He tossed the tissues on to the table

-- What about that leader this evening? professor MacHugh asked, coming to the editor and laying a firm hand on his shoulder.
-- That'll be all right, Myles Crawford said more calmly. Never you fret. Hello, Jack. That's all right.
-- Good day, Myles. J.J. O'Molloy said, letting the pages he held slip limply back on the file. Is that Canada swindle case on today?
The telephone whirred inside.
-- Twenty eight... No, twenty... Double four . Yes.
Spot the Winner
Lenehan came out of the inner office with Sports tissues.
-- Who wants a dead cert for the Gold cup? he asked. Sceptre with O. Madden up.
He tossed the tissues on to the table.
Screams of newsboys barefoot in the hall rushed near and the door was flung open.
-- Hush, Lenehan said. I hear feetstoops.
Professor MacHugh strode across the room and seized the cringing urchin by the collar as the others scampered out of the hall and down the steps. The tissues rustled up in the draught, floated softly in the air blue scrawls and under the table came to earth.
-- It wasn't me, sir. It was the big fellow shoved me, sir.