“Listen,” Duffy said, “Arkwright and me have been hating each other’s guts for a long time. I never gave him a chance to bat me. Today I did. He’d been waiting for the chance and he grabbed it with two hands like a starving man would grab a dollar lunch. O boy! Did it make him feel good! He tossed me out so quickly, I’m still dizzy in the head.”
“But why, for the love of Mike?”
“I was young and innocent and you know how these things go. I didn’t think he was that sort of a boy, and look, mother, what’s happened now.”
“Skip the comedy.” Sam was sitting up with a fierce look on his broad face. “Did you slip up on somethin’?”
“You know me, I don’t slip on anything. Anyway, if I do, I cover it up all right. This was a frame. That heel Arkwright has been angling for an interview with Bernstein for weeks, and at last he got it. You know how difficult Bernstein can be. He said that art was out. Mind you, with a mug like that Yid’s got on him, I ain’t surprised he was a bit touchy Anyway, Arkwright kept right at him until he gave way. I was sent along to get the pictures. I reckoned I had a nice set until I got ’em in the bath, then Mrs. Duffy’s son had a shock. Those goddam’ plates were fogged, the whole lousy lot. Sabotage, that’s what it was. Some smart guy’d tampered with the stock. I tested the remaining plates and they were all duds.” He paused for a pull at his glass. Sam said nothing. His face was flushed and his foot tapped against the leg of the table. Duffy knew he was getting mad. “Well, I explained to Sourpuss and do you think he’d believe me? Not likely! We exchanged a few words, and I guess I got tough, so he ran me inside and they ran me outside.”
Sam helped himself to another Bacardi Crusta.
“This may put you in a spot,” he said thoughtfully. “That punk’s got the ear of most Art Editors in town.”
“Sure, I know. Unreliable, fell down on a scoop!”
Duffy finished his drink and began to mix more Bacardis. “What the hell,” he went on, “it’s my funeral anyway. Come on in and feed with me.”
Sam climbed to his feet. He looked worried. “Ain’t possible, soldier,” he said. “I’ve got to get back and put in some more sweat. Come over in the morning, will you? Alice’s goin’ to be sore about this.”