What is the matter! Why all this noise?

BOLZ (_solemnly_).

Bellmaus, when we did you the honor of intrusting you with the odds
and ends for this newspaper, we never expected you to bring the
everlasting great sea-serpent writhing through the columns of our
journal!--How could you put in that worn-out old lie?

BELLMAUS.

It just fitted. There were exactly six lines left.

BOLZ.

That is an excuse, but not a good one. Invent your own stories. What
are you a journalist for? Make a little "Communication," an
observation, for instance, on human life in general, or something
about dogs running around loose in the streets; or choose a
bloodcurdling story such as a murder out of politeness, or how a
woodchuck bit seven sleeping children, or something of that kind. So
infinitely much happens, and so infinitely much does not happen, that
an honest newspaper man ought never to be without news.

BELLMAUS.

Give it here, I will change it.

[_Goes to the table, looks into a printed sheet, cuts a clipping from
it with large shears, and pastes it on the copy of the newspaper._]