"Now, good night, Mr. Farver," said Sheridan, leaning from the car to
shake hands with his guest. "Don't forget I'm goin' to come around
and take you up to--Go on away, boy!"
A newsboy had thrust himself almost between them, yelling, "Extry!
Secon' Extry. Extry, all about the horrable acciDENT. Extry!"
"Get out!" laughed Sheridan. "Who wants to read about accidents?
Get out!"
The boy moved away philosophically. "Extry! Extry!" he shrilled.
"Three men killed! Extry! Millionaire killed! Two other men killed!
Extry! Extry!"
"Don't forget, Mr. Farver," Sheridan completed his interrupted
farewells. "I'll come by to take you up to our house for dinner.
I'll be here for you about half-past five to-morrow afternoon. Hope
you 'njoyed the drive much as I have. Good night--good night!" He
leaned back, speaking to the chauffer. "Now you can take me around
to the Central City barber-shop, boy. I want to get a shave 'fore
I go up home."
"Extry! Extry!" screamed the newsboys, zig-zagging among the crowds
like bats in the dusk. "Extry! All about the horrable acciDENT!
Extry!" It struck Sheridan that the papers sent out too many
"Extras"; they printed "Extras" for all sorts of petty crimes and
casualties.
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