He was sitting on the stringer of the pier-head one morning, waiting
for a press-boat from the "front," when the Three Friends ran in and
lowered her dingy, and the "World" manager came ashore, clasping a
precious bundle of closely written cable-forms. Channing scrambled to
his feet and hailed him.
"Have you heard from the chief about me yet?" he asked. The "World"
man frowned and stammered, and then, taking Channing by the arm,
hurried with him toward the cable-office.
"Charlie, I think they're crazy up there," he began, "they think they
know it all. Here I am on the spot, but they think--"
"You mean they won't have me," said Channing. "But why?" he asked,
patiently. "They used to give me all the space I wanted."
"Yes, I know, confound them, and so they should now," said the
"World" man, with sympathetic indignation. "But here's their cable;
you can see it's not my fault." He read the message aloud. "Channing,
no. Not safe, take reliable man from Siboney." He folded the
cablegram around a dozen others and stuck it back in his hip-pocket.
"What queered you, Charlie," he explained, importantly, "was that
last break of yours, New Year's, when you didn't turn up for a week.
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