“Not yet,” moaned Amos.
“Hm-m-m-m,” said Ferdinand judiciously. He rested his head on one hand, thinking deeply.
And as he racked his brain for a solution out of the difficulty, a man came down the wooden sidewalk, bareheaded, his sleeves rolled to his elbow. It was Miles Rooney, the editor of the Lost Hills Clarion, a weekly effort, seven-eighths syndicate matter and one-eighth sarcastic editorial.
He was a living example of the fact that the Lost Hills Clarion was not a paying proposition. His sparse hair stood straight up in the breeze and in one bony hand he clutched a piece of paper.
“What am I going to do?” he demanded, handing the paper to Ferdinand. “I ask you, Putney.”
Putney read the paper slowly. It said:
Editor of Clarion: I ben redin what you sed about me and i want you to no your a lier and it aint so ive all way had a firs clas repitashun amung men and i aint no menis to no budy and nothin like it and im goin to maik you wish you keep your damn nose out of my bisnes.
y’rs respy Cloudy McGee.
Putney placed the paper on his desk and squinted at the editor.
“You wrote an editorial on Cloudy McGee, eh?”
“Yes.”