"Oh, yeou, sir!" said the visitor, again looking suspiciously around and about him.
"Did you ever hear tell of the Pigeon Express?" he continued.
"The Pigeon Express?" echoed the publisher.
"Ya-a-s. Carrier pigeons—letters to their l-e-g-s and newspapers under their wings—trained to fly any where you warnt 'em."
"Carrier Pigeons," mused the publisher—"Carrier—pigeons trained to carry billets—bulletins and—"
"Go frum fifty to a hundred miles an hour!" chimed in the stranger.
"True, so they say, very true," continued the publisher, musingly.
"Elegant things for gettin' or sendin' noos head of every body else."
"Precisely: that's a fact, that's a fact," the other responded, rising from his chair and pacing the floor, as though rather and decidedly taken by the novelty and feasibility of the operation.
"You'd have 'em all, Mister, dead as mutton, by a Pigeon Express."