"What's happened?"

"It's hard to tell you," said he. "Oh, but it's hard to tell."

"Want some whiskey?" I asked, reaching for a decanter that stood
handy. He nodded and I gave him good allowance.

"Now," said I, when he'd gulped it down, "let's hear what's turned
up."

He looked at me kind of dimly, and I'll be shot if two tears didn't
well up in his eyes and run down his cheeks. "I've come to ask you,"
he said slowly and brokenly, "to ask you--if you won't intercede with
Gorgett for me; to ask you if you won't beg him to--to grant me--an
interview before to-morrow noon."

"_What!_"

"Will you do it?"

"Certainly. Have you asked for an interview with him yourself?"

He struck the back of his hand across his forehead--struck hard, too.

"Have I tried? I've been following him like a dog since five o'clock
this afternoon, beseeching him to give me twenty minutes' talk in
private. He _laughed_ at me! He isn't a man; he's an iron-hearted
devil! Then I went to his house and waited three hours for him. When
he came, all he would say was that you were supposed to be running