"Watch me," said the Codfish. "Proverbs don't fit my case," and the Codfish busied himself over a pile of correspondence.
"Why such industry?" inquired Turner, after a few minutes of silence broken only by the scratching of the Codfish's pen.
"Read it in the News, my son. I'm going to have a red-hot scoop to-morrow."
"Let us in on it."
"Not on your life."
"Has it anything to do with prehistoric horses?"
"Nothing at all. Better than that. This one will make them all sit up and take notice. There ought to be about ten thousand words credit in this one. I can see the road clear to an editorship on that ancient and honorable sheet. When I get on the Board, I'll see to it that all football games are very carefully reported, and that your glaring mistakes are not brought out too prominently."
"Thanks, very much," said Turner, laughing. "You're a confident little rooster. For a man who talks so much you get very little into that same News, it seems to me."
"I'll bet you I can get a front page article to-morrow."