“No, sir; we ain’t. Say, Boss,” he added after a pause, “we gained five new ads on The Record this week, an’ they only got one that we did n’t.”
“Good business, Buddy.”
“An’ I had two sticks in the paper yesterday. Dje see it? Story of the kid that fell through the ice.”
“You’ll be a reporter one of these days, son.”
“Oh, gee!” said Buddy ecstatically. Then, with resentment, “What’s the good of school, anyway?”
“If you’re going to be a real newspaper man you’ll need all the education you can get.”
“Yes, sir.” The aspiring neophyte sighed. “That’s what She says.”
There was but one “She” in the vocabulary of the exclusive and worshiping Buddy. Her name was never pronounced in the conversations on the subject between himself and his Boss. There was no need of being more specific, for either of them.
“It’s good advice.”
Buddy marched along beside his employer, obviously wriggling upon the hook of some pointed thought. Presently further reticence became impossible.