"Why, hello, Loppy!" says I. "How long since you quit runnin' copy in the Sunday room?"
"Well, blow me!" says he. "Torchy, eh?"
That's what comes of havin' been in the newspaper business once. You never know when you're going to run across one of the old crowd. I cut short the reunion, though, to ask about Creighton.
"The swell in the silk lid I just had words with," says I.
"Don't place him," says Loppy. "Never turned a flag for him, anyway. Why?"
"Oh, I'd kind of like to get a sketch of him," says I.
"That's easy," says Loppy. "Remember Scanlon, that used to be doorman at Headquarters?"
"Squint?" says I.
"Same one," says he. "Well, he's inside—one of the house detective squad. His night on, too. And say, if your man's one that hangs out here you can bank on Squint to give you the story of his life. Just step in and send a bell-hop after Squint. Say I want him."
And inside of two minutes we had Squint with us. He remembers me too, and when he finds I'm an old friend of Whitey Weeks he opens up.