"
"No, I saw Keating," Channing explained. "He said I could come along
as a stoker, and I guess I'll take him up, it seems--"
"Keating said--what?" exclaimed the "World" man. "Keating? Why, he
stands to lose his own job, if he isn't careful. If it wasn't that
he's just married, the C. P. boys would have reported him a dozen
times."
"Reported him, what for?"
"Why--you know. His old complaint."
"Oh, that," said Channing. "My old complaint?" he added.
"Well, yes, but Keating hasn't been sober for two weeks, and he'd
have fallen down on the Guasimas story if those men hadn't pulled him
through. They had to, because they're in the syndicate. He ought to
go shoot himself; he's only been married three months and he's
handling the biggest piece of news the country's had in thirty years,
and he can't talk straight. There's a time for everything, I say,"
growled the "World" man.
"It takes it out of a man, this boat-work," Channing ventured, in
extenuation. "It's very hard on him."
"You bet it is," agreed the "World" manager, with enthusiasm.
"Sloshing about in those waves, sea-sick mostly, and wet all the
time, and with a mutinous crew, and so afraid you'll miss something
that you can't write what you have got.
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