after dinner a
cupple of perlice cum up to the offis and arrested Mr. Gilley and the
make-up man for conspiracy to murder, and they had to xplane it, and pay
all the costs.

I took a littel vacashun this afternoon, and went out fishin', cos I
remembured wot pa says after he's kissed ma by telerfone,

"Distance lends enchantment to the vue."

So I thot them two bad men wyld be more enchanted with me if I kep at
a safe distance. I'm orful frade my jurnulistick carrieer's goin' to
be broken off short, but I don't think they orter blamed me, cos the
edittur shutd er told me to tell the make-up man to take out that local
notis wot red: "Fresh vegetabels and grene truck received daily, at
L. I. Rickard's Grocerie," insted of makin' me tell him to kill Mr.
Rickatrd, Well, if I can't be a jurnulist and make a fortune, I' kno wot
I can be, I'll go to the offis in the mornin', and if there's eny music
in the air, I'll resine and berry my hopes. Then I'll leese Dennis
Ryan's old blind muel, wot's too week to kik, and go to peddlin' fish.
The _Buster_ will bust 'fore they make enything outer this chickin;
ain't that so, Mister Diry?

CHAPTER VI.

THE CLOWD SHEW's ITS SILVER LININ', AND GEORGIE DOES HISSELF
PROUD.--THE RED-HEDDED OLD SNOOZER QUAKES BEFORE THE DEVIL.--
HE'S GOT THE GALL.

To-day has ben a glorius day for me, cos it seems like I'd done sumthin
wot was a onher to the perfesshun.

Wen I went down to the offis I felt like my resignashun wuld be
axceptabel, cos my servises could easyly be dispensed with. I left the
door opin wen I went in so as I'd have a avenew of 'scape in case a mine
'xploded. Jest as I got in the press-room I hearn a muffelled voice say:
"Georgie, my boy, is that you?" I answered: "Yes, sir." Then I seen
the edittur reclinin' in a recumbent posishun, under the big sillinder
press, lookin'whither 'an a sheet, and tremblm' like he'd seen his
grandpa's gost. I arst him wot was the matter, and he sez:

"Georgie, there's a man in the offis wot I sed was a red-hedded old
snoozer wot ort to be run outer town. Tell him I've gone to Coney
Ileland to fite a duhell with Sullivan, or say I'm out takin' my mornin'
pistil practise. Tell him enything, only get schutt of him."

I sez: "You becher life, I'll fix him." So I went inter the sanktuary,
like I own'd the hull bisness, and I seen his oner walk-in' up and down,
swarin' to hisself, like he was repeetin' the responces in the