Excerpt from Luke Delmege

It happened in this way. I was absorbed in a daydream - an academic discussion with myself as to whether demand created supply or supply elicited demand - a hoary question throughout all the debating societies of the world, and I was making but little progress toward its solution, when suddenly it solved itself in a remarkable manner. I thought I heard, above the rumbling and muffled thunder of the colossal printing press, far away in a certain street in New York, the word "Copy" shouted up through a telephone. The voice was the voice of that modern magician, the foreman printer. "Copy" echoed in the manager's room, where, amid piles of paper, damp, and moist, and redolent of printer's ink, the great potentate sat. "Copy, " he shouted through his telephone, with something that sounded like a prayer - but it wasn't - to the editor, many miles away. "Copy, " shouted the editor through his telephone - no! that hasn't come yet, but it will one of these days. But "Copy, " he wrote three thousand miles across the bleak, barren wastes of the turbulent Atlantic to one sitting on a rustic seat in a quiet garden in a country village beneath the shadows of the black mountains that separate Cork County from Limerick, and with Spenser's "gentle Mulla" almost washing his feet, and "Copy " settled the academic question forever.

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