Then our editor called us together to hear an
important communication he wished to make.
First he showed us, but
would not allow us to read or handle, a fair copy of the paper, or of
the portion he had done, just to enable us to appreciate the care he
was taking over it. He then went on to say that he could not give so
much time to the task and pay for stationery as well without a small
weekly contribution from us. This would only be about three-halfpence
or twopence from our pocket-money, and would not be much missed. To
this we all agreed at once except my younger brother, aged about seven
at that time. Then, he was told, he would not be allowed to contribute
to the paper. Very well, he wouldn't contribute to it, he said. In
vain we all tried to coax him out of his stubborn resolve: he would
not part with a copper of his money and would have nothing to do with
_The Tin Box_. Then the Editor's wrath broke out, and he said he had
already written his editorial, but would now, as a concluding article,
write a second one in order to show up the person who had tried to
wreck the paper, in his true colours. He would exhibit him as the
meanest, most contemptible insect that ever crawled on the surface
of the earth.
In the middle of this furious tirade my poor little brother burst out
crying.
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