“Yes. But he isn’t. I went after him on his record.”
“All of which doesn’t sound much like mud-eating, Pop.”
“I’ve done my bit of that in my time, too. I’ve had jobs to do that a self-respecting swill-hustler wouldn’t touch. I’ve sworn I wouldn’t do em. And I’ve done ’em, rather than lose my job. Just as young Banneker will, when the test comes.”
“I’ll bet he won’t,” said Tommy Burt.
Mallory, who had been called away, returned in time to hear this. “You might ask him to settle the bet,” he suggested. “I’ve just had him on the ‘phone. He’s coming around.”
“I will,” said Edmonds.
On his arrival Banneker was introduced to those of the men whom he did not know, and seated next to Edmonds.
“We’ve been talking about you, young fellow,” said the veteran.
From most men Banneker would have found the form of address patronizing. But the thin, knotty face of Edmonds was turned upon him with so kindly a regard in the hollow eyes that he felt an innate stir of knowledge that here was a man who might be a friend. He made no answer, however, merely glancing at the speaker. To learn that the denizens of Park Row were discussing him, caused him neither surprise nor elation. While he knew that he had made hit after hit with his work, he was not inclined to over-value the easily won reputation. Edmonds’s next remark did not please him.
“We were discussing how much dirt you’d eat to hold your job on The Ledger.”