“Ay-ah” grunted Galpin, and studied the younger man. “Sore?” he inquired carelessly.
“A little, I guess.”
“Like to kick a hole in The Record shop, and walk haughtily out through it?”
“That’s the way I felt yesterday.”
“Want a job on The Guardian?”
“Could you get me on?”
“I can take you on. Beginning Monday, I’m city editor. I could use one guy that can write.” He glanced again at the killed proof, before folding it to return to its owner. A thought struck the reporter. “Will you print this?”
“Lord; no!”
“The Guardian would n’t be any more independent or any less timid about this than The Record?”
“Not a bit.”