Everything was in confusion; the floor was literally buried out of
sight in paper.
Montague observed that there were only about a dozen men in the
room; and several of these were putting on their coats. "There he
is, over there," said the office-boy.
He looked and saw Bates sitting at a desk, with his head buried in
his arms. "Tired," he thought to himself.
"Hello, Bates," he said; then, as the other looked up, he gave a
start of dismay.
"What's the matter?" he cried.
It was half a minute before Bates replied. His voice was husky.
"They sold me out," he whispered.
"What!" gasped the other.
"They sold me out!" repeated Bates, and struck the table in front of
him. "Cut out the story, by God! Did me out of my scoop!
"Look at that, sir," he added, and shoved toward Montague a double
column of newspaper proofs, with a huge head-line, "Gotham Trust
Company to be Wrecked," and the words scrawled across in blue
pencil, "Killed by orders from the office."
Montague could scarcely find words to reply. He drew up a chair and
sat down.
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