"You'll do that, Walter?" he asked persuasively. "Spencer is a
client that one doesn't get every day. Just drop into the Star
office and give them the straight story, I'll promise you I'll not
take another case until you are free again to go on with me in
it."
There was no denying him. As briefly as I could I rehearsed the
main facts to the managing editor late that night. I was too tired
to write it at length, yet I could not help a feeling of
satisfaction as he exclaimed, "Great stuff, Jameson,--great."
"I know," I replied, "but this six-cylindered existence for a week
wears you out."
"My dear boy," he persisted, "if I had turned some one else loose
on that story, he'd have been dead. Go to it--it's fine."
It was a bit of blarney, I knew. But somehow or other I liked it.
It was just what I needed to encourage me, and I hurried uptown
promising myself a sound sleep at any rate.
"Very good," remarked Kennedy the next morning, poking his head in
at my door and holding up a copy of the Star into which a very
accurate brief account of the affair had been dropped at the last
moment.
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