THE LIFTING OF THE SPELL
The spell lifted. The city broke into a roar. People sprang into rapid and
violent motion, as though released from a physical lethargy.
"All over?" asked the reporter. He asked it in a loud shout.
"All over," replied Darrow. "You don't need to yell. I'm not deaf."
The reporter grinned.
"I guess that's what everybody else in town is doing," he surmised.
Certainly this remark was justified by the sample in the square. Every man
was shouting at his neighbor to the lung-straining limit of his ability.
Three exhorters, their eyes ablaze with fanaticism, began to thunder forth
dire warnings of the wrath to come--and gained a hearing. Men rushed to
and fro aimlessly. The gentleman with the side-whiskers, who looked like
the caricatures of the trusts, having at last succeeded in making his
imperial wishes known, clambered into a taxicab, and sat back, apparently
unimpressed. After a moment the driver recovered sufficiently to fall into
the habit of obedience, and so drove away.
While the three men watched, a burly individual with a red face came
hurtling directly at them. If they had not dodged hastily to one side,
they would have suffered a collision.
"The end of the world is at hand!" this man was shrieking. "Repent!
Repent!"
"That's Larry Mulcahey," remarked the reporter, with a grin. "He keeps
bar."
"I'm hungry," observed Darrow. "Haven't eaten since noon."
"Free lunch," suggested the reporter practically. "You won't be able to
get any service anywhere. How about that interview? Got anything to say?"
"You're the busy little bee to-night," said Darrow. "But I'll tell you
what I'll do. I'll give you a tip. Be at the Atlas Building at not later
than nine to-morrow morning, and stay at least until ten. If you can fix
it, be on the tenth floor. Hunt up the United Wireless man and make him
talk. Then come to me."
"That's afternoon paper stuff--unless it's exclusive," said the reporter
instantly.
"If you'll obey my orders the most important part of it will be
exclusive," said Darrow.
The reporter eyed him keenly.
"Why?" he asked.
"You're Hallowell, aren't you? I thought I wasn't mistaken. I saw you at
work on that Duane Street murder case. Your work was good. Besides, I like
the _Despatch_--and the afternoon papers are too soon for what I want."
"Last reason accepted. Others received and placed on file."
"All right," agreed Darrow. "Have it your own way--only obey orders." He
entered the door of the bar and advanced on the lunch counter.