“No. And though I have no intention or desire to bribe you, and though I would not presume to interfere with you in your professional activities or influence you by pecuniary considerations, you will pardon me for suggesting--” The reporter did not let him go on. He rose and said, with real dignity: “Mr. Merriwether, suppose we drop the matter right here?” “You mean?” “I will not print any story yet--on one condition.” “Name it. I think likely I can meet it.” “Give me your promise that you will give me an interview the next time I come to see you. It may be in a day or two or a week. I don't promise not to print the story, you understand, but it will give you time to--well, to see your son.” E. H. Merriwether held out his hand and said: “I will see you any time you come. But let me say, as an older man, that if you should suffer any loss by not printing--” “Oh no--I shall not suffer. I propose to print my story. I am simply deferring publication; but I thank you for the offer you were going to make. It shows more consideration and, therefore, far greater common sense than most men in your position habitually display before a reporter. I'll do even more--I'll give you a friendly tip.” He stopped talking and looked doubtfully at E. H. Merriwether. “Thank you,” said Mr. Merriwether, with a remarkable mixture of gratitude, dignity, and anxiety. “I am listening.” “Find out why he goes to 777 Fifth Avenue. There are some things a really intelligent father, poor or rich, should--” He caught himself. “Please finish, my boy!” cried the great little man, almost entreatingly. “There are just a few things”--the reporter was speaking very slowly and his voice was lowered--“which an intelligent father does not trust to others--not even to the most loyal confidential men--things that should be done by the father himself. The number is 777 Fifth Avenue!” “I thank you, Mr.--” “William Tully,” said the reporter. “Mr. Tully, I thank you. I think you are throwing away time and brains in your present position, and if you should ever--” “Thank you, sir. Don't be afraid. I shall not bother you by--” “But I mean it,” said E. H. Merriwether. The reporter smiled and said, “If you knew how often my fortune has been made by men whose story I have not printed you'd be deaf, too.” “Young man, I sometimes forget favors, but not the possession of brains. I need them in my business.” “Well, then, suppose you show your appreciation by telling the red-headed person in the outer office that he is to take in my card to you when I call again?” “Certainly!” And the czar of the great Pacific & Southwestern system nearly slew Doyle by accompanying the reporter to the outer door and saying: “Doyle, any time Mr. Tully comes to see me let me know instantly, no matter what I may be doing or who is with me. Understand?” “Yes, sir!” gasped Doyle, looking terrifiedly at the sorcerer. Tully! Irish! That was the reason, of course; but he was a wonder, all the same.