Greenough," returned Banneker. "I had to do it or get
done. And, at that, it wasn't much of a trick. They were a yellow lot."
"Very likely: very likely. You've handled a gun before."
"Only in practice."
"Ever shot anybody before?"
"No, sir."
"How does it feel?" inquired the city editor, turning his pale eyes on
the other and fussing nervously with his fingers.
"At first you want to go on killing," answered Banneker. "Then, when
it's over, there's a big let-down. It doesn't seem as if it were you."
He paused and added boyishly: "The evening papers are making an awful
fuss over it."
"What do you expect? It isn't every day that a Wild West Show with real
bullets and blood is staged in this effete town."
"Of course I knew there'd be a kick-up about it," admitted Banneker.
"But, some way--well, in the West, if a gang gets shot up, there's quite
a bit of talk for a while, and the boys want to buy the drinks for the
fellow that does it, but it doesn't spread all over the front pages. I
suppose I still have something of the Western view.... How much did you
want of this, Mr. Greenough?" he concluded in a business-like tone.
"You are not doing the story, Mr. Banneker. Tommy Burt is."
"I'm not writing it? Not any of it?"
"Certainly not.
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