“But I must have a story for our first edition, that goes to press before that.”

I had Carpenter by the arm, and kept him firmly walking.  I could not get rid of the reporter, but I was resolved to get my warning spoken, regardless of anything.  Said I:  “This is a matter extremely urgent for you to understand, Mr. Carpenter.  This young man represents a newspaper, and anything you say to him will be read in the course of a few hours by perhaps a hundred thousand people.  If it is found especially senational, the Continental Press may put it on its wires, and it will go to several hundred papers all over the country—­”

“Twelve hundred and thirty-seven papers,” corrected the young man.

“So you see, it is necessary that you should be careful what you say—­far more so than if you were speaking to a handful of Mexican laborers or Jewish housewives.”

Said Carpenter:  “I don’t understand what you mean.  When I speak, I speak the truth.”

“Yes, of course,” I replied—­and meantime I was racking my poor wits figuring out how to present this strange acquaintance of mine most tactfully to the world.  I knew the reporter would not tarry long; he would grab a few sentences, and rush away to telephone them in.

“I’ll tell you what I’m free to tell,” I began.  “This gentleman is a healer, a man of very remarkable gifts.  Mental healing, you understand.”

“I get you,” said the reporter.  “Some religion?”

“Mr. Carpenter teaches a new religion.”

“I see.  A sort of prophet!  And where does he come from?”

I tried to evade.  “He has just arrived—­”

But the blood-hound of the press was not going to be evaded.  “Where do you come from, sir?” he demanded, of Carpenter.

To which Carpenter answered, promptly:  “From God.”

“From God?  Er—­oh, I see.  From God!  Most interesting!  How long ago, may I ask?”

“Yesterday.”

“Oh!  That is indeed extraordinary!  And this mob that you’ve just been addressing—­did you use some kind of mind cure on them?”

I could see the story taking shape; the headlines flamed before my mind’s eye—­streamer heads, all the way across the sheet, after the fashion of our evening papers: 

PROPHET FRESH FROM GOD QUELLS MOB

XXVI

I came to a sudden decision in this crisis.  The sensible thing to do was to meet the issue boldly, and take the job of launching Carpenter under proper auspices.  He really was a wonderful man, and deserved to be treated decently.

I addressed the reporter again.  “Listen.  This gentleman is a man of remarkable gifts, and does not take money for them; so, if you are going to tell about him at all, do it in a dignified way.”

“Of course!  I had no other idea—­”

“Your city editor might have another idea,” I remarked, drily.  “Permit me to introduce myself.”  I gave him my name, and saw him start.