“Nor I, anywhere,” replied the editor in a tone that made the manufacturer turn. “He probably thinks he is doing his duty. At any rate, he has done no harm.”
The party passed out of the dining room into Mr. Atkinson’s office. In a few minutes a clerk ushered the overalled young tram car conductor into the room. His inquisitors were all seated. “Buck” Stewart looked at them wonderingly. His face wore no smile but he did not seem especially alarmed.
“Isn’t your name Stewart?” asked the editor sharply.
“Buckingham Stewart,” was the only answer but, as the young man made a closer inspection of those about him, a look of recognition came into his face. As he met Ned’s glance there was even the ghost of a smile on his lips.
“What are you doing here?” went on the editor.
“Workin’.”
“What for?”
“To increase my fund of information.”
“By sticking your nose into other people’s business,” added President Atkinson warmly.
“I expect that’s true,” answered Stewart as he drew off his gloves and revealed two very white hands. He also made an attempt to clear his wet face of perspiration. “I’m a reporter—or almost was,” he added, his smile broadening into a magnetic grin.