The reply came promptly.
"Yes; locally. The W-U. has an independent line to Breezeland Inn and points beyond."
"Well, our right-of-way man has just sent a telegram to all agents, signing Halkett's name. I don't know what he said in it, but you can figure that out for yourself."
"You bet I can!" was the emphatic rejoinder. And then: "Where are you now?"
"I'm at the Clarendon public 'phone, but I am going over to the Argus office. I'll let you know when I leave there. Good-by."
When Kent reached the night editor's den on the third floor of the Argus building he found Hildreth immersed chin-deep in a sea of work. But he quickly extricated himself and cleared a chair for his visitor.
"Praise be!" he ejaculated. "I was beginning to get anxious. Large things are happening, and you didn't turn up. I've had Manville wiring all over town for you."
"What are some of the large things?" asked Kent, lighting his first cigar since dinner.
"Well, for one: do you know that your people are on the verge of the much-talked-of strike?"
"Yes; I knew it this morning. That was what I wanted you to suppress in the evening edition."