Val, give me the dope. What’s her name and where’s she live and how does she come into this thing and⸺”
“Lay off! Lay off!” roared Val, holding him off. “I’m not goin’ to tell you her name—I simply wanted to know what you would do if I did tell you, that’s all.”
“You’re not!” The editor stared at him. “Why, you insane, simple minded millionaire, you won’t get out of this office alive if you don’t—why, I’ll tear it out of you with these hands, you crazy oilcan, you!” He had risen in his excitement. Val calmly shoved him down in his chair again with a bang that augured ill for the cane seat. The editor’s teeth shook with the shock. He leaned forward again.
“But listen, Val—we gotta have that name. It’s a beat—the beat of the century!” he implored. “This is your paper, Val—your paper! Why, there’s nothing we couldn’t⸺”
“Cut it out, Wally!” snapped Val. “No chance, get me? No chance⸺”
“But why, Foolish?” persisted the editor. “This is too damn important too⸺”
“It’s more important to me. Listen and I will a tale unfold, Wally, that will cause the red red gore to course quicker even through those anemic, desiccated veins of yours. Listen and I will spin you a yarn in strict confidence—and if you print a word of it, you pirate. I’ll come down here and hit you so hard that you’ll bust a hole in your shadow.” He looked at him significantly, taking hold of the editor’s wrist and squeezing until the tears came to Wally’s eyes.
“Quit, you crazy murderer, you! Whatcha tryin’ to do, anyway—collect my insurance? I won’t say a word.” Val let go.
