"What journal are you editor of?"
"Of _La Independencia_," replied Merelo, with a genial smile.
"I might have known it by the impudence which you show," retorted the
minister coolly, turning on his heel.
The General Count de Rios used to tell at his receptions, with the tears
of delight, of one famous exploit which Merelo's especial gifts had
allowed him to accomplish.
He was at his favorite post of observation, like a watch-dog, at one of
the doors of the _salon de conferencias_; he had been for some time on
the scent for news, when he happened to see a page carry a telegram to
the President of the Council of Ministers. The President opened it, read
it carefully, and crumpled it in his hands with a frown, and then walked
along with slow step to the lobby. Merelo was all alive, and followed
him with ears alert, with eager eyes, and quivering nostrils. The
President went to the wash-room. Merelo waited patiently. The President
came out. Then Merelo's brain underwent a sudden and terrible
revolution; he hesitated a moment whether or not to follow him back;
but at that instant he was inspired by one of those thoughts that
illuminate the records of journalism; instead of following his quarry,
he darted like a flash into the wash-room, looked, and hunted, and
hunted.... At last, in an obscure spot, he found a bit of crumpled blue
paper. He had no hesitation in pulling it out.