"Prominent Scientist forecast doom of earth in two million years—" Scoop let his imagination go. It would be a good yarn at that. Might even make the front pages. No, not likely. Hitler was holding down the front pages.
Railton came through the front office at a dead run.
Mr. Tompkins swallowed his annoyance at the sight of the young man leaning against his desk. Mr. Railton was no longer sleek and capable. He was panting and sweating, actually sweating.
"Chief," he panted, holding his side and gasping for air. "That guy Garth, he's got—he's got atomic power."
It was the first time Railton or anyone else had ever seen Tompkins show surprise.
"What?" he snapped.
"Atomic power," Railton parroted. "That's why he needed those bus-bars!"
Tompkins settled back into his chair. His face turned faintly purple. His eyes bored into the disheveled Railton.
"You got a lot of guts," he rasped, "coming back to me with a cock and bull story like that."