The Old Reporter
Wall Street. That was the reason Billy Woods went uptown. He went to the home of the president of the company and asked, mysteriously, to see him alone. He was informed that he was out. Billy knew that; that was the reason he asked for him. Of course other reporters had come to the house; they had been there every few hours of the last twenty-four, including midnight and two o'clock; they had not asked to see the master of the house alone, and they had been anything but mysterious; they endeavored to be as pleasant and conciliatory as possible. But of course they had not succeeded in seeing the inside of the vestibule, much less a member of the family.
"Are you quite certain he's out?" exclaimed Billy Woods excitedly to the servant. "Did he not leave a message for me? What! Why, this is most extraordinary, I'm sure; most extraordinary! Did he not tell you I was coming?" His vowels had become broad and the intonation in his questions was not American.
The servant explained that he had been instructed to admit no one. But he said
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