Nothing Sacred

- Oh well, that was a coincidence.

- I've given you my hand, go on...

- Redeem yourself.

- Thanks. You won't regret it.

If I don't come back with the

biggest story you ever handled

you can put me back in short

pants and make me marble editor.

- You through?

- Yep.

- You know this girl, Hazel Flagg?

- Yep.

- Pretty girl, eh?

- Yep.

- Where is she now? In the hospital?

- Nope.

Just walking around, eh? Laughing

and carrying on, I suppose.

Yep.

- What's your name, Coolidge?

- Nope.

Well, if you aren't worn

out talking, what is it?

Bull.

Mr. Bull, my name's Cook.

I'm from the New York Star.

I'm, uh, going to be filing a lot of

stuff with your telegraph office here.

- I don't think you are.

- Well, who says?

The Paragon Watch Factory owns this town.

They don't care to have any scandal printed.

What they say goes.

Better take the next train back.

- What kind of a fellow is this Dr. Downer?

- He won't talk to you.

Nobody talkin' in this town.

Except me. Better go home.

Well, if you don't mind I'll take a little

stroll and have a look at the sights first.

Well, I wouldn't have talked at all if

I knew I was gonna do it for nothin'.

Oh, pardon me.

I forgot I was in Vermont.

All right.

Morning, sister.

- You in charge here?

- Yep.

I've been wandering through your

fascinating metropolis for an hour.

- Mind if I sit down here?

- Yep.

- I guess you misunderstood me.

- Nope.

- You know Hazel Flagg?

- Yep.

Any idea where I could

find her this morning?

You're a newspaperman from New York.

- How did you guess that, sister?

- You was described to me.

Will Bull can shoot his mouth

off to all he wants, but not me

nor anybody else in this town.

This drugstore's run by the

Paragon Watch Company

and they don't want any scandalmonger

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