“The Botches are at it,” announced Galpin one morning.
“What’s their line of action?”
“Boycott. The Deutscher Club is running it.”
“Old stuff, Andy.”
“Not this. They’ve got a committee and an organized campaign.”
“Print their names,” suggested the editor with a cheery but baleful smile.
“In a minute if I could get ’em! They are n’t so brash as all that. It’s all very pussy-footed. Nothing to put your hands on legally.”
“How are they working it?”
“House-to-house canvass, I’m told. That would fit in with our circulation returns. We’re shy about eight hundred right here in town, Boss. They’re claiming fifteen hundred.”
“Claims won’t hurt us.”