“You guess right. The murder committed in Great Porter Square was most horrible, and the public have been much excited about it. The paper I am on, the Evening Moon, was the only one which from the first declared you to be innocent of the charge brought against you. Perhaps you would like to read what we have written on the subject.”
Antony Cowlrick took the packet of papers which our Reporter had prepared in anticipation of the emergency.
“I have unknown friends, it seems.”
“It is a question of fair play, and, being a public matter, comes within our province. See, here is yesterday’s paper, stating that a subscription is opened at our office for you.”
“You have taken an unwarrantable liberty in holding me forth as an object of charity.”
“What has been done,” said our Reporter, “has been done with good intent. There was no desire to hurt your feelings, but you appeared, and appear, to be in poverty.”
“Will you lend me a sovereign?”
“Willingly. There were two at the office for you yesterday, and when I left this morning not less than ten pounds had been received for the subscription list.”
“A queer world we live in, do we not, with a public that one moment is ready to tear a man to pieces, and the next to surfeit him with sweets? I decline to accept your money. I would not touch it, though I am really in want of a meal. I suppose, if you were to leave me this instant, or I were to refuse to hold any further converse with you, you would consider it your duty to write a flaming article about me for the next edition of your paper?”