Sam returned to the newspaper office and sat down waiting for The Skipper who, after a time, came in, took off his coat and began writing furiously. From time to time he took long drinks out of the bottle of red gin, and after silently offering it to Sam, continued reeling off sheet after sheet of loosely-written matter.
“I got her to sign the note,” he called over his shoulder to Sam. “She was furious at Harrigan and when I told her we were going to attack him and defend you she fell for it quick. I won out by following my system. I always get drunk and it always wins.”
At ten o’clock the newspaper office was in a ferment. The little man with the brown pointed beard, and another, kept running to The Skipper asking advice, laying typewritten sheets before him, talking as he wrote.
“Give me a lead. I want one more front page lead,” The Skipper kept bawling at them, working like mad.
At ten thirty the door opened and Harrigan, accompanied by Frank, came in. Seeing Sam they stopped, looking at him uncertainly, and at the man at work at the desk.
“Well, speak up. This is no ladies’ reception room. What do you fellows want?” snapped The Skipper, glaring at them.
Frank, coming forward, laid a typewritten sheet on the desk, which the newspaper man read hurriedly.
“Will you use it?” asked Frank.
The Skipper laughed.
“Wouldn’t change a word of it,” he shouted. “Sure I’ll use it. It’s what I wanted to make my point. You fellows watch me.”