Standing alone with his back to the window was a reporter who had greeted no one and to whom no one had spoken.
Had he held himself erect he would have been tall, but he stood slouching lazily, his shoulders bent, his hands in his pockets. When he spoke his voice was in keeping with the indolence of his bearing. It was soft, hesitating, carrying with it the courteous deference of the South. Only his eyes showed that to what was going forward he was alert and attentive.
“Is Dr. Rainey Mr. Hallowell’s family doctor?” he asked.
Irving surveyed him in amused superiority.
“He is!” he answered. “You been long in New York?” he asked.
Upon the stranger the sarcasm was lost, or he chose to ignore it, for he answered simply, “No, I’m a New Orleans boy. I’ve just been taken on the Republic.”
“Welcome to our city,” said Irving. “What do you think of our Main Street?”
From the hall a tall portly man entered the room with the assurance of one much at home here and, with an exclamation, Irving fell upon him.
“Good morning, Judge,” he called. He waved at him the clipping from the Despatch. “Have you seen this?”
Judge Gaylor accepted the slip of paper gingerly, and in turn moved his fine head pompously toward each of the young men. Most of them were known to him, but for the moment he preferred to appear too deeply concerned to greet them. With an expression of shocked indignation, he recognized only Walsh.