"And this
guy with the smashed finger that kept threatening to 'soom'; is that
right?"
"Of course it's right. You don't think I'd make it up! That reminds me
of something." And he entered a memo to see the litigious-minded
complainant again, for these are the cases which often turn up in the
courts with claims for fifty-thousand-dollar damages and heartrending
details of all-but-mortal internal injuries.
Silence held the reader until he had concluded the seventh and last
sheet. Not looking at Banneker, he said:
"So that's your notion of reporting the wreck of the swellest train that
crosses the continent, is it?"
"It doesn't pretend to be a report," disclaimed the writer. "It's pretty
bad, is it?"
"It's rotten!" Gardner paused. "From a news-desk point of view. Any
copy-reader would chuck it. Unless I happened to sign it," he added.
"Then they'd cuss it out and let it pass, and the dear old pin-head
public would eat it up."
"If it's of any use to you--"
"Not so, my boy, not so! I might pinch your wad if you left it around
loose, or even your last cigarette, but not your stuff. Let me take it
along, though; it may give me some ideas. I'll return it. Now, where can
I get a bed in the town?"
"Nowhere. Everything's filled.
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