"Oh, Morrison has botched everything for himself—all around!"
"Thank you! I'm glad to hear you admit that a caveman can be too much of a good thing with his stone hatchet or club or whatever he uses to bang and whack all heads with!"
Mrs. Stanton impatiently invited Coventry to step in and shut the door and make sure that the electric heater was doing business.
City Editor Tasper had a pompadour like a penwiper, round eyes, and a wide smile. He trotted out to Lana in the reception-room and gave her comradely greeting. "Any other night but this, Lana Corson, and I'd have been up to your house to pat Juba on the side-lines even if I couldn't squeeze in one assignment on your dance order. But as a Marionite you know what we're up against in this office the night before an inauguration. Afraid the reception-spread will be squeezed? Don't worry. It's a big night, but I'm giving you a first-page send-off just the same."
"Billy, I'm not here to talk about that reception. I don't care if there isn't a word about it."
"Oh, I get you! Don't worry about that fracas, either! I'm killing all mention of it. We're not advertising that Marion has Bolshevists. Hurts!"
"But I'm not trying to tell you your business about the paper!" the girl protested. "I'm here after news. What is the trouble at the State House?"
"I don't know," he confessed. "That is to say, I'm not on to the real inside of the proposition. We can't get our boys in and we can't get any news out! Those soldiers won't even admit the telephone crew to restore connection with the Executive Chamber."
"My father is there! He's there with the Governor."
"Well, I should say for a guess that the Senator is in the safest place in the city, judging from the way Danny Sweetsir and his warriors are on their jobs at those doors."