Mame was wroth. She had also a feeling of modest elation; but at the moment anger was paramount.
At all times a believer in action, she promptly made her way down the street and got a bus that would take her to Tun Court. This business should be settled without delay.
When she had climbed the dark stairs, however, which led to the editorial offices of High Life, something of a shock awaited her. Instead of her knock on the door marked Inquiries being answered by the fair student of Duchess Novelettes, a voice loud and gruff bade her “Come in!”
The room’s sole occupant was a large, heavy man who exuded a powerful odour of beer and tobacco. Mame had no difficulty in sizing him up at once as a common roughneck.
“Can I see Mr. Digby Judson?” Mame had the asperity which springs from a sense of grievance.
“Mr. Who?” The roughneck blinked torpidly.
“The editor of this journal.” Mame’s asperity grew.
“Editor?” The roughneck looked like falling asleep. “Sorry to disappoint yer, missy, but I don’t think yer can.”
“Why not?”
“Mr. Bloomin’ Editor’s ’opped it.”