"It 's none of your business," he kept saying, breathlessly. "It 's none of your damn business."
The hat was too big for him, and it made him look more than ever like a Chinaman—with a queue concealed. Colburn kept pace with him—and rang the elevator bell. In vain the man fumed and fretted. Colburn passed him into the car, a hand under his elbow, and said "Down" to the elevator boy. When they stepped out into the rotunda, Colburn led the way to the desk and said to the clerk: "Got Mr. Sims's bill, Jim? Hurry up. He wants to catch a train. If any one calls me up here, tell him I 've gone out." And when Sims had paid his bill, Colburn ushered him out to the street, hailed a taxicab, put him in it, ordered the driver to take them to the Union Depot, and got in beside Sims with the suit-case.
"This is a damn outrage," Sims broke out. "Get out of here. I 'll call a policeman."
Colburn shook his head. "Better get out of town without any more noise than you can help. He 's been drinking and he 's looking for you with a gun. That 's how we got the story. Turn up your collar. These cabs at night are great places to catch pneumonia in."
Sims squirmed and muttered unintelligibly. "Leave me alone," he stammered when Colburn put out a hand to help him turn up his collar at the back.
"What 's the matter?" Colburn soothed him. "I simply wanted to give you a chance. I don't believe in jumping into print with a story without hearing the other side of it. It makes no difference to me. I
