"You know me?"
"Certainly. I cover sports all the way from polo to golf. Anthony
Woodbury--Westfall Polo Club--then golf, tennis, trap shooting--"
"Enough!" groaned the victim. "Now look here, Bantry, you have me dead
to rights--got me with the goods, so to speak, haven't you?"
"It was a great bit of work; ought to make a first-page story."
And the other groaned again. "I know--son of millionaire rides unbroken
horse in Wild West show--and all that sort of thing. But, good Lord,
man, think what it will mean to me?"
"Nothing to be ashamed of, is it? Your father'll be proud of you."
Woodbury looked at him sharply.
"How do you know that?"
"Any man would be."
"But the notoriety, man! It would kill me with a lot of people as
thoroughly as if I'd put the muzzle of a gun in my mouth and pulled the
trigger."
"H-m!" muttered the reporter, "sort of social suicide, all right. But
it's news, Mr. Woodbury, and the editor--"
"Expects you to write as much as the rest of the papers print--and none
of the other reporters know me."
"One or two of them might have.
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