"Biggest scoop yet!" said Mickey. "Why it took the police to scatter the crowd. They struggled to get papers, 'til they looked like the bird on the coin they were passing in, trying to escape the awful things it goes through on the money, and get back to nature where perfectly good birds belong. Honest, they did!"
"Have you any poetry for me yet?"
"No, but I'm headed that way," answered Mickey.
"How so?" inquired the editor.
"Why I've got another kid so he can do my stunt 'til nobody knows the difference, and I've gone into Mr. Bruce's office, and we're after the grafters."
"Douglas Bruce?" queried Mr. Chaffner.
"Yes," said Mickey. "He's my boss, and say, he's the finest man you ever met; and his Joy Lady is nice as he is, and prettier than moonshine on the park lake. I never saw a lady who could hold a candle to Miss Leslie Winton, and they just love to tell folks they're engaged."
Suddenly the editor arose from his chair, gripped his desk, leaned across it toward Mickey, and almost knocked him from his feet with one word.
"What?"
Mickey staggered. At last he recovered his breath.