Herbert looked up helplessly. For a moment a desire to tell the whole story to Blakeley took possession of him. The next minute it was dismissed as impracticable. Blakeley was a man without any heart or feeling. He felt convinced of this, and felt likewise that if the facts were once in the city editor’s possession the story would have to be written regardless of the private anguish it might cause. So he stood there speechless before his superior.
“Go!” finally shouted Blakeley, pointing to the door. “But when you go remember that you go in disgrace. You are like an engineer who would leave his train in the middle of the journey, or a pilot who would desert his ship in a storm at sea. Go, and never let me see you again.”
Herbert left the room with a flushed face and downcast eyes. He avoided the elevator. The thought of meeting with anyone at a time like this grated upon his feelings. He walked down the stairway with a heart as heavy as lead. He felt mortified and angry by turns. He mentally blamed Blakeley for his coarse manner and the ugly scolding he had given him. The next second he admitted to himself that Blakeley was fully justified in what he had said and done. Indeed, from the standpoint of the news and of duty, he could find no possible justification for his own conduct.
Presently he got out into Park Row and was soon in the midst of the pushing, bustling crowd. It was quite dark now, and the rush to the bridge was at its height. Myriads of electric lights shone brightly all about him. Cars rushed by, with motormen sounding their gongs continuously. Wagon drivers shouted and shrieked and pulled at their horses, and thousands of pedestrians laughed and shouted as they hurriedly went their way. Herbert, in a vague sort of way, wondered how they could all be so happy when he felt so miserable. Nothing seemed the same to him. Some mysterious change appeared to have overcome the face of New York since he had left his home early that morning; but in reality things moved on as before. Herbert’s philosophy did not realize that the world moves on day by day and night by night, regardless of the joys or the woes of the individual.
He soon reached his lodgings and quietly let himself in the door by means of his latch-key. He struck a light and gazed about curiously at the familiar things in the little apartment. Everything in the room seemed to look at him in a reproachful manner. Strange as it may seem, it was some moments before he became accustomed to being alone. Then he picked up a book and tried to read; but it was a dismal failure. He walked the floor for a long, long while. There was a lump in his throat that he could not remove. Presently he sank down into a chair and dropped his bowed head into his hands on the table.
“I’ve lost my job,” he groaned to himself. “I’ve done more than that. I’ve not only lost my place, but I’ve been retired in disgrace.”
CHAPTER XVII
THE YOUNG REPORTER FINDS THAT THE DOOR OF OPPORTUNITY IS BARRED TO HIM
Herbert sat in the darkened room with his head bowed on the table for a very long while, thinking of the events that had taken place the previous twenty-four hours. First he was angry with himself for what he had done, and then felt humiliated at permitting Blakeley to abuse him in such a cruel manner; but with second thought came the conviction that even if he had it to go over again he would not have acted in a different manner. To have written the story even with Arthur at liberty would have meant lasting disgrace to Mary Black and her parents. He had paid a very dear price, but had averted that, which after all, was a very consoling thing. While he sat there Tomlin came into the room in his impetuous manner. He rushed over to Herbert and clapped him on the shoulders.
“Brace up, old man; don’t sit here and mope as if you had lost your last friend in the world.”
Herbert looked up at him and tried to smile; but the effort was a very sickly one.