I had a lot of other
ideas, now and then, but every time I took a second look at one, it
got sick and died.
2
REPORTER WORKING
Bish came over and greeted us solemnly.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen. Captain Ahab, I believe," he said, bowing
to Tom, who seemed slightly puzzled; the education Tom had been
digging out for himself was technical rather than literary. "And Mr.
Pulitzer. Or is it Horace Greeley?"
"Lord Beaverbrook, your Grace," I replied. "Have you any little news
items for us from your diocese?"
Bish teetered slightly, getting out a cigar and inspecting it
carefully before lighting it.
"We-el," he said carefully, "my diocese is full to the hatch covers
with sinners, but that's scarcely news." He turned to Tom. "One of
your hands on the _Javelin_ got into a fight in Martian Joe's, a while
ago. Lumped the other man up pretty badly." He named the Javelin
crewman, and the man who had been pounded. The latter was one of Steve
Ravick's goons. "But not fatally, I regret to say," Bish added. "The
local Gestapo are looking for your man, but he made it aboard Nip
Spazoni's _Bulldog_, and by this time he's halfway to Hermann Reuch's
Land."
"Isn't Nip going to the meeting, tonight?" Tom asked.
Bish shook his head. "Nip is a peace-loving man. He has a well-founded
suspicion that peace is going to be in short supply around Hunters'
Hall this evening.
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