His first care the evening before had been to hunt out Chillingworth.  He had found him in a theatre and had got him out to the foyer and kept him through the third act, pouring in his ears as much as he felt that it was well for him to know.  Chillingworth had drawn his square, brown hands through his hair and, in lieu of copy-paper, had nibbled away his programme and paced the corner by the cloak-room.

“It looks like a great big thing,” said the city editor; “don’t you think it looks like a great big thing?”

“Extraordinarily so,” assented St. George, watching him.

“Can you handle it alone, do you think?” Chillingworth demanded.

“Ah, well now, that depends,” replied St. George.  “I’ll see it through, if it takes me to Yaque.  But I’d like you to promise, Mr. Chillingworth, that you won’t turn Crass loose at it while I’m gone, with his feverish head-lines.  Mrs. Hastings and her niece must be spared that, at all events.”

“Don’t you be a sentimental idiot,” snapped Chillingworth, “and spoil the biggest city story the paper ever had.  Why, this may draw the whole United States into a row, and mean war and a new possession and maybe consulates and governorships and one thing or another for the whole staff.  St. George, don’t spoil the sport.  Remember, I’m dropsical and nobody can tell what may happen.  By the way, where did you say this prince man is?”

“Ah, I didn’t say,” St. George had answered quietly.  “If you’ll forgive me, I don’t think I shall say.”

“Oh, you don’t,” ejaculated Chillingworth.  “Well, you please be around at eight o’clock in the morning.”

St. George watched him walking sidewise down the aisle as he always walked when he was excited.  Chillingworth was a good sort at heart, too; but given, as the bishop had once said of some one else, to spending right royally a deal of sagacity under the obvious impression that this is the only wisdom.

At his desk next morning Chillingworth gave to St. George a note from Amory, who had been at Long Branch with The Aloha when the letter was posted and was coming up that noon to put ashore Bennietod.

“May Cawthorne have his day off to-morrow and go with me?” the letter ended.  “I’ll call up at noon to find out.”

“Yah!” growled Chillingworth, “it’s breaking up the whole staff, that’s what it’s doin’.  You’ll all want cut-glass typewriters next.”

“If I should sail to-day,” observed St. George, quite as if he were boarding a Sound steamer, “I’d like to take on at least two men.  And I’d like Amory and Cawthorne.  You could hardly go yourself, could you, Mr. Chillingworth?”

“No, I couldn’t,” growled Chillingworth, “I’ve got to keep my tastes down.  And I’ve got to save up to buy kid gloves for the staff.  Look here—­” he added, and hesitated.

“Yes?” St. George complied in some surprise.

“Bennietod’s half sick anyway,” said Chillingworth, “he’s thin as water, and if you would care—­”