“Hello, Harkins, I’m glad to see you again.”
Herbert took the proffered hand, but held it somewhat limply. He could not enthuse on such short notice. Presently he was invited to take a seat, and did so. Tomlin, without being asked, also sat down to listen to the conversation.
“I was quite sorry to lose you, Harkins,” said Blakeley after an interval.
Herbert looked in his face for a moment to see whether he was jesting. Such an admission from such a man was very unusual; but Blakeley looked him squarely in the eye, and there was neither mirth nor sarcasm in the glance, so he answered softly:
“I was sorry to go, Mr. Blakeley.”
“But,” exclaimed the city editor, and the quiet eye now flashed fire, “you treated me very meanly. I must say that, and I am going to repeat it, you treated me very meanly.”
“I admit that I did,” said Herbert, his tone softer than before; “but I was the victim of circumstances over which I had no control.”
Blakeley puffed at his cigar for awhile after that, and then as if he was giving voice to a long cherished desire, said:
“Now see here, Harkins, I want to put a plain question to you. Why did you refuse to write that story—now tell me as plainly as you can, and all will be square between us.”
Herbert arose before the city editor had finished making his request. The look of annoyance in his face gave way to indignation, and then he said with considerable heat: