"I'm an old man."
"Bah! That's a hypocritical bluff, and you know it. My friends at the next table have asked me to bring you over."
"I do not usually care to meet strangers."
"Make an exception this once," said the reporter, who had seen Braine's eyes change and was curious to know why the appearance of Hargreave in the mirror had brought about that metally gleam. Here were two unique men; he desired to see them face to face.
"This once. My fault; I ought not to be here; I feel out of place. What a life, though, you reporters lead! To meet kings and presidents and great financiers, socialists and anarchists, the whole scale of life, and to slap these people on the back as if they were every-day friends!"
"Now you're making fun of me. For one king there are always twenty thick brogans ready to kick me down the steps; don't forget that."
Hargreave laughed. "Come, then; let us get it over with."
The introductions were made. Norton felt rather chagrined. As far as he could see, the two men were total strangers. Well, it was all in the game. Nine out of ten opportunities for the big story were fake alarms; but he was always willing to risk the labor these nine entailed for the sake of the tenth.
At length Braine glanced at his watch, and the countess nodded. Adieux were said. Inside the taxicab Braine leaned back with a deep, audible sigh.
"What is it?" she asked.