But even that don’t satisfy him he kind of hems around and he says, “You must understand, I am in a position where you will be sure to find out who I am right away.”
“I see,” says I, “and so you’ll have to give me your real name? You may trust me, Mr.—er—”
“Er-Edgerton,” says he, not more than one-third sure that he wants to.
“Mr. Edgerton,” says I and he see’s I’m thinking it over. “No,” he says, “you never heard it before, it ain’t a name that is advertised on toilet soap, nor on the silver screen. In fact I think just now it’s the least advertised name in the whole U. S. A.”
“In the secret service?” says I for I admit I was intreeged though I ain’t sure how to spell it. “The most secret of all services,” says he. “I’m the Secretary to the Spokesman.”
And there is where your Mame proved herself the prize dumbbell. “The Spokesman?” says I. “Who is he?”
He laughs as if I had said something specially funny. “What do you read in the newspapers?”
“Well,” says I, “I read the divorce news of course because that is what the customers want to talk about. And I read the murders because I like them. And I read Mme. Prinker’s beauty hints, and how to grow lean by rolling.”
“But you don’t read what the Spokesman has to say?”
“No,” says I. “What paper does he write for?”