to catch,’ as a striking example of the influence of heredity.  If the law which she so contemptuously brushed aside is to be aborted by the influence and position of her family, the precept will be a bitter and dangerous one.  Much arrant nonsense is vented concerning the ‘class-hatred’ stirred up by any criticism of the rich.  One such instance as the running-down of Miss Cleary bears within it far more than the extremest demagoguery the potentialities of an unleashed hate.  It is a lesson in lawlessness.”

Still in the afterglow of composition, Hal, tinkering lightly with the proofs, felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Well, Boy-ee,” said the voice of Dr. Surtaine.

“Hello, father,” returned Hal.  “Sit down.  What’s up?”

“I’ve just had a message from E.M.  Pierce.”

“Did you obey a royal command and go to his office?”

“No.”

“Neither did I.”

“With you it’s different.  You’re a younger man.  And Elias M. Pierce is the most powerful—­um—­er—­well, as powerful as any man in Worthington.”

“Outside of this office, possibly.”

“Don’t you be foolish, Boy-ee.  You can’t fight him.”

“Nor do I want to,” said Hal, a little chilled, nevertheless, by the gravity of the paternal tone.  “But when he comes in here and dictates what the ‘Clarion’ shall and shall not print—­”

“About his own daughter.”

“News, father.  It’s news.”

“News is what you print.  If you don’t print it, it isn’t news.  Isn’t that right?  Well, then!”

“Not quite.  News is what happens.  If no paper published this, it would be current by word of mouth just the same.  A hundred people saw it.”

“Anyway, tone your article down, won’t you, Boy-ee?”

“I’m afraid I can’t, Dad.”

“Of course you can.  Here, let me see it.”

McGuire Ellis looked up sharply, his face wrinkled into an anxious query.  It relaxed when Hal handed the editorial proof to the Doctor, saying, “Look at this, instead.”

Dr. Surtaine read slowly and carefully.  “Do you know what you’re doing?” he said, replacing the strip of paper.

“I think so.”

“That editorial will line up every important business man in Worthington against you.”

“I don’t see why it should.”

“Because they’ll see that none of ’em are safe if a newspaper can do that sort of thing.  It’s never been done here.  The papers have always respected men of position, and their business and their families, too.  Worthington won’t stand for that sort of thing.”

“It’s true, isn’t it?”

“All the more harm if it is,” retorted Dr. Surtaine, thus codifying the sum and essence of the outsider’s creed of journalism.  “Do you know what they’ll call you if you print that?  They’ll call you an anarchist.”

“Will they?”

“Ask Ellis.”

“Probably,” agreed the journalist.