“They’re not going,” answered the editor a little irritably as if this were getting too close to the real object of the trip. “They are coming back.”
“Three or four of ’em,” persisted the reporter.
The editor nodded his head slightly as if out of patience.
“Let me go across then,” pleaded Buck. “If these men can come back I certainly wouldn’t make much difference goin’. I may come in handy, somewhere. And I’ll stay, when I get there. Dump me out anywhere. I won’t care. I know London like a book.”
“You know London like a book?” exclaimed Ned instantly.
But Buck was at last too agitated to respond. His lips were twisting in an effort to show his usual composure.
“I say,” repeated Ned. “Do you actually know London and its surroundings?”
“I’ve lived there,” answered Stewart, “and driven my grandfather’s motor over every road I could find.”
“Why didn’t you say so?” almost shouted Ned. “You’re booked right now, young man, and this’ll be your room east bound.”
“Me?”