He rose from his chair, and gave them directions for reaching the Mail office.
"Good night, boys," he said. "Thank you for calling. You're the first newspaper men I've seen in two years, except when I've looked in the glass. And the other day I broke my looking-glass. Good night, and bad luck go with you to the extent of jobs on the Mail."
"Cynic," breathed O'Neill in the street. "A bitter tongue maketh a sour face. I liked him not. A morning outrage called the Mail. Sounds promising—like smallpox in the next county."
"We shall see," said Howe, "that which meets our vision. Forward, march!"
"The alligator and I," muttered O'Neill, "famished, perishing. For the love of Allah, as I remarked before, alms!"
In the dark second-floor hallway where the Mail office was suspected of being, they groped about determinedly. No sign of any nature proclaimed San Marco's only morning paper. A solitary light, shining through a transom, beckoned. Boldly O'Neill pushed open the door.
To the knowing nostrils of the two birds of
