“When you are at leisure, Mr. Ricker, I should like to bore you for five or ten minutes,” he announces.
“I am at leisure now, Jack. Sit down. It has been a rather light night and there is an unusual lull just at present. What is on your mind?”
“It is something like half a dozen years since I began work on the paper, is it not?”
“Just about, my son.”
“And during that time I have never kicked on an assignment or asked for any particular job.”
“Yes; if I recollect rightly, that is about the size of it,” remarks Ricker dryly. “Now, what can I do for you?”
“I should like the assignment of war correspondent at Havana.”
The city editor is silent for a moment.
“I am sorry you did not speak of this Havana business before,” he says, encircling the pastepot with a ring of smoke. “Unfortunately I have mapped out two or three months’ work for you at a place a good many miles from the capital of Cuba.”
Ashley’s face does not reveal the disappointment he feels.