"There are just a few things"--the reporter was speaking very slowly and his voice was lowered--"which an intelligent father does not trust to others--not even to the most loyal confidential men--things that should be done by the father himself. The number is 777 Fifth Avenue!"
"Mr. Tully, I thank you. I think you are throwing away time and brains in your present position, and if you should ever--"
"Thank you, sir. Don't be afraid. I shall not bother you by--"
The reporter smiled and said, "If you knew how often my fortune has been made by men whose story I have not printed you'd be deaf, too."
"Young man, I sometimes forget favors, but not the possession of brains. I need them in my business."
"Well, then, suppose you show your appreciation by telling the red-headed person in the outer office that he is to take in my card to you when I call again?"
"Certainly!" And the czar of the great Pacific & Southwestern system nearly slew Doyle by accompanying the reporter to the outer door and saying:
"Doyle, any time Mr. Tully comes to see me let me know instantly, no matter what I may be doing or who is with me. Understand?"
"Yes, sir!" gasped Doyle, looking terrifiedly at the sorcerer.
Tully! Irish! That was the reason, of course; but he was a wonder, all the same.
"Good day, Mr. Tully. I thank you. And don't forget my offer."
Mr. Merriwether bowed as the door closed on Mr. William Tully and then, walking like a man in a trance, returned to his private office. He rang the push-button marked No. 1, and when McWayne appeared turned a haggard face to his private secretary.
"McWayne, that reporter has a story of Tom's engagement, but he wouldn't tell me who the girl is."
"I don't believe it!" cried McWayne, with a not very intelligent intention of comforting his chief. At times the male Irish mind works femininely.
"Neither do I--and yet I do. It confirms Dr. Frauenthal's diagnosis. I guess he knows his business, after all. Well, the story will not be published yet. He acted pretty decently."
McWayne wondered how much it had cost the old man, but he said, "Didn't he intimate--"
"That reporter knows his business," cut in E. H. Merriwether. "He ought to be a dramatist. Have you heard from your men?"