Buck goes over and asks her about it.
"It ain't so much losing the money, mister," says she, shaking all
over, "though I've been two years saving it up; but Jakey won't marry
me now. He'll take Rosa Steinfeld. I know J--J--Jakey. She's got $400
in the savings bank. Ai, ai, ai--" she sings out.
[Illustration: "Jakey won't marry me now. He'll take Rosa Steinfeld."]
Buck looks all around with that same funny look on his face. And then
we see leaning against the wall, puffing at his pipe, with his eye
shining at us, this newspaper reporter. Buck and me walks over to him.
"You're a real interesting writer," says Buck. "How far do you mean to
carry it? Anything more up your sleeve?"
"Oh, I'm just waiting around," says the reporter, smoking away, "in
case any news turns up. It's up to your stockholders now. Some of
them might complain, you know. Isn't that the patrol wagon now?" he
says, listening to a sound outside. "No," he goes on, "that's Doc.
Whittleford's old cadaver coupe from the Roosevelt.
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