XVI--The First Newspaper. A Sort of Allegory
How likes it you, Master Brenton?" said the brawny
journeyman, spreading out the news sheet on a smooth
oaken table where it lay under the light of a leaded
window.
"A marvellous fair sheet," murmured Brenton Caxton,
seventh of the name, "let me but adjust my glasses and
peruse it further lest haply there be still aught in it
that smacks of error."
"It needs not," said the journeyman, "'tis the fourth
time already from the press."
"Nay, nay," answered Master Brenton softly, as he adjusted
his great horn-rimmed spectacles and bent his head over
the broad damp news sheet before him. "Let us grudge no
care in this. The venture is a new one and, meseems, a
very parlous thing withal. 'Tis a venture that may easily
fail and carry down our fortunes with it, but at least
let it not be said that it failed for want of brains in
the doing."
"Fail quotha!" said a third man, who had not yet spoken,
old, tall and sour of visage and wearing a printer's
leather apron.
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