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Updated: May 9, 2025
"Yes," said Varney, slowly, his eye upon him, "I see." He folded the telegram, laid it at Hammerton's elbow, got up and stood with his hands on the back of his chair, looking down. At the thought that he had ever hoped to call the reporter off, to stop this deadly machinery of journalism, once it had been started, he could have laughed.
The crew, unable to repress themselves, let out a cheer, and came crowding on the deck. But Varney, standing over Hammerton's limp body, waved them back impatiently. "Hold your noise!" he ordered. "And stand back! I'm attending to this job!" He picked Hammerton up in his arms, staggered with him to his own stateroom, and laid him down on the bunk.
"I am certain that when you have heard what I have to tell you, you will report to your papers that my 'mysterious errand' turns out to be simply a matter of personal and private business, with which the public has no concern, and whose publication at this time would hopelessly ruin it. Mr. Hammerton, I came to Hunston to see Miss Mary Carstairs." A gleam came into Hammerton's eye.
Peter's tribute, in reality, was not so much for Hammerton's acceptance as for the astonishing neatness with which Varney had disposed of the editorship of his paper. But to Varney, rising limply from Hammerton's chest at the edge of the dark road, that cheer meant only that he had kicked the last obstacle out of his path and that he and Mary were going to New York to-morrow.
He is to meet the young lady, cultivate her, make friends with her all without letting her dream that he comes from her father, for that would ruin everything. And, then " He broke off, paused, considered. In Hammerton's eye he saw a light which meant sympathy, kindly consideration, human interest. He knew that the battle was half won.
He passed through into the brightly-lit business office beyond, and found the telephone, still ringing away on a desk at the farther end. Behind him the door swung shut, a circumstance for which he later had reason to be glad. "Well?" he called impatiently. "You, Larry?" asked a familiar voice. "Yes. What's the matter?" "Matter enough," said Peter in a guarded undertone. "Hammerton's loose."
He had only to say that, and he knew, for he read it in Hammerton's whole softened expression, that the boy would go away with his lips locked. But he couldn't say that, the reason being that it was not true.
That was when Varney's hands let go of the handle-bars. The next instant they fell upon Hammerton's withdrawing figure and brought it up with a sharp jerk. Peter heard the ensuing struggle, but saw nothing. He paid Varney the tribute of sitting still in his seat and saying not a word. The contest was bitter, but brief.
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