“Sure,” Neilson replied. “Why not? When must the cuts be ready?”
“Oh, there’s no hurry. Keep these leedle pictures for as long as you like.” Mr. Meyer put his head closer to the engraver’s, and lowered his voice. “In fact, mein friend, you can keep them forever—if you will do me a leedle favor.”
Neilson’s eyes glistened hungrily. “What’s the favor?” he demanded eagerly. “I ban willing to do whole lot of favors for a hundred and fifty dollars.”
In a tense whisper, Mr. Meyer explained how the money was to be earned. The Bulletin’s photo-engraver did not appear to be horrified or indignant.
“Oil right,” he said phlegmatically; “I do it. I ban sick of this here yob, anyway. Give me the hundred and fifty dollars. It ban look good to me.”
He held out his hand, and, as the yellowbacks came in contact with his long, slim fingers, his ears caught a faint, clicking sound, which came from a large canvas screen at the other end of the room.
Then there was a chuckle, and a voice cried exultantly: “All right, Ole; we’ve got it!”
Mr. Meyer glanced uneasily toward the screen. From behind that piece of furniture stepped two young men. One of them had a camera in his hand.
“What’ll I do with this here dirty money, Mr. Carroll?” inquired Neilson, his usually stolid countenance animated by a broad grin.
“Give it back to the gentleman, Ole,” Carroll chuckled. “He may need it to buy Bulletins with to-morrow morning. I’ve no doubt he’ll want a whole lot of copies, inasmuch as his portrait is going to occupy such a prominent position in the paper.”