“You miserable hound!” said Dr. Elliot.

Hal stood, silent.

“What have you to say for yourself?”

“Nothing.”

“My niece came to your office to save your rag of a sheet.  I shot down a poor crazy devil in your defense.  And this is how you repay us.”

Hal faced him, steadfast, wretched, determined upon only one thing:  to endure whatever he might say or do.

“Do you know who’s really responsible for that tenement?  Answer me!”

“No.”

“I!  I!  I!” shouted the infuriated man.

“You?  The records show—­”

“Damn the records, sir!  The property was trusteed years ago.  I should have looked after it, but I never even thought of its being what it is.  And my niece didn’t know till this morning that she owned it.”

“Why didn’t you say so to our reporter, then?” cried Hal eagerly.  “Let us print a statement from you, from her—­”

“In your sheet?  If you so much as publish her name again—­By Heavens, I wish it were the old days, I’d call you out and kill you.”

“Dr. Elliot,” said Hal quietly, “did you think I wanted to print that about Esme?”

“Wanted to?  Of course you wanted to.  You didn’t have to, did you?”

“Yes.”

“What compelled you?” demanded the other.

“You won’t understand, but I’ll tell you.  The ‘Clarion’ compelled me.  It was news.”

“News!  To blackguard a young girl, ignorant of the very thing you’ve held her up to shame for!  The power of the press!  A power to smirch the names of decent people.  And do you know where my girl is now, on this day when your sheet is smearing her name all over the town?” demanded the physician, his voice shaking with wrath and grief.  “Do you know that—­you who know everybody’s business?”

Chill fear took hold upon Hal.  “No,” he said.

“In quarantine for typhus.  Here!  Keep off me!”

For Hal, stricken with his first experience of that black, descending mist which is just short of unconsciousness, had clutched at the other’s shoulder to steady himself.

“Where?” he gasped.

“I won’t tell you,” retorted the Doctor viciously.  “You might make another article out of that, of the kind you enjoy so much.”

But this was too ghastly a joke.  Hal straightened, and lifted his head to an eye-level with his denouncer.  “Enjoy!” he said, in a low tone.  “You may guess how much when I tell you that I’ve loved Esme with every drop of my blood since the first time I ever spoke with her.”

The Doctor’s grim regard softened a little.  “If I tell you, you won’t publish it?  Or give it away?  Or try to communicate with her?  I won’t have her pestered.”

“My word of honor.”

“She’s at the typhus hospital.”

“And she’s got typhus?” groaned Hal.

“No.  Who said she had it?  She’s been exposed to it.”

Hardly was the last word out of his mouth when he was alone.  Hal had made a dash for a taxi.  “Health Bureau,” he cried.