“Give you back the negatives!” the proprietor of the Bulletin repeated, with a puzzled frown. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“I ban talking about those policemen’s negatives you want made into cuts for to-morrow’s paper, of course,” replied Neilson, a trifle nettled. “How can I make the cuts until I get the pictures?”
“But you have the pictures,” Carroll protested. “Didn’t I give them to you?”
“Sure you gave them to me once. But you ban take them back again, didn’t you?” replied the man indignantly.
“I took them back?”
“Sure! At least, you sent the boy for them—which is yoost the same, of course.”
“The boy?” Carroll was beginning to grow uneasy. “What boy?”
“That boy Miggsy, of course,” Neilson replied, now thoroughly out of temper. “What kind of a yoke you ban try to play with me, Mr. Carroll? I ban serious feller, and don’t like foolin’. Didn’t you send that Miggsy up here half an hour ago to say would I please let you have them negatives back right away?”
Carroll’s face suddenly turned pale. “I certainly did not!” he exclaimed excitedly. “I sent no such message. Do you mean to say that Miggsy told you that I sent him?”
“He sure did. He said you needed the pictures to show to somebody, and must have them right away. I ban yust starting to work on them when he came up, but I gave them to him.”