# Diamonds To Sit On/Chapter 23

Contents
CHAPTER XXIII
THE AUTOMOBILE CLUB
IN the office of the large daily paper Stanok they were busy selecting copy which had been left over from the previous day's issue. Different notes, articles, and reports were being gone through and counted to see how much space they would occupy. Then the usual wrangling began as to whose article should be put in and where it should be placed. The whole paper of four pages comprised some four thousand four hundred lines, into which everything had to be spaced: telegrams, articles, current events, letters from worker correspondents, one serial in verse and two in prose, cartoons, photographs, and special articles on the theatre, chess, sport, and news of the Soviet party and professional organizations, a novel in serial form, literary sketches of town life, popular articles on various subjects, a wireless section, and other miscellaneous subjects. They usually had sufficient material to fill about ten thousand lines, so that the question of space was discussed with great heat, and there was always a great deal of quarrelling.
The first man to run to the sub-editor of the paper was the chess editor, Sudekin. 'What's this mean?' he asked with biting politeness. 'There'll be no chess news to-day?'
'There's no room for it,' said the sub-editor, 'We've got far too much copy as it is.'
'But it's Saturday to-day, and the readers are waiting for the Sunday article. I have got solutions to problems, an excellent study by "Hopeful", and I've also got a——'
'Oh! all right. How much space do you want? How many lines?' ​THE AUTOMOBILE CLUB
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' Not less than a hundred and fifty.’ ‘ AU right. If you’ve got solutions to problems we’U let you have sixty.’ The chess expert did his best to persuade the sub­ editor to give him another thirty lines, but he was repulsed. The reporter Persitsky came in. ‘ Do you want the impressions from the Plenum ? ’ ‘ Of course ! ’ shouted the sub-editor. ‘ They spoke two nights ago.’
they won’t give us any space.’ ‘ Why won’t they give you any space ? Who won’t give you space ? What’s the matter with them aU ? Are they going mad ? ’ The sub-editor got up and went to the compositors’ room. Persitsky followed him and men from the adver­ tising department hurried after him. Behind them came a man carrying a walnut chair which had been bought for the editor at an auction. A few minutes later the sub-editor returned and sat down again to read the leading article, but he was immediately interrupted by the artist. ‘ Ah ! ’ said the sub-editor. ‘ That’s splendid. I believe you have some idea of a cartoon based on the last telegram received from Germany ? ’ ‘ Yes, I think something like this would do : a steel helmet and then the general situation in Germany.’ ' All right. You do what you like and then bring it to me.’ The artist went away. He took a square piece of Whatman paper and sketched a lean dog. He drew a German spiked helmet on its head and then he began to write. He wrote ‘ Germany ’ on the dog’s body and on its tail he wrote ' The Danzig Corridor ’ ; ‘ Dreams of Revenge ’ on its jaws ’; ‘ The Dawes Plan ’ on the collar, and ‘ Stresemann ’ on its outstretched tongue. Next, he drew Poincar6 standing in front of the dog and ​158
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holding a piece of meat in his hand. He wanted to write something on the meat, but it was too small, so he drew a label and wrote on it: ‘ French guarantees of safety In order that Poincare should not be mistaken for any other European statesman he wrote ‘ POINCARE ’ in block letters on his stomach. On the tables in the art department lay masses of foreign newspapers as well as large cutting-out scissors, httle bottles of Indian ink, and Chinese white. The floor was littered with clippings of photographs; somebody’s shoulders, another person’s legs, and bits of a landscape. Five artists were scraping photographs with razor blades and making them hghter. They were touching them up, making some darker and others lighter, writing the title and size on the back^—' Three and three-quarter inch square ’, ‘ Two columns ’, and so on, which were the necessary instructions for the printers. A deputation of foreigners was sitting in the editor’s room, and the official interpreter was staring at one of the foreigners, who was speaking to the editor. He was saying : ‘ Comrade Arnaud would like to know----- ’ The conversation was about the way in which Soviet newspapers were run, and while the interpreter was explaining to the editor what Comrade Arnaud wanted to know, Arnaud himself, dressed in velvet cycling breeches, and all the other foreigners were examining a huge red penholder with a nib Number 86 that was propped up in one of the comers of the room. The nib was almost touching the ceihng, the barrel of the pen was as fat as an average-sized man, and the pen could be used, for it was a real one. ‘ Ha, ha ! ’ laughed the foreigners. ‘ That’s good.’ ‘ Yes, colossal! ’ The pen had been presented to the newspaper office by the conference of worker correspondents. The editor was sitting on Hippolyte’s chair. He was ​THE AUTOMOBILE CLUB
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smiling and nodding first at the pen and then at the guests. The shouting in the sub-editor’s room continued. Persitsky brought in an article by Semashko, while the sub-editor was hastily crossing out the whole of the chess section, which had been put into the third column of the paper. The chess editor had to give up struggling for space and in the end was given a few lines at the expense of the ‘ Law and Life ’ section. The sub-editor then went on writing his leading article. He had just determined to read it through and had got to the middle of a sentence when he was inter­ rupted by a representative of the ‘ Law and Life ’ section. The sub-editor dehberately went on reading, making unnecessary alterations and ignored the man. ‘ Law and Life ’ walked round until he came to the side of the sub-editor’s chair and then said in an offended voice : ‘ I don’t see why. I don’t under­ stand----- ’ ‘ What’s that ? ’ said the sub-editor, trying to delay the attack. ‘ What’s the matter ? ’ ‘ The matter is that there was no “ Law and Life ” in the paper on Wednesday or Friday ; on Thursday there were only a few lines, and now on Saturday they are cutting out the case which is being written about in all the papers and yet we are the only ones to----- ’ ‘ Which papers are writing about it ? I’ve not seen anything,’ shouted the sub-editor. ‘ It’ll be in all the papers to-morrow. And again we’ll be the only ones not to give any news about it.’ After a long argument the sub-editor cut out the chess article altogether and inserted the copy for ‘ Law and Life ’. It was five o’clock, the busiest time in the newspaper office. The reporters were dictating to the steno­ graphers, and the head typist was shouting at some sneaks who were pushing their copy out of their turn. ​i6o
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The staff poet was walking up and down the corridor. He was in love with one of the typists, whose slender hips inspired poetic feelings in him. He would lead her down to the other end of the corridor and whisper passionately to her, to which she would reply : ' I have some very urgent work to do to-day and I’m terribly busy ’, which really meant that she was in love with some one else. The poet kept getting into everybody’s way and went round to each of them in turn with the same monotonous request : ‘ Just let me have eight copecks for the tram.’ He went into the worker corres­ pondents’ department to try to collect this small sum of money, and after going all round, in and out of the tables where the readers were sitting, and after fingering the piles of letters on the tables, he began again : ‘ Just let me have eight copecks for the tram.’ The readers, who were the most serious people in the office, took no notice of him. The reason for their being so serious and severe was that they had to read at least a hundred letters each day scrawled by hands more used to wielding an axe or a painter’s brush or wheehng a barrow than holding a pen and writing a letter. The poet went back to the general office, but he could not collect the eight copecks, and was attacked by Avdotiev, a member of the Union of Communist Youth, who asked him to become a member of the automobile club. The poet remembered the smell of petrol and disappeared at top speed. ' Listen,’ said Avdotiev as he sat on the edge of the sub-editor’s table. ‘ Just stop for a minute and listen. It’s serious. We’ve formed an automobile club and I was just wondering whether the paper would give us a loan of, say, five hundred roubles for eight months ? ’ ‘ You don’t need to wonder,’ said the sub-editor. ' What ? Don’t you think there’s a hope ? ’ ​THE AUTOMOBILE CLUB
