"What's the matter with it?"
"Matter? There's nothing right about it."
"Goes all the same. Got snap! It's good stuff."
"Stuffing, you mean," corrected the handy man. "Say, where ever did you get it? Talk of stuff? Somebody has mistaken you for a spring chicken."
"Got it straight. It's all right! Fellow from the English colony—"
"English Colony? Those Rookeries—Mother Carey's chickens. Do you know what that Rookery gang is? A lot of gambling toughs, remittance doughheads—"
"That doesn't spoil a ripping good story! I'm going to wire a column to Chicago."
"No, you're not," contradicted Brydges. "That kind of thing hurts the State more than ten thousand dollars will advertise it. You go over your advertising columns my boy—"
"All right! It's up to you?"
Bat whistled and swung the galley proofs between his knees.