“Don’t you dare to print a word about this affair!”

Dick looked quietly at young Dodge.

“Did you hear me?” demanded Bert.

“Yes.”

“Then what’s your answer?”

“That I heard you, Bert.”

“You young puppy!” cried Dodge, advancing threateningly.  “Don’t you address me familiarly.”

“I don’t care anything about addressing you at all,” retorted Prescott, flushing slightly under the insult.  “At present I can make allowances for you, for I fully understand how anxious you are.  But that is no real excuse for insulting me.”

“Are you going to heed me when I tell you to print nothing about my father’s disappearance?” insisted young Dodge.

“That is something over which you really have no control,” Dick replied slowly, though not offensively.  “I take all my orders from my employers.”

“You young mucker!” cried Bert, in exasperation.  “You print anything about our family misfortunes, and I’ll thrash you until you can’t see.”

“I won’t answer that,” Dick replied, “Until you make the attempt.  But, see here, Dodge, you should try to keep cool, and as close to the line of gentlemanly speech and conduct as possible.”

“A nice one you are, to lecture me on that subject,” jeered Bert
Dodge.   “You---only a mucker!   The son of-----”

“Stop!” roared Dick, his face reddening.  He advanced, his fists clenched.  “If you’re going to say anything against my father or mother, Bert Dodge, then stop before you say it!  Before I break your neck!”

“Stop, both of you,” interjected Hemingway, springing between the white-faced High School boys.  “No blows are going to be struck while members of the police department are around.  Dodge, of course, you’re upset and nervous, but you’re not acting the way a gentleman should, even under such circumstances.”

“Then drive that fellow away from here!” commanded Bert.

“I can’t,” confessed the officer.  “He is breaking no law, and has as much right to be here as we have.”

“Oh, he objects to my saying anything against his father or mother, but he’s out tonight to throw all manner of slime on my father’s name,” contended Bert Dodge.  His voice broke under the stress of his pent-up emotion.

“You’re wrong there, Dodge!” Dick broke in, forcing himself to speak calmly.  “I’m here to gather the facts on a matter of news, but I am not out to throw any insinuations over your father, or anyone whose good name is naturally precious to you.  Sometimes a reporter—–­even an amateur one—–­has to do things that are unpleasant, but they’re all in the line of duty.”

“‘The Blade’ won’t print a line about this matter,” raged Bert tremulously.  “Mr. Ripley is my father’s friend, and his lawyer, too.  Mr. Ripley will go to your editor, and let him know what is going to happen if that scurrilous sheet-----”

Here Bert checked himself, for Dick had begun to smile coldly.