“Yes.”
Milliken lingered.
“Well?” said Jeremy sharply.
“Pretty hot stuff,” observed the Socialist. “It’ll start something.”
“It probably will.”
“Somebody pulled a couple of extra proofs on me.”
“Somebody? Who?”
“Dunno. Only I don’t want to be held responsible if they get out of the office in advance.”
The proofs were already out of the office and on their way to the Deutscher Club, a fact concerning which Mr. Milliken probably had his shrewd suspicions, had he cared to voice them. But the hyphen editorial was not destined to burst upon the German-American world of Fenchester that day. For, at noon, Max Verrall entered the editor’s den, his brisk eyes alight.
“Did the Governor get you?” he asked.