"
"How do you know this?"
"Because I fell into talk with him. I thought little of it at
the time, nor would have given it a second thought but for this
letter; but now I'm sure it's the man. I met him on the cars
when I went down the line on Wednesday--a hard case if ever there
was one. He said he was a reporter. I believed it for the
moment. Wanted to know all he could about the Scowrers and what
he called 'the outrages' for a New York paper. Asked me every
kind of question so as to get something. You bet I was giving
nothing away. 'I'd pay for it and pay well,' said he, 'if I
could get some stuff that would suit my editor.' I said what I
thought would please him best, and he handed me a twenty-dollar
bill for my information. 'There's ten times that for you,' said
he, 'if you can find me all that I want.'"
"What did you tell him, then?"
"Any stuff I could make up."
"How do you know he wasn't a newspaper man?"
"I'll tell you. He got out at Hobson's Patch, and so did I. I
chanced into the telegraph bureau, and he was leaving it.
"'See here,' said the operator after he'd gone out, 'I guess we
should charge double rates for this.
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