“My best reporter was out yesterday when you called,” he said, addressing Hitt. “He––well, he was a little the worse for wear. But he’s in now. Come into my office and I’ll send for him.”
In a few minutes a tall, boyish fellow responded to the 92 editor’s summons. He must have been well under twenty, thought Hitt, marveling that so young a man should be regarded as Carlson’s best news gatherer. But his wonder grew apace when the editor introduced him as Mr. Sidney Ames.
“Huh!” ejaculated Haynerd. “Know J. Wilton?”
The lad smiled pallidly, as he bent his gaze upon Carmen, and addressed his reply to her. “My governor,” he said laconically.
“The deuce he is!” returned Haynerd, beginning to bristle.
Carlson dismissed the reporter, and turned to the curious group.
“The boy has the making of a fine newspaper man in him. Has something of his father’s terrible energy. But he’s doomed. Whiskey and morphine got him. He used to come down here before his father threw him out. I let him write little articles for the Express when he was barely sixteen years old; and they were mighty good, too. But he got mixed up in some scandal, and J. Wilton cut him off. The boy always did drink, I guess. But since his family troubles he’s been on the straight road to the insane asylum. It’s too bad. But you’ll keep him, I suppose?”
“Certainly not!” replied Haynerd aggressively. “His father is no friend of mine, and––”
“We shall keep him,” calmly interrupted Carmen. “His father is a very good friend of mine.”
Carlson looked from one to the other quizzically. “H’m!” he mused. “Well,” squinting over his glasses at the girl, “this surely is woman’s era, isn’t it?”