"
"Why, it would take away the whole glory of the profession!" cried
Scott. "At present the smartest man gets his stuff first on the wires.
What inducement is there to be smart if we all share and share alike?"
"And at present the man with the best equipment has the best chance,"
remarked Mortimer, glancing across at the shot-silk polo ponies and the
cheap little Syrian grey. "That is the fair reward of foresight and
enterprise. Every man for himself, and let the best man win."
"That's the way to find who the best man is. Look at Chandler.
He would never have got his chance if he had not played always off his
own bat. You've heard how he pretended to break his leg, sent his
fellow-correspondent off for the doctor, and so got a fair start for the
telegraph-office."
"Do you mean to say that was legitimate?"
"Everything is legitimate. It's your wits against my wits."
"I should call it dishonourable."
"You may call it what you like. Chandler's paper got the battle and the
other's didn't. It made Chandler's name."
"Or take Westlake," said Mortimer, cramming the tobacco into his pipe.
"Hi, Abdul, you may have the dishes! Westlake brought his stuff down by
pretending to be the Government courier, and using the relays of
Government horses.
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