"An' I say 'no,' an' mean it," said the older man. "Go slow, David, go
slow. I was not comin 'ere as your enemy when I found this paper bein'
cried in the streets. It med me mad for a while. But I believe wot
you've said, an' I'm not the man to want my business, or my future
wife's I 'ope, to be chewed over by every Dick, Tom, an' 'Arry in
Liverpool."
The reincarnation of David was a wonderful spectacle, the most
impressive incident the journalist had ever witnessed, did he but know
its genesis. The metamorphosis was physical as well as mental. Verity
burgeoned before his very eyes.
"Of course, that makes a h-- a tremenjous difference," said the
shipowner. "You 'ave my word for it, an' that is enough for most men.
Mr. Andrews 'll give you all the information you want. I'll cable now
to Rio an' Pernambewco, an' see if I can get any straight news from the
shippin' 'ouses there. I'll let you know if I 'ear anything, an' you
might do the same by me."
The reporter gave this promise readily. He scented a possible scandal,
and meant to keep in touch with Verity. Meanwhile, he was in need of
the facts which the managing clerk could supply, so he took himself off.
Bulmer went to the window and looked out. A drizzle of sleet was
falling from a gray sky.
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