Unless you come to me at once.
979 East 17th Street.
Editor calls reporter, who goes to East Side address.
John emerges from club with copy of Times under arm. At curb buys copies of two other newspapers. As gets into limousine, lets one—the Times—fall into mud.
(On Screen)
As usually happens, the “Personal” is not read by the person for whom intended.
John glances at fallen paper regretfully. As cab starts, turns to financial pages of other paper.
Up street wind drives copy of Times. Blows it open.
(On Screen in Print)
Wasted
Unless you come to me at once.
979 East 17th Street.