“It must be from the News-Vue Company,” he remarked. “My boss is the only one who knows where to reach me.”
The telegram was brought to the door. Doyle ripped open the envelope. With feet propped on the foot of the bed, he read it and chuckled.
“It’s from Clewes himself.”
“District manager of the News-Vue?” Flash recalled.
“That’s right. The auto race pictures turned out great. When Clewes wastes money on a congratulatory telegram you know you’ve hit the bull’s eye!”
Flash could not help feeling elated that his first work as a newsreel cameraman had been successful. He waited for Doyle to read the telegram aloud or offer it to him. Instead, the technician stuffed it into his pocket.
“I’m going to jog downstairs and get something to eat,” he said genially. “Coming along?”
“No, thanks.”
After Doyle had gone, Flash flung himself on the bed, relieved to be left alone. He wanted to think.
Although annoying, it didn’t really matter that Doyle belittled his efforts and withheld praise. What worried him was the letter he had read by accident. Should he warn Wells that the technician was trying to transfer the News-Vue job to a friend? And what could Joe do about the matter? Nothing. It would only serve to make him uneasy.