"You're not weakening, are you, Darius? There's no time for emotion in this business, none at all. You've got to go out and get a story before some other outfit changes it on you. Or you've got to make _their_ stories fail to happen. And whatever you do, you've got to keep the TV outfits guessing. If news starts happening according to Hoyle, we're all through. Us and the _World_ and all the other newspapers wouldn't stand a chance, not with TV right on the spot. Keep TV guessing. Confused. Never sure. Give some crumbs to the _World_, even, if you have to. "So there's no time for thalamic responses, Darius. Do I make myself clear?" McLeod bristled. "You never had to give me that kind of lecture. You think I'm a cub or something? Don't worry about Mayor Spurgess, we'll fix him up." "Splendid. But there's something else. Crippens." "I told you how I felt about that. I don't want any part of it. Talk about your Judas's--" "Crippens or you, Darius. The _World's_ gunning. You know it." "I can't tell you what to do. But I'll warn Cripp, that's all." "That would make your own assignment rather difficult." "What assignment are you talking about?" "Crippens. The way I figure it, you have a lot at stake there. We'll let you handle Crippens." "You're crazy!" "You are if you refuse. We won't give you a single Security man for protection. Remember what they said in COMING EVENTS. Your one chance is to get Crippens before they get you and then let the _World_ scoop us. I would suggest the first thing next Monday morning, but then, it's your baby." "First Mayor Spurgess and now Crippens. Are you trying to make me a hatchetman?" "A reporter, Darius. You've always been a good one." "But Crippens is my friend." "I wish we had another way out. Crippens has his place on the _Star-Times_, but we thought too much of him. We don't want to lose you, Darius. You can take that as an objective compliment and sleep easy. Your job's secure." "Thank you very much." "Don't be bitter. A man in the newspaper business is top-dog these days, see? I don't have to tell you. We're not passive receptors. We control things. We make things happen. We play God, but we've got competition. You've got to take the good with the bad, that's all. See what I mean?" All the while they had spoken, Overman had not moved from where he had perched his small frame on his desk, but his nervous legs had walked miles, his scrawny, sleeve-rolled arms had waved, flapped and gesticulated, his wide, bulging eyes had darted about the frenzied confusion of the great room where news was created and missed nothing. It was Overman's passion, McLeod knew, his alpha through omega. He suddenly wished it were that simple for himself. Less than half an hour ago, it would have been. "We'll have our obituary people compose something tender for Crippens," Overman said. "Keep me informed, Darius." "I haven't told you I'd do it." "Whose obit would you rather see them write?"