“Better take back some of it,” I advises. “This here paper is about to cease. One more effort cleans the rack.”
“I know,” nods Dirty Shirt. “Keep the money and send me a copy. If Magpie can edit like he can fight I’ll covet that copy.”
“Keep that frame to put it in,” says I. “You met the editor, did yuh?”
Dirty squints at me, adjusts that frame to a easier position, and rubs his sore eyes.
“Met him!” he snorts. “Met ——! We mingled!”
Dirty weaves out of the door and points up the street. Slim looks at them three dollars and then lays three more beside ’em.
“I don’t sabe the game, Ike, but I’m matching Dirty’s ante. I don’t know what Magpie’s argument is, but anybody what can make Dirty Shirt pay three dollars for a left-handed newspaper must have something besides conversation.”
“But Dirty Shirt was sore,” says I. “He came down to lick the editor.”
“Me, too, Ike. I came with malice in my heart but I goes away plumb meek. Dirty Shirt licked thunder out of me once, so I’m three dollars thankful that he met Magpie first. Have a little drink?”
“That’s the first United States I’ve heard spoken since I got home,” says I. “But I can’t leave the office alone. You go up and have one, and then play editor while I goes up. Sabe?”