booth. Honestly, his appearance almost stopped my wildly palpitating heart! His hair was all mussed up, his eyes bulged from his head and his face was the color of skimmed milk in a dairy where they make an art of skimming. He couldn't talk—he just panted and gulped at me!
"What on earth's the matter?" I gasped, "What's happened to you?"
"I—I've just been talking to a representative of the Evening Wow's new owners," he breathes, "It's—it was about that Manning story. . . ."
"Didn't they like it?" I asked, astounded.
Tommy gives me a ghastly grin.
"No, Gladys" he says, "They didn't like it!"
"Why the idea!" I says, angrily, "After all the trouble we went to—can you imagine that? I should think that no matter how conservative the new owners of the Evening Wow are, they should realize that it's those kind of stories that sell papers. You told me your city editor said that himself!"
"Listen!" says Thomas, leaning heavily on the switchboard, "You're a great kid—a wonderful girl and I like you. I hope we'll meet again sometime. Just now the panic is on! I've got to get out of this man's burg a little bit faster than swiftly. The Evening Wow was sold to John Temple Manning, just two hours before it got out that extra telling the world its
