Part 40 (1/2)

”Well, I've discovered,” laughed the old gentleman. ”Good is always coming out of Nazareth.”

”It seems to me that we've met before,” remarked Mr. Hearn, graciously and reflectively.

”Yes, sir,” I explained. ”As a reporter I called on you once or twice for information.”

”Ah, now it comes back to me. Yes, yes, I remember; and I also remember that you did not extract the information as if it had been a tooth.

Your manner was not that of a professional interviewer. You must meet with disagreeable experiences in your calling.”

”Yes, sir; but perhaps that is true of all callings.”

”Yes, no doubt, no doubt; but it has seemed to me that a reporter's lot must frequently bring him in contact with much that is disagreeable.”

”Mr. Morton is not a reporter,” said Adah, a trifle indignantly; ”he's the editor of a first-cla.s.s paper.”

”Indeed!” exclaimed Mr. Hearn, growing much more benign; ”why, Emily, you did not tell me that.”

”No, I only spoke of Mr. Morton as a gentleman.”

”I imagine that Miss Warren thinks that I have mistaken my calling, and that I ought to be a gardener.”

”That's an odd impression. Mr. Yocomb would not even trust you to weed,” she retorted quickly.

”I have a fellow feeling for weeds; they grow so easily and naturally.

But I must correct your impressions, Miss Adah. I'm not the dignitary you imagine-only _an_ editor, and an obscure night one at that.”

”Your night work on one occasion bears the light very well. I hope it may be the earnest of the future,” said Mr. Hearn impressively.

I felt that he had a covert meaning, for he had glanced more than once at Miss Warren when I spoke, and I imagined him a little anxious as to our mutual impressions.

”I feel it my duty to set you right also, Mr. Hearn,” I replied, with quiet emphasis, for I wished to end all further reference to that occasion. ”Through Mr. and Mrs. Yocomb's kindness, I happened to be an inmate of the farmhouse that night. I merely did what any man would have done, and could have done just as well. My action involved no personal peril, and no hards.h.i.+p worth naming. My illness resulted from my own folly. I'd been overworking or overworked, as so many in my calling are. Conscious that I am not in the least heroic, I do not wish to be imagined a hero. Mrs. Yocomb knows what a bear I've been,” I concluded, with a humorous nod toward her.

”Yes, I know, Richard,” she said, quietly smiling.

”After this statement in prose, Mr. Hearn, you will not be led to expect more from me than from any ordinary mortal.”

”Indeed, sir, I like your modesty, your self-depreciation.”

”I beg your pardon,” I interrupted a little decisively; ”I hope you do not think my words had any leaning toward affectation. I wished to state the actual truth. My friends here have become too kind and partial to give a correct impression.”

Mr. Hearn waved his hand very benignly, and his smile was graciousness itself as he said:

”I think I understand you, sir, and respect your sincerity. I've been led to believe that you cherish a high and scrupulous sense of honor, and that trait counts with me far more than all others.”

I understood him well. ”Oh, you _are_ shrewd!” I thought; ”but I'd like to know what obligations I'm under to you?” I merely bowed a trifle coldly to this tribute and suggestive statement, and turned the conversation. As I swept my eyes around the table a little later, I thought Miss Warren looked paler than usual.

”Does she understand his precautionary measures?” I thought. ”He'd better beware--she would not endure distrust.”

CHAPTER IX