He reached for the telephone.
“Don’t do that!” cried Larry quickly.
“Why not?”
“Because there’ll be a leak in the central office, or some one will overhear it, and then the story will be out. I don’t want it to get loose until it comes out in the Leader. I want it all alone. There’s another reporter after it—Peter Manton—with whom I had a lot of trouble when I first came to New York, though we’re friendly enough now. But, for all that, I want to beat him on this story, if I can. He quit the newspaper game for a while and went into real estate. Now he’s reporting again. I want to beat him.”
“Oh, I suppose so,” agreed Mr. Potter. “I see what you mean, Larry. Well, I’ll not telephone. I’ll go see Bentfield personally. You stay here, and as soon as I have the facts I’ll come back and tell you. I haven’t forgotten what you did for me. How soon must you have the story?”
“Oh, if I get it by twelve o’clock I can ’phone it, and catch the first main edition. I’d like to hold it for the last, and then the other papers couldn’t use it until late to-night, or to-morrow morning, but I’m afraid it won’t keep. It’s too big.”
“I guess you’re right,” agreed Mr. Potter. “Well, I’ll get it for you as soon as I can,” and, calling his secretary, he gave the man certain instructions, also arranging to have Larry wait in the private office until his return.
“I’ll be as quick as I can,” remarked the millionaire, with a smile, as he started out. “I’m a sort of special reporter now; eh, Larry?”
“Something like that, Mr. Potter. Please don’t ‘fall down.’”
“Eh? What’s that? Is it slippery out?” and, somewhat surprised, he looked from his window into the pleasant spring sunshine.