"
"Maybe. Maybe not. Nobody has ever taken a shot at him yet. He may be
more vulnerable than he looks.... Speaking of money, I suppose I'd
better take that apartment. God knows how I'll pay for it, especially if
I lose my job."
"If you lose your job I'll get you a better one on Wall Street
to-morrow."
"On the strength of Poultney Masters, Jr., shaking hands with me, I
suppose."
"Practically. It may not get into your newspapers, but the Street will
know all about it to-morrow."
"It's a queer city. And it's a queer way to get on in it, by being quick
on the trigger. Well, I'm off for the theater."
Between acts, Banneker, walking out to get air, was conscious of being
the object of comment and demonstration. He heard his name spoken in
half whispers; saw nods and jerks of the head; was an involuntary
eavesdropper upon a heated discussion; "That's the man."--"No; it ain't.
The paper says he's a big feller."--"This guy ain't a reporter. Pipe his
clothes."--"Well, he's big if you size him right. Look at his
shoulders."--"I'll betcha ten he ain't the man." And an apologetic young
fellow ran after him to ask if he was not, in truth, Mr. Banneker of The
Ledger. Being no more than human, he experienced a feeling of mild
excitation over all this.
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