The other shrugged his shoulders protestingly.
“Well,” he smiled, a little embarrassed, “my name is certainly Meunier, and it is true that I have the honour to be connected with the institution you have mentioned.”
The reporter had a notebook in his hand.
“Gee!” he observed softly. “You don't mind, do you, Doctor Meunier? This looks like luck to me. I'm on the Evening Journal—Selkirk.”
“Ah—a reporter!” The dark eyes seemed to twinkle humorously from behind the heavy lenses. “I have met some—when I landed in New York. They were very nice. I liked them very much. Certainly, young man, why should you not say anything I have told you? You have my permission.”
“Fine!” cried the reporter enthusiastically. “And now, Doctor Meunier, if you'll just round out the story by telling us why the celebrated Paris surgeon is travelling in America with a hundred thousand dollars' worth of radium, I'll be glad I got panned on the story I went after this morning and so had to take this train back.”
“Panned?” inquired the other gravely.
“Yes.” The reporter nodded. “It blew up, you know.”
“Blew up! Ah!” The foreigner's face was at once concerned. “So! You were in an accident, then?”
“No, no,” laughed the reporter. “There wasn't anything in the story. It didn't have any foundation.”