THE INDEPENDENT PRESS.
Albar came down into the editorial room and, approaching me, picked up, one by one, the yet fresh sheets. He was satisfied, extremely so.
“Very good,” he said to me, “this will cause a sensation, and will exalt your name yet more. Attack fearlessly.”
At twelve, he called me up to his writing-room, not without my feeling a strange fear, presentiment of danger.
“I want you to take one matter on yourself,” he said, “because this Escorroza is of no use sometimes. Besides, I know you are from the State of X—— and I suppose you know its men, its history, its conditions, better than anyone else on the force.”
“I think so,” I replied, trembling.
“It is so,” affirmed Albar. “Put special care on the articles relative to the matter, to which I refer; because it is of importance to me and I entrust it to you because you are the best man on the staff.”
“You are very kind——”
“Not at all; it is mere justice——”
“And the matter——”
“In a moment, in a moment; you shall hear.”
The interest of the Director must indeed be great, when he was so friendly and courteous with me. His dark skin wrinkled more violently and a forced smile incessantly contracted his lips, separating yet more widely from each other, the two halves of his typically Indian moustache.