Page:Arthur Stringer - Twin Tales.djvu/168

"Don't listen to him," cried the prisoner. "He's gone crazy. He's gummed up the whole game. He came tearing into Uhlan 's studio when I had the big bounder scared stiff, had him eating out of my hand and willing to sign any kind of quit-claim I was ready to hand out. He blew in there ready to eat Uhlan up, until he found out I was from The Star and heard that tricky brush-tickler swear his lips were sealed and then step from under by saying it was me and my paper that were going to open up on a full-page story. Me, mind you, with all I'd done! Then this East Side rat-terrier let loose, and wouldn't even give me a chance to get to a phone and have you put things straight or call up our sporting-editor to shoot a little reason into his empty nut. He's hauled me around like a civet-bag and dragged me down here across eleven city blocks to say what you very well know I don't even need to say. And I call this a fine line of reporting, this ghost-laying for a bunch of love-sick idiots who're so afraid