Jimmy worked quickly. He had drawn Meggsie tearing down Dead Man’s Hill in his ill-fated billycart a thousand times before. He hesitated over the punchline, then quickly printed it in, pushed his high stool away from the sloping drawing board and tilted his head first to one side, then the other. Leaning forward, with sure strokes he made a few subtle additions to the figure of Tiger Kelly, added an oversized exclamation mark and signed in his characteristic vertical fashion. Satisfied, he sat back again, unpinned the worksheet and began to rock his stool gently as he stared out the window at the rain, seeking inspiration for the next Meggsie cartoon.

Cartooning had been kind to Jimmy Bancks. He was making a better living from it than he could have imagined when he began drawing caricatures for The Comic Australian. Then, The Bulletin had offered the princely sum of £8 per week and the lure of permanent employment. He liked it very much better than trolleying luggage on the railway and living in outer-suburban Hornsby, as his dad had done for much of his working life. When the editor of The Sydney Sun and Sun News-Pictorial topped the offer, it was time to move on again. So here he was, considering an offer of overseas syndication, contemplating marriage to the beautiful Jessie, and moving house to ritzy Point Piper. Life was proving very kind to Jimmy Bancks and his carrot-topped alter-ego.

After five years of cartooning together, Ginger Meggs’ persona had become a part of Jimmy’s consciousness. He found himself creating cartoon after cartoon in his mind and, by the time he arrived at the office and picked up his pencils, he could easily rattle off six or eight cartoons at a session. Yes, for Bancks, Meggsie was a very satisfactory way to earn a crust.

‘Mr Bancks, the boss wants a word.’ Jimmy snapped out of his daydream. He took off his dark-rimmed spectacles and turned to the pretty young thing who’d spoken timidly.

‘Oh, hello, Eileen. I was just contemplating the meaning of life,’ Jimmy said. ‘Do you read the cartoons?’

‘Oh, my word yes. I wouldn’t miss them for the world,’ she said enthusiastically. ‘I do like Meggsie,’ she added.

‘You’re just saying that,’ he joshed, ‘to cheer up an old scribbler.’

‘No, Mr Bancks, I’m really not. I do like Meggsie. He reminds me of my little brother.’

‘Oh, well, I’m pleased to hear that. He reminds me of my little brother too.’ Jimmy didn’t have a little brother, but he supposed Ginger was the closest thing he had to one.

‘The boss wants a word, Mr Bancks,’ Eileen repeated.

‘Does he now?’ he asked, getting to his feet. ‘Do you know what it’s about?’

‘No.’

He put a friendly arm around Eileen’s shoulders as they walked.

‘Come on, love. You can tell me,’ he cajoled.

  ‘I really don’t know, Mr Banks.’                                                                                                                                                                                               

As usual, Edward Thackeray’s door was ajar.

‘G’day, boss,’ Jimmy said as he knocked on the door and saw the editor glance up from under his ever-present eyeshade.

‘Morning, Jim. Come in. Have a seat,’ Thackeray said. ‘I’ve already asked Eileen to get you a cup of coffee.’

‘Oh, thanks,’ Jimmy replied, thinking that whatever the reason for his summons, Thackeray must be thinking it would take a while.

‘How’s it all going?’ Thackeray asked.

‘Pretty well,’ Jimmy answered cautiously. He didn’t like to admit that he could churn out more of Meggsie if he needed to, expecting that any such admission might create new demands. Jimmy liked to set his own cruisy pace, and he was mindful of over-supplying the market.

‘Tell me this, Jimmy. How far ahead are you  … with Meggs, I mean?’

Jimmy knew very well that he was almost three months ahead, but he chose to obfuscate. ‘I’ve got a few weeks in the can, boss,’ he answered. ‘I’m keeping up,’ he added, realising at once that the suspicious tone of his voice was giving him away.

‘There’s a suggestion at board level that we publish an annual Ginger Meggs comic. It would be, say, twenty or so pages, and have a single story flowing through, not short jabs like the Sun cartoons. An adventure story of some sort: is that something you could manage? I thought I’d run it by you before we got too excited.’

He’d become rather fond of two-hour lunches. Jimmy was wondering if someone had noticed that he wasn’t flat out like the newsroom boys, and was suggesting a way to fill his day. Though the idea appealed to him, he replied cautiously, not wanting to have to create a comic unless the price would be right.

‘It sounds like a fair bit of work, boss. I’m used to short, punchy cartoons. You don’t have to consider continuity with them.’

‘It sounded like a bonzer idea to me. I won’t do anything about it unless you agree, though. We’d have to work out how we compensate you for the work, but there’s not much point if you think it’s a rotten idea in the first place, Jimmy. Perhaps you should think about it and get back to me.’

‘I’ll do that, boss,’ Jimmy said. With the business of the day concluded, they both sat back and sipped at their coffee.

‘If we’re going to do it, now seems like the ideal time,’ Thackeray said, simply making conversation. ‘Ginger’s quite a craze, isn’t he? You must be happy with it all. Almost every ginger-headed kid in Australia’s nickname is either Ginge or Meggsie, no matter what their mum christened them, and it’s all your doing! You’re creating a household name, single-handedly.’

‘I hadn’t thought about it like that,’ Jimmy said, chuckling. ‘You could have a bunch of irate mothers mobbing the place with complaints. They could be lurking outside ready to string me up!’

‘I reckon a red-haired mischief-maker from an inner suburban working-class household strikes a chord with people, Jim. You’ve hit on a great formula there. It won’t go out of style. It could go on for years.’ He suddenly grinned. ‘Unless you manage to get yourself lynched, that is.’

‘Perhaps you should move my office up here to the safety of the top floor, boss. To a big office with deep carpet and a view over Darling Harbour.’

‘Perhaps not. Let me know what you think once you’ve thought it over, and we’ll take it from there.’

‘Tomorrow do?’

‘Tomorrow will do just fine, Jimmy.