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' I don’t think—I know. How many members have you got ? ’ ‘ Oh ! quite a large number.’ The group consisted so far of only one organizer, but Avdotiev did not elaborate that point. ‘ We’re buying a car from the dumping ground for five hundred roubles. Egorov has already got his eye on one and he says the repairs won’t cost any more than five hundred, so that makes a thousand. I’m thinking of finding twenty members, each one to sub­ scribe fifty roubles. It’ll be fine. We’ll all learn to drive. Egorov wiU be the head of the show, and in three months’ time, round about August, we’ll all know how to drive the car. The car will be ours and each one in turn will be able to drive wherever he likes.’ ‘ Yes,’ said the sub-editor; ‘ but what about the purchase-money^—the five hundred roubles ? ’ Oh ! the Mutual Credit will give it us on a per­ centage basis. We’ll soon be able to pay that back. Well, what about you ? Shall I put your name down as a member ? ’ Now the sub-editor was going bald ; he was an exceptionally busy man, and a slave to his family and home ; he loved to take a nap on the sofa after dinner and to read the Pravda before dropping off to sleep, so he thought about the automobile club for a minute and then refused. ‘ You old stick ! ’ said Avdotiev, and moved away to repeat his fiery speech to other people in the office. His remarks had little effect on the older men, and by ‘ older men ’ he meant any one above the age of twenty. They all made excuses by saying they were already ‘ Friends of the Children ’ and regularly paid twenty copecks a year in aid of the poor little mites They said they would gladly join the new club if—— If what ? ’ shouted Avdotiev. ‘ And what if the car were here now, eh ? Supposing we were to bring a six-cyhnder Packard in here now for fifteen copecks ​i62
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a year with petrol and oil supplied by the Government. What would you say then ? ’ ‘ Oh ! go away. Go away ! We’re working,’ said the ‘ old ’ men. The idea of the club was dying a natural death when suddenly a pioneer came forward. Persitsky, who had been listening to Avdotiev, said very confidently : ' You’re not going about it in the right way. Give the list to me and we’ll begin again.’ And the two men went round the various tables. ‘ Here, you, you old mattress ! ’ said Persitsky to a blue-eyed youth, ‘ you don’t need to give any money. Have you any certificates for the 1927 Loan ? Come on ; how many have you got ? For fifty roubles ? All the better. Just hand them over to our club and they’ll form the capital and by August we’ll be able to reahze all the certificates and buy the car.’ ‘ But what if my certificate wins ? ’ ‘ How much do you expect to win ? ’ ‘ Fifty thousand roubles.’ ‘ Well, we’ll buy cars with the fifty thousand. And if I win I’ll do the same. And if Avdotiev wins he’ll do the same. In fact, whoever wins will buy cars with the money. Now do you understand ? You’ll be able to go to the Caucasus in your own car, you silly fool, and the others too—“ Law and Life “ Current Events ”, and the lady who does film notes. Why, they’ll all be driving behind you ! Well, what d’vou say to that ? ’ Not every holder of a certificate believes he will win, and that is why he is interested in the certificates held by his friends and neighbours. He is always terrified that they will win and that he will not. The idea of a neighbour winning prompted all the certificate­ holders to join the club. The only anxiety was that none of the certificates would win, but that did not seem possible. Within five minutes there were twenty members. ​THE AUTOMOBILE CLUB
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and presently the sub-editor came in and also decided to become a member. ‘ Why not ? ’ said Avdotiev, ‘ but not in our club. You’re a bit too late. Our membership is closed for 1929. You’d better join the “ Friends of the Children”. It’s cheap and quiet. It only costs twenty copecks a year and you don’t need to go anywhere by car.’ The sub-editor felt it was just as well, for he was getting on in years. He sighed and was going back to his leading article, when a handsome man stopped him in the corridor. ‘ TeU me, comrade,’ he said, ‘ where is the editor’s office ? ’ It was the great schemer again, Ostap Bender.