“Certainly it is against the law; but many things that are against the law flourish in a city like this. Now I want you to find out before the week is past how many gambling houses there are and where they are located. When you are sure of your facts we will organize a raid and the news will very likely be exclusive, for it will be late at night and the other papers may not hear of it.”
“Suppose,” said the religious editor, with a twinkle in his eye, as he again removed his corn-cob, “that—assuming such places to exist—you found some representatives of the other papers there? They are a bad lot, the fellows on the other papers.”
“If they are there,” said the local editor, “they will go to prison.”
“They won’t mind that, if they can write something about it,” said Murren gloomily. In his opinion the Argus was going to the dogs.
“Now, Thompson,” said McCrasky, “you as criminal reporter must know a lot of men who can give you particulars for a first-rate article on the evils of gambling. Get it ready for Saturday’s paper—a column and a half, with scare heads. We must work up public opinion.”
When the boys got back into the local room again, Murren sat with his head in his hands, while Thompson leaned back in his chair and laughed.
“Work up public opinion,” he said. “Mac had better work up his own knowledge of the city streets, and not put Bolder avenue in the East End, as he did this morning.”
The religious editor was helping himself to tobacco from Murren’s drawer. “Are you going to put Mellish on his guard?” he asked Thompson.
“I don’t just know what I’m going to do,” said Thompson; “are you?”
“I’ll think about it,” replied the R. E. “Beastly poor tobacco, this of yours, Murren. Why don’t you buy cut plug?”