“Are you ever in need of money, my lad?” he inquired suddenly.
Hopford laughed.
“Show me the journalist who isn’t,” he said. “Why?”
“Supposing I made it worth your while——”
“Yes?”
“Well, it’s like this—by the way, what’s your name?”
“Hopford—Harry Hopford.”
“Come and sit down, Hopford—here, have a cigar. Now then, I am in a position to be able to do you a good turn now and again, in other words, to benefit you pecuniarily, if in return you will do as I suggest and at the same time keep absolutely silent about it. Don’t think I am going to ask you to do anything terrible. I am not,” and he smiled.
“I dare say it could be managed,” Hopford answered dreamily, as he began to enjoy the cigar. “Hadn’t you better tell me exactly what it is you want me to do, then I shall be able to give you a straightforward answer at once. Anything you may tell me I shall, of course, consider confidential.”
“That’s the spirit; that’s the way I like to hear a young fellow talk. Well now, listen.”