bore out the notion of the news-agency. Its chief
furniture consisted of two long, sloping tables, on which lay files of
daily papers. There was one big book-case handy near the fireplace,
and over the desk at which Mr. Hobson sat. On the shelves of this were
ranged a couple of dozen volumes, each bearing a label on which were
various letters and numerals.
On the desk itself were the usual writing appliances, a large pair of
scissors, and a wide-mouthed bottle of gum.
Let us look in at Mr. Hobson on his first arrival at his office, soon
after eight o'clock.
His first business was to ring his bell, which communicated with the
shop below.
"My papers! It is past eight."
"Here they are, sir, the whole lot--_Times_, _'Tizer_, _Morning
Chronicle_, and _Morning Post_.
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