"What of it! Man, she's news!"
"She's the Courier's news. And about dead at that. I killed a story about her yesterday."
"All right, then, she's dead. But a lot of 'interesting' people must be interested in her at this moment. And the most interested of the lot is going to be the man who made her prophecy come true! For all we know she may have been responsible for giving him the idea; her and her prophecies. Keats may be dead, but her vicinity isn't. Not by a long chalk." He leaned forward and took the card that the Musker boy was still holding. "Find something for this nice boy to do this afternoon. He doesn't like astrology. See you later."
"But what about that story for —»
"All right, you'll have your story. And perhaps another one into the bargain!"
As Jammy was shot downwards in the lift he flicked the card in his hand with a reflective thumb. The Elwes Hall! Lydia was coming on!
"Know the best way to success, Pete?" he said to the liftman.
"All right, I'll buy," said Pete.
"Choose a good brand of hooey."
"You should know!" grinned Pete, and Jammy made a pass at him as he stepped through the doors. Pete had known him since — well, if not since his short-pant days, at least since his wrong-kind-of-collar days.