He left the post office building to go to the Argus office; but somehow or other he could not summon up sufficient courage to undergo the dreadful ordeal; so he walked up Broadway, mingling with the crowd, looking in the shop windows and trying to forget the terrible details of the most unpleasant incident of his life. After awhile he turned off Broadway and walked in the direction of Fifth Avenue. When he had reached that fashionable thoroughfare he bent his footsteps towards Central Park. By this time it was late in the afternoon. The fashionable turnouts of the rich and the prosperous were going up the avenue, skilfully guided through the crowded street by richly liveried drivers who seemed to know every inch of the ground. Still Herbert walked on and on, seemingly unconscious of what he was doing. The approach of dusk brought him to his senses. He must go to the office and go there as quickly as possible.
He jumped on a ’bus that was going down-town, and at the intersection where the Avenue joins Broadway he alighted and boarded one of the surface cars. It was quite dusk when he reached the Argus office, and walking into the local room in an uncertain manner, he noticed that most of the men were out and that Blakeley was seated at his desk alone. The city editor was puffing at a big cigar, and did not notice the entrance of the young reporter.
“Mr. Blakeley,” he said, in a hushed sort of voice.
The city editor turned around like a flash.
“Hello there, Harkins,” he said eagerly; “I’ve been waiting for you all the afternoon. How did the thing pan out?”
“It didn’t pan out at all,” said Herbert in a hesitating, halting way.
“What do you mean?” cried the other, his tone perceptibly hardening.
“I mean that I have no story,” this in a slightly firmer voice.
“No story?” shouted the other, “why what are you talking about anyhow? There must be a story.”
“There was a story,” rejoined Herbert, now throwing all precaution to the winds; “but I can’t write it.”
“Can’t write it? Why, you’re crazy, man. What are you talking about?”
The city editor was thoroughly angry now. He arose from his chair and stood towering before Herbert. In his rage he threw his freshly lighted cigar into the cuspidor with a savage movement of his hand. He stamped his foot on the floor fiercely.