"The orders'll come from downstairs as usual, I suppose?"
Good betrayed himself for the first time during the interview. "No," he cried, bringing his fist down on the desk so that the papers fluttered, "that's one place they won't come from." Bassett laughed, not very pleasantly.
"Good stuff, old top. I love to hear that line of talk. It's inspiring. But they all start that way. I've been in the game a long time. I've pulled the Washington on tank town weeklies, trimmed boiler plate on all-home-print, and attained the eminence of space writer on county seat dailies. I've done time in the newspaper game from soup to nuts, and I've yet to see the sheet that isn't run from the business office."
"You've got something to live for then, haven't you?" said Good sweetly.
"I've always said that there weren't any surprises in a newspaper man's life," continued Bassett thoughtfully. "Maybe I'm wrong."
"Life's full of surprises. That's what makes it interesting. But that butters no turnips. I didn't come here to give you some new ideas about life. What I want is for you to get your staff together in the city room, say about five o'clock, for fifteen minutes. I want to talk to the boys. Can you arrange it?"
"I guess the world won't stop moving."
"All right. See you later." Good put his hand on the door.
"Say," said Bassett, sharply biting his lip, "have you been stringing me?"
Good laughed. "Call up John Baker, Miss Wynrod's lawyer, and get it straight. Don't be so suspicious."