A receptionist was asking him whom he wished to see when Joe Wells, hearing a familiar voice, stepped from one of the offices.
“Hello, there, Flash,” he greeted cordially. “Come on in.”
He led the photographer into a small room crowded with desks, waving him to a chair.
“I’ll be through in a minute. Then I’ll show you around. I want to write up this dope sheet first.”
“Take your time, Joe.”
The News-Vue man inserted a sheet of printed paper in a typewriter, rapidly filling in the blanks.
“I’m getting ready to take off for Indianapolis tomorrow,” he remarked casually. “George Doyle started on ahead with the sound wagon about an hour ago. I follow by train and meet him there.”
“Maybe I’ll see you,” Flash replied. “I’m covering the races myself. For the Ledger.”
“I never could go back to working on a paper now,” Joe commented. “Too tame compared with the newsreels. Flash, why don’t you consider—”
“No!” Flash cut in with a laugh. “I’m not listening to any arguments.”