“Nothing doing, sister,” he expanded. “Slip him one of those regular smokes.”
His friend picked a thick cigar out of the box the blonde person handed him and looked into Jimmy’s smiling face.
“Say,” he inquired. “What’s the idea? Had a legacy or something?”
Jimmy motioned him towards a large leather sofa in the center of the lobby.
“I’ve just put one over on the censor,” he exulted, as he settled down, “and I just naturally feel a little frisky. You don’t mind if I pin a few war crosses on my chest, do you?”
“Not at all,” replied the other good naturedly. “Fire ahead.”
Jimmy opened the folded newspaper in his hand and passed it to his brother agent with a playful little flourish. As the latter read the indicated section Jimmy watched him out of the corner of his eye carefully looking for signs of approval. Along about the second paragraph a knowing smile began to curl the corners of Mr. Wilson’s mouth. His companion heaved a sigh of profound satisfaction and lolled back at peace with all the vasty universe.
“That’s a pretty good start,” commented the other handing the paper back. “Rather a choice line of language, too.”
“You said something,” returned Jimmy. “I’ve got a date with a couple of those words the next time I run into a dictionary. I betcha old E. Cartwright never gets wise. Nothing succeeds like the little old salve.”
When the meeting of Local No. 78 of the Publicity Promoters’ Mutual Admiration Society adjourned about ten minutes later, Tom Wilson inquired if Jimmy was planning any more attacks on the common enemy. The latter yawned in simulation of great nonchalance.