Good leaned back and put his thumbs in his waistcoat. "I," he said without smiling, "am the crafty bunco-steerer. With misguided confidence the boss is going to let me run her paper for her. In future, my profane friend, you're going to take your orders from me."
"Do you know anything about newspapering?"
"Quite a bit, yes."
Bassett rose and clasping his hands behind his back, strode rapidly back and forth, without speaking, for several moments. Finally he stopped and shifting his cigar savagely from one side of his mouth to the other, stared vacantly into space.
"Well," he said slowly, "the first thing a new owner usually does is to fire the staff. I suppose I might as well begin getting ready and packing up my things. That's one of the beauties in this newspaper game. There's no monotony in your job."
Good laughed cheerfully. "I wouldn't be in any hurry about it," he said; "nobody's slated for the blue envelope yet."
"What's the policy going to be?" asked Bassett after a pause.
"None," said Good shortly.
"I don't get you."
"You will."