It's a piffling sort of job, ain't it?"
"Piffling? How do you mean?"
"Well, I supposed you had to ask a lot of questions and pry into other
people's business and--and all that sorta thing."
"If nobody asked questions," pointed out Banneker, remembering Gardner's
resolute devotion to his professional ideals, "there wouldn't be any
news, would there?"
"Sure! That's right," agreed the gilded youth. "The Ledger's the
decentest paper in town, too. It's a gentleman's paper. I know a feller
on it; Guy Mallory; was in my class at college. Give you a letter to him
if you like."
Informed that Banneker already knew Mr. Mallory, his host expressed the
hope of being useful to him in any other possible manner--"any tips I
can give you or anything of that sort, old chap?"--so heartily that the
newcomer broached the subject of clothes.
"Nothin' easier," was the ready response. "I'll take you right down to
Mertoun. Just one more and we're off."
The one more having been disposed of: "What is it you want?" inquired
Cressey, when they were settled in the taxi which was waiting at the
club door for them.
"Well, what _do_ I want? You tell me."
"How far do you want to go? Will five hundred be too much?"
"No."
Cressey lost himself in mental calculations out of which he presently
delivered himself to this effect:
"Evening clothes, of course.
Pages:
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249