“Oh! I didn’t know the governor was at home,” he remarked, as he finished counting the words and charging them against the state’s account. “I will send them myself, and ask the operators at the other end to look lively about the answers. You are Mr.——”
“This is Major Griswold,” said Barbara, conferring the title with a vague feeling that it strengthened her cause.
“Major,” repeated the manager, as he nodded to Griswold with an air that implied his familiarity with official secrets. “You will call? In a couple of hours, Major.”
As Barbara and Griswold turned to leave, a young man who had been writing a message at the standing desk in the lobby lifted his hat and addressed Barbara. He was a reporter for the Columbia Intelligencer, and his manner was eager.
“Oh, Miss Osborne, pardon me, but I’ve been trying to get you on the telephone. Can you tell me where your father is to-night?”
“Father was in town only a few hours, and then left on state business.”
The young man glanced from one to the other. He was a polite youngster, and Miss Barbara Osborne was—Miss Barbara Osborne, and this, to the people of South Carolina, was a fact of weight. Still the reporter twirled his hat uncertainly.
“Well, I thought I had met all the trains, but I guess I missed the governor.”
“No; you didn’t miss him,” smiled Barbara. “Father drove in from the country and went back the same way. He didn’t come into town at all.”
The news instinct is the keenest with which man may be blessed, and the reporter scented events. Griswold, seeing the light flash in the young man’s eye, felt that here was an opportunity to allay public criticism.