Whispers

o have had an open seat in a forum within hearing of a Cicero or a Demosthenes. So it was that he now stood just outside the telephone booth, with an air almost of suspended animation, gazing from under lowered brows at an exhibition of conduct which was, it must have been conceded, at least a little peculiar. The young man who had entered the room had paused very casually at Beakman's desk, obviously taking note of the city map which was spread on the desk under a protecting sheet of beveled glass, and of the pigeon-holes over-filled with dusty memoranda. And then he had moved aimlessly along the line of reporters' desks, pausing almost imperceptibly at each, as if the abandoned notes strewn here and there, and the condition of the machines, and the adjustment of the lights, constituted for him a familiar and pleasing study. Finally he moved toward the open window and stood looking at the obscure facades of the great office-buildings, and then down into the lighted street. He could not have helped knowing that there had been someone in the telephone booth a moment ago; yet he was exasperatingly indifferent to other presences than his own. And it was certainly not to Beakman's liking to be ignored by any man, here in the room where his word was law, and where his authority was supreme. He decided to say something severely cutting, something witheringly scornful. It was plain that the intruder was not a person of consequence. He was a slight youth, wearing...