“My name’s McCrasky.”
“Mr. McCrasky; Mr. Mellish. Mellish is proprietor here and you’ll find him a first-rate fellow.”
“I am pleased to meet you,” said Mellish quietly; “any friend of Hammerly’s is welcome. Make yourself at home.”
Edging away from the two, Mellish said in a quick whisper to Sotty, the bartender: “Go and tell the doorkeeper to warn Thompson, or any of the rest of the Argus boys, that their boss is in here.”
At 12 o’clock that night the local editor sat in his room. “Is that you, Thompson?” he shouted, as he heard a step.
“Yes, sir;” answered Thompson, coming into the presence.
“Shut the door, Thompson. Now I have a big thing on for to-night, but it must be done quietly. I’ve unearthed a gambling den in full blast. It will be raided to-night at 2 o’clock. I want you to be on the ground with Murren; will you need anybody else?”
“Depends on how much you wish to make of it.”
“I want to make it the feature of to-morrow’s paper. I think we three can manage, but bring some of the rest if you like. The place is run by a man named Mellish. Now, if you boys kept your eyes open you would know more of what is going on in your own city than you do.”
“We haven’t all had the advantage of metropolitan training,” said Thompson humbly.