“Write it,” he adjured her.
“Who? Me?” cried Mrs. Sharpless, her astonishment momentarily overwhelming her grammar. “Bless you, man! I’m no writer.”
“Talk it, then, and make your pencil take down the talk. I’ll be back in a minute.”
That minute stretched to a good half-hour, during which period Grandma Sharpless talked to her pencil. When Mr. Snyder returned, he had with him a mournful-looking man who, he explained occultly, “holds down our city desk.”
“This is our new Health Editor,” chuckled Snyder, indicating Mrs. Sharpless. “How many cases did you say there were in town, ma’am?”
“Five thousand or more.”
The city editor whistled whisperingly. “Where do you get that?” he asked.
“From Dr. Strong.”
“That’s news,” said the desk man. “I didn’t suppose it was half so bad. If only we dared print it!”
“No other paper in town dares,” suggested the visitor insinuatingly.