Part 91 (1/2)
Hal sighed. ”Run the story,” he said.
”And the picture?”
”And the picture.”
Going out he left directions with the telephone girl to try to get Miss Elliot and tell her that it would be impossible for him to call that day.
”She will understand when she sees the paper in the morning,” he thought. ”Or think she understands,” he amended ruefully.
The telephone girl did not get Miss Elliot, for good and sufficient reasons, but succeeded in extracting a promise from the maiden cousin at Greenvale that the message would be transmitted.
Through the day and far into the night Hal worked unsparingly, finding time somehow to visit or call up the hospital every hour. At midnight they told him that Ellis was barely holding his own. Hal put the ”Clarion” to bed that night, before going to the Surtaine mansion, hopeless of sleep, yet, nevertheless, so worn out that he sank into instant slumber as soon as he had drawn the sheets over him. On his way to the office in the morning, he ran full upon Dr. Elliot. For a moment Hal thought that the ex-officer meant to strike him with the cane which he raised. It sank.
”You miserable hound!” said Dr. Elliot.
Hal stood, silent.
”What have you to say for yourself?”
”Nothing.”
”My niece came to your office to save your rag of a sheet. I shot down a poor crazy devil in your defense. And this is how you repay us.”
Hal faced him, steadfast, wretched, determined upon only one thing: to endure whatever he might say or do.
”Do you know who's really responsible for that tenement? Answer me!”
”No.”
”I! I! I!” shouted the infuriated man.
”You? The records show--”
”d.a.m.n the records, sir! The property was trusteed years ago. I should have looked after it, but I never even thought of its being what it is.
And my niece didn't know till this morning that she owned it.”
”Why didn't you say so to our reporter, then?” cried Hal eagerly. ”Let us print a statement from you, from her--”
”In your sheet? If you so much as publish her name again--By Heavens, I wish it were the old days, I'd call you out and kill you.”
”Dr. Elliot,” said Hal quietly, ”did you think I wanted to print that about Esme?”
”Wanted to? Of course you wanted to. You didn't have to, did you?”
”Yes.”
”What compelled you?” demanded the other.
”You won't understand, but I'll tell you. The 'Clarion' compelled me. It was news.”