"Oh," interrupted his companion, yawning, "we'll have another to-morrow morning."
"How is that?"
"A young dude named Marcus, with more money than brains—and not very much of either, by the way—is to issue the first number of a new daily to-morrow morning. He is going to call it the Bugle, I believe."
"It being the first issue," suggested Al, "it is likely to have a good sale. Wouldn't it be a good scheme to spend a little extra in advertising in it?"
"My lad," said the manager, wearily, "your ideas are primitive in the extreme. I have given them my usual size ad., and even if I wanted any more space—which I don't—I couldn't get it, for the paper is about all made up now. Oh, we can't do anything against the circus, and that settles that matter."
It did not settle the matter with Al, however. He returned to his hotel, and spent what was left of the afternoon in trying to devise some plan to arouse public interest in the performance of the New York Comedy Company.
He worked at the problem until his head ached, but the harder he thought the farther he seemed to be from a solution.
In the evening he went down to the restaurant connected with the hotel, quite discouraged.
There was no one in the room when he entered; but a few minutes later two men, both of them evidently very much excited, came in and seated themselves near him.
After a glance at the boy and a hurried order to the waiter, they resumed a conversation in which they had been engaged when they entered.