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"Say, I like this one She’s a real live wire," one said "And a Sheba to boot"

"Yes, she is," T S Woodhouse murmured appreciatively

"Miss O’Neill! John Linden with the Gotham Trumpet How’s about an exclusive for us?"

"Patricia Ready froether, don’t you say?"

"Hey, doll--over here! Sirl!"

They clamored for her story with shouts of "Miss O’Neill! Miss O’Neill!" Her name called in Manhattan, the center of the world

"Which one of us gets an exclusive?" a reporter shouted

"That depends--which one of you has the gin?" Evie shot back, and they roared with laughter

T S Woodhouse tipped his hat back and stepped closer to Evie "Your old pal, T S Woodhouse, Daily News No hard feelings still, I hope? You know I’ve always got a soft spot for you, Sheba My pencil’s nice and sharp--aloods, sweetheart?"

Evie glanced back at her uncle and Jericho Behind thelittered with a thousand squares of cold, hard light

"Miss O’Neill? Evie?" T S Woodhouse rested the point of his pencil against his notebook

"My uncle’s not being entirely truthful Special powers--I guess you could call them supernatural powers--were employed to crack the case My powers"

The reporters fell into chatter and shouts again

Evie put up her hands "Since we’re all New Yorkers and not a bunch of chuht finally prove useful, Mr Woodhouse"