Breslin was very pale and nervous, and Scott Clemmons wore a painfully anxious look, too.
“Well?” said Breslin, as Clemmons entered.
The latter threw himself into his chair and said:
“It won’t go.”
“You read it?”
“Yes.”
“What did they say?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s good.”
“That’s bad, for their silence is worse than their chin music.”