“Oh, sure,” said Eckert, but he did not follow Schirr into the adjoining room.
Soon the ex-editor came storming out to learn what was wrong. This time his expression was baffled.
“Mr. Eckert,” he said with exaggerated politeness. “Will you please step into my office?”
“Sorry,” replied the copy reader. “You may as well know right now that you’re not giving the orders around here!”
“We’ll see about that!” cried Schirr.
Darting to one of the speaking tubes, he called the foreman of the press room.
“Schirr talking!” he said curtly. “Stop the presses! Kill that noon edition! We’re making over the front page!”
“Can’t hear you,” was the reply, for word had been passed to the men in the pressroom. “Louder!”
Schirr shouted until he was nearly hoarse. Then suddenly conscious that he was making a spectacle of himself, he slammed into his office. A minute later he reappeared, hat jammed low over his eyes.
“This is a very clever scheme, Miss Parker,” he said, facing her. “Well, it won’t work. I’m leaving, but I’ll be back. With a lawyer!”