“Do you?”
“Then you don't!” exclaimed the reporter, triumphantly. “This is better than I had hoped.”
“Better?”
“Certainly; it means a better introductory article. The first of the series will be: 'To whom is Tom Merriwether engaged?' Think of it, sir,” he said, with the enthusiasm of the true artist, “the heir of the Merriwether millions! By the way, could you tell offhand how many millions I might safely say?”
Whatever Mr. Merriwether may have thought, he merely said, with the cold finality that often imposes on young reporters:
“Young man, if you begin your career by being vulgar your ruin will be of your own doing.”
“My dear sir, vulgarity never ruined any career. All the great men of history were at the beginning accused of hopeless vulgarity—by those on whom they trod. I tell you it is not vulgarity that prompts me, but mastery of the technic of my trade. Do you care to have me tell you about my article?”
What Mr. E. H. Merriwether really wished to hear was that Tom was not in love—that he was not on the verge of brutally assassinating all the hopes and dreams of a fond father. What he said to the unspeakable reporter was:
“Yes.”
“Well, I start with this basis—my knowledge of your son's engagement.”