The Old Reporter
Woods looked at her a moment. "I'm glad you have," he said, and then he bowed low and quite gracefully, having been taught how many years ago by a mother who had a soft voice, and went down the steps, looking back once more at the girl with the brave, trustful look in her eyes. There was another once to whom he had made a promise long ago. She, too, had beautiful hands. He had written verses about them. He was starting off down the street now with facts which, if published, would ruin another man and make Billy Woods—just then another reporter came bustling up the steps. He had been waiting nearby, and had seen the door open and Woods come out.
The girl met him at the top of the stairs and shook her head decisively.
"I beg your pardon," insisted the new-comer, "but what one paper publishes you may as well let all publish," pointing down the street at Billy's disappearing back; "you talked a long time to that other reporter—" The door slammed in his face, and Billy, who had watched, went hurrying
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