A Knight of the Nineteenth Century Part 10

"It depends on the importance of the news, and its truthfulness,"

answered the editor, after eying the intruder suspiciously for a moment.

"Thin I've got ye on both counts, though I didn't think ye'd bear down so heavy on its being thrue," said Pat, advancing confidently.

As the door of the press-room, in which men were at work, stood open, the editor felt no alarm from the sudden appearance of the burly figure before him, but, supposing the man had been drinking, he said impatiently:

"Please state your business briefly, as my time is valuable."

"If yer time is worth mor'n news, I'll go to another shop," said Pat stiffly, making a feint of departure.

"That's a good fellow, go along," chimed in the editor, bending down to his writing again.

Such disastrous acquiescence puzzled Pat for a moment, and he growled, "No wonder yer prints a paper that's loike a lump o' lead, when 'stead o' lookin' for news yer turns it away from yer doors."

"Now, look here, my man," said the editor rising, "if you have anything to say, say it. If you have been drinking, you will not be permitted to make a row in this office."

"It's not me, but another man that's been dhrinkin'."

"Well," snarled the editor, "if the other man had the drink, you have the 'drunk,' and if you don't take yourself off, I'll call some men from the press-room who may put you downstairs uncomfortably fast."

"Hould on a bit," remonstrated Pat, "before yer ruffle yer feathers clane over yer head and blinds yer eyes. Wud a man loike Boss Arnot send me, if I was dhrunk, wid a letther at this toime o' night? and wud he send a letther to the superintindent o' the perlice at this toime o' the night to ax him the toime o' day! Afore yer calls yer spalpeens out o'

the press-room squint at that."

The moment the editor caught sight of the business stamp on Mr. Arnot's letter and the formal handwriting, his manner changed, and he said suavely:

"I beg your pardon--we have misunderstood one another--take a chair."

"There's been no misunderstandin' on my part," retorted Pat, with an injured air; "I've got as dainty a bit o' scandal jist under me tongue as iver ye spiced yer paper wid, and yees thrates me as if I was the inimy o' yer sowl."

"Well, you see," said the editor apologetically, "your not being in our regular employ, Mr.--I beg your pardon--and your coming in this unusual way and hour--"

"But, begorry, somethin' unusual's happened."

"So I understand; it was very good of you to come to us first; just give me the points, and I will jot them down."

"But what are yees goin' to give me for the pints?"

"That depends upon what they are worth. News cannot be paid for till we learn its value."

"Och! here I'm rinnin' a grate risk in tellin' ye at all, and whin I've spilt it all out, and can't pick it up agin, ye may show me the door, and tell me to go 'long wid me rubbish."

"If you find what you have to report in the paper, you may know it is worth something. So if you will look at the paper to-morrow you can see whether it will be worth your while to call again," said the editor, becoming impatient at Pat's hesitancy to open his budget.

"But I'm in sore need of a dollar or two to-night. Dade, it's as much as my loife's worth to go home widout 'em."

"See here, my good friend," said the editor, rising again and speaking very energetically, "my time is very valuable, and you have taken considerable of it. Whatever may be the nature of your news, it will not be worth anything to me if you do not tell it at once."

"Well, you see the biggest part o' the news is goin' to happen to-morrow."

"Well, well, what has happened to-night?"

"Will ye promise not to mention me name?"

"How can I mention it when I don't know it?"

"That's thrue, that's thrue. Now me mind's aisy on that pint, for ye must know that Boss Arnot's in'ards are made o' cast-iron, and he'd have no marcy on a feller. You'll surely give me a dollar, at laste."

"Yes, if your story is worth printing, and I give you just three minutes in which to tell it."

Thus pinned down, Pat related all he knew and surmised concerning Haldane's woful predicament, saying in conclusion:

"Ye must know that this Haldane is not a poor spalpeen uv a clerk, but a gintleman's son. They sez that his folks is as stylish and rich as the Arnots themselves. If ye'll have a reporther up at the office in the mornin', ye'll git the balance o' the tale."

Having received his dollar, Pat went chuckling on his way to deliver his employer's letter to the superintendent of the city police.

"Faix! I was as wise as a sarpent in not tellin' me name, for ye niver can thrust these iditors. It's no green Irishman that can make a dollar after twelve o' the night."

A sleepy reporter was aroused and despatched after Pat, in order to learn, if possible, the contents of Mr. Arnot's note.

In the meantime heavily leaded lines--vague and mysterious--concerning "Crime in High Life," were set up, accompanied on the editorial page by a paragraph to the following effect:

"With our usual enterprise and keen scent for news, we discovered at a late hour last night that an intelligent Irishman in the employ of Mr.

Arnot had been intrusted by that gentleman with a letter written after the hour of midnight to the superintendent of the police. The guilty party appears to be a Mr. Haldane--a young man of aristocratic and wealthy connections--who is at present in Mr. Arnot's employ, and a member of his family. We think we are aware of the nature of his grave offence, but in justice to all concerned we refer our readers to our next issue, wherein they will find full particulars of the painful affair, since we have obtained peculiar facilities for learning them. No arrests have yet been made."

"That will pique all the gossips in town, and nearly double our next issue," complacently muttered the local editor, as he carried the scrawl at the last moment into the composing-room.

In the meantime the hero of our story--if such a term by any lat.i.tude of meaning can be applied to one whose folly had brought him into such a prosaic and miserable plight--still lay in a heavy stupor on the lounge where Pat had thrown his form, that had been as limp and helpless as if it had become a mere body without a soul. But the consequences of his action did not cease with his paralysis, any more than do the influences of evil deeds perish with a dying man.

CHAPTER X

RETURNING CONSCIOUSNESS

Mr. Arnot did not leave his library that night. His wife came to the door and found it locked. To her appeal he replied coldly, but decisively, that he was engaged.

She sighed deeply, feeling that the sojourn of young Haldane under her roof was destined to end in a manner most painful to herself and to her friend, his mother. She feared that the latter would blame her somewhat for his miserable fiasco, and she fully believed that if her husband permitted the young man to suffer open disgrace, she would never be forgiven by the proud and aristocratic lady.

And yet she felt that it was almost useless to speak to her husband in his present mood, or to hope that he could be induced to show much consideration for so grave an offense.

Of the worst feature in Haldane's conduct, however, she had no knowledge. Mr. Arnot rarely spoke to his wife concerning his business, and she had merely learned, the previous evening, that Haldane had been sent to New York upon some errand. Acting upon the supposition that her husband had remembered and complied with her request, she graciously thanked him for giving the young man a little change and diverting novelty of scene.

Mr. Arnot, who happened to verge somewhat toward a complacent mood upon this occasion, smiled grimly at his wife's commendation, and even unbent so far as to indulge in some ponderous attempts at wit with Laura concerning her "magnificent offer," and a.s.serted that if she had been "like his wife, she would have jumped at the chance of getting hold of such a crude, unreformed specimen of humanity. Indeed," concluded he, "I did not know but that Mrs. Arnot was bringing about the match, so that she might have a little of the raw material for reformatory purposes continually on hand."

Mrs. Arnot smiled, as she ever did, at her husband's attempted witticisms; but what he regarded as light, delicate shafts, winged sportively and carelessly, had rather the character of any heavy object that came to hand thrown at her with heedless, inconsiderate force. It is due Mr. Arnot to say that he gave so little thought and attention to the wounds and bruises he caused, as to be unaware that any had been made. He had no hair-springs and jewel-tipped machinery in his ma.s.sive, angular organization, and he acted practically as if the rest of humanity had been cast in the same mold with himself.