“We lost all of ’em,” Salt confessed, his face long.
“You what?”
“Lost the pictures. The mob tore into us, and we were lucky to get back alive.”
DeWitt’s stony gaze fastened briefly upon Salt’s scratched face and torn clothing, “One of the biggest stories of the year, and you lose the pictures!” he commented.
“It was my fault,” Penny broke in. “I tossed the camera and plates into a passing car. I was trying to save them, but it didn’t work out that way.”
DeWitt’s eyebrows jerked upward and he listened without comment as Penny told the story. Then he said grimly: “That’s fine! That’s just dandy!” and stalked out of the composing room.
Penny gazed despairingly at Salt.
“If you hadn’t told him it was your fault, he’d have taken it okay,” Salt sighed. “Oh, well, it was the only thing to do. Anyway, there’s one consolation. He can’t fire you.”
“I wish he would. Salt, I feel worse than a worm.”
“Oh, buck up, Penny! Things like this happen. One has to learn to take the breaks.”