ike glared and started to answer. And at that moment the telephone in the booth began to ring. He started for it, and I started out the door again, running headlong into Mort Robbins.
"Good morning, good morning, chumly!" Mort exclaimed cheerfully when we had untangled ourselves. "What's new with you?"
Mort is short, slightly on the plump side, with straight, dark hair, a round, beaming face, and a penchant for flamboyantly colored sport shirts.
"Nothing's new with me," I told him, "but plenty seems to be new with Mike. He's cursing the State's Attorney's office again."
Mort frowned.
"Whatcha mean? What's on the fire now? I didn't read the morning rags yet."
Briefly, I told him about the news story which had excited his partner. He nodded, thought a moment, then grinned.
"They can't do that," he said. "It's illegal."
"Tell Mike, if that's so," I said. "He's working himself into a boil."
Mort hadn't heard me. He was frowning thoughtfully again.