Vera, The Medium | Page 4

Hallowell, upstairs to that gentlemen's library, he found a group of reporters already entrenched. At the door that opened from the library to the bedroom, the butler paused. "What paper shall I say?" he asked.
"The Despatch," Walsh told him.
The servant turned quickly and stared at Walsh.
He appeared the typical butler, an Englishman of over forty, heavily built, soft- moving, with ruddy, smooth-shaven cheeks and prematurely gray hair. But now from his face the look of perfunctory politeness had fallen; the subdued voice had changed to a snarl that carried with it the accents of the Tenderloin.
"So, you're the one, are you?" the man muttered.
For a moment he stood scowling; insolent, almost threatening, and then, once more, the servant opened the door and noiselessly closed it behind him.
The transition had been so abrupt, the revelation so unexpected, that the men laughed.
"I don't blame him!" said young Irving. "I couldn't find a single fact in the whole story. How'd your people get it -- pretty straight?"
"Seemed straight to us," said Walsh.
"Well, you didn't handle it that way," returned the other. "Why didn't you quote Rainey or Gaylor? It seems to me if a man's on the point of death" -- he lowered his voice and glanced toward the closed door -- "that his private doctor and his lawyer might know something about it."
Standing alone with his back to the window was a reporter who had greeted no one and to whom no one had spoken.
Had he held himself erect he would have been tall, but he stood slouching lazily, his shoulders bent, his hands in his pockets. When he spoke his voice was in keeping with the indolence of his bearing. It was soft, hesitating, carrying with it the courteous deference of the South. Only his eyes showed that to what was going forward he was alert and attentive.
"Is Dr. Rainey Mr. Hallowell's family doctor?" he asked.
Irving surveyed him in amused superiority.
"He is!" he answered. You been long in New York?" he asked.
Upon the stranger the sarcasm was lost, or he chose to ignore it, for he answered simply, "No, I'm a New Orleans boy. I've just been taken on the Republic."
"Welcome to our city," said Irving. "What do you think of our Main Street?"
From the hall a tall portly man entered the room with the assurance of one much at home here and, with an exclamation, Irving fell upon him.
"Good morning, Judge," he called. He waved at him the clipping from the Despatch. "Have you seen this?"
Judge Gaylor accepted the slip of paper gingerly, and in turn moved his fine head pompously toward each of the young men. Most of them were known to him, but for the moment he preferred to appear too deeply concerned to greet them. With an expression of shocked indignation, he recognized only Walsh.
"Yes, I have seen it," he said, "and there is not a word of truth in it! Mr. Walsh, I am surprised! You, of all people!"
"We got it on very good authority," said the reporter.
"But why not call me up and get the facts?" demanded the Judge. "I was here until twelve o'clock, and -- "
"Here!" interrupted Irving. "Then he did have a collapse?"
Judge Gaylor swung upon his heel.
"Certainly not," he retorted angrily. "I was here on business, and I have never known his mind more capable, more alert." He lifted his hands with an enthusiastic gesture. "I wish you could have seen him!"
"Well," urged Irving, "how about our seeing him now?"
For a moment Judge Gaylor permitted his annoyance to appear, but he at once recovered and, murmuring cheerfully, "Certainly, certainly; I'll try to arrange it," turned to the butler who had re-entered the room.
"Garett," he inquired, "is Mr. Hallowell awake yet?" As he asked the question his eyebrows rose; with an almost imperceptible shake of the head he signaled for an answer in the negative.
"Well, there you are!" the Judge exclaimed heartily. "I can't wake him, even to oblige you. In a word, gentlemen, Stephen Hallowell has never been in better health, mentally and bodily. You can say that from me -- and that's all there is to say."
"Then, we can say," persisted Irving, "that you say, that Walsh's story is a fake?"
"You can say it is not true," corrected Gaylor. "That's all, gentlemen." The audience was at an end. The young men moved toward the hall and Judge Gaylor turned to the bedroom. As he did so, he found that the new man on the Republic still held his ground.
"Could I have a word with you, sir?" the stranger asked. The reporters halted jealously. Again Gaylor showed his impatience.
"About Mr. Hallowell's health?" he demanded. "There's nothing more to say."
"No, it's not about his health," ventured the reporter.
"Well, not now. I am very late this morning." The Judge again moved to the