"I'll save the first column for you," said Bassett with as near a chuckle as he ever permitted himself.
"It'll break early, if at all," said Furniss. Then he turned insolently to Good. "Pardon me," he said not at all pleasantly, "may I have a word with Bassett, Mister Good?"
There was nothing for it, but for Good to leave. But his face paled and his teeth clicked. As the door closed behind him, Bassett swung around in his chair.
"That was a hell of a thing to do," he snapped. "If he doesn't tie a can to you, I'll do it myself. Who the devil do you think you are, anyway?"
Furniss only laughed. "Better ask that four-flusher who he is. His game's going up in smoke to-night, or I miss my guess. I'll show him up—you watch."
Bassett took the cigar out of his mouth and laid it on the desk.
"What's the answer?"
Furniss' eyes narrowed. "Who's the only judge of the appellate court in this town?"
Bassett hummed softly. "The hell you say!"
"Exactly. Now you can figure it out. What do you think the virtuous Good will do when he finds out? Want a double-leaded three column head, won't he,—with pictures?" Furniss sneered and rolled a cigarette. Bassett looked out of the window and whistled thoughtfully.