The seventh shot

part in which poor Mortimer achieved eternal fame by getting killed.

I may sound flippant, but I’m not; it’s the only way I can express myself—except on paper! Now, where do I get off? Am I a racing car or a flivver?”

“You’ll probably find out soon enough,” Jim told him. “Meanwhile, I want your help.”

“Nothing doing!” said Carlton energetically. “Meanwhile, I want yours!...