“Hardly that,” answered the girl. “As I remember it, he said, ‘Isn’t there a danger that some other paper may get this?’ Mr. Hardwick replied, ‘I don’t think so. Not for three days, at least’; and then Mr. Alder said, ‘Very good,’ or ‘Very well,’ or something like that.”
“That quite tallies with my own remembrance,” assented Hardwick. “I admit I am to blame, but I decidedly say that I was not definitely warned by Mr. Alder that the matter would be lost to us.”
“I told you it would be lost if you delayed,” cried Alder, with the emphasis of an angry man, “and it has been lost. I have been on the track of this for two weeks, and it is very galling to have missed it at the last moment through no fault of my own.”
“Still,” said Mr. Hempstead coldly, “your version of the conversation does not quite agree with what Miss Baxter says.”
“Oh, well,” said Alder, “I never pretended to give the exact words. I warned him, and he did not heed the warning.”
“You admit, then, that Miss Baxter’s remembrance of the conversation is correct?”
“It is practically correct. I do not ‘stickle’ about words.”
“But you did stickle about words an hour ago,” said Mr. Hempstead, with some severity. “There is a difference in positively stating that the item would be lost and in merely suggesting that it might be lost.”
“Oh, have it as you wish,” said Alder truculently. “It doesn’t matter in the least to me. It is very provoking to work hard for two weeks, and then have everything nullified by a foolish decision from the editor. However, as I have said, it doesn’t matter to me. I have taken service on the Daily Trumpet, and you may consider my place on the Bugle vacant”—saying which, the irate Mr. Alder put his hat on his head and left the room.
Mr. Hempstead seemed distressed by the discussion, but, for the first time, Mr. Hardwick smiled grimly.