"Sure," says Bat, "nothing easier."
"Wull thur be eny chaarge?"
"Not for ladies," says Bat, saluting, hand to hat, and grinning more sleepily than ever.
"Then, A wull guve it t' y': wull y' write it, sor?"
"Sure!" Bat squared himself to one of the reporters' high desks.
"Mestriss Leez-y O'Fannigan," dictated the little publicity agent.
"Miss O'Funny Girl," with a look to his fat cheeks as of a bag blown full of air.
"No Sor, O'Fan-ni-gan-"
"Perhaps," said Bat, "You'd like to know we're in the same boat, except that you're seeking exactly what I'm trying to avoid, Miss O'Finnigan?"
"Wull dance t' night—" continued the little publicity seeker.