“Every friend and business associate of Pierce’s will be down on you.”

“The whole angry hive of capital and privilege,” confirmed Ellis.

“You see,” cried the pleader; “you can’t print it.  Publishing an article about Kathleen Pierce will be bad enough, but it’s nothing to what this other roast would be.  One would make Pierce hate you as long as he lives.  The other will make the whole Business Interests of the city your enemy.  How can you live without business?”

“Business isn’t as rotten as that,” averred Hal.  “If it is, I’m going to fight it.”

“Fight business!” It was almost a groan.  “Tell him, Ellis, what a serious thing this is.  You agree with me in that, don’t you?”

“Entirely.”

“And that the ‘Clarion’ can’t afford to touch the thing at all?  You’re with me there, too, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely not.”

“You’re going to stand by and see my boy turn traitor to his class?”

“Damn his class,” said McGuire Ellis, in mild, conversational tones.

“As much as you like,” agreed the other, “in talk.  But when it comes to print, remember, it’s our class that’s got the money.”

“Wouldn’t it be a refreshing change,” suggested Ellis, “to have one paper in Worthington that money won’t buy?”

“All very well, if you were strong enough.”  The wily old charlatan shifted his ground.  “Wait until you’ve built up to it.  Then, when you’ve got the public, you can afford to be independent.”

“Get your price and then reform.  Is that the idea, Father?” said Hal.

“Boy-ee, I don’t know what’s come over you lately.  Journalism seems to have got into your blood.”

“Blame Ellis.  He’s been my preceptor.”

“Both of you have got your lesson to learn.”

“Well, I’ve learned one,” asserted Hal:  “that it’s the business of a newspaper to print the news.”

“There’s only one sound business principle, success.  When it costs you more to print a thing than not to print it, it’s bad business to print it.”

“I’m sorry, Dad, but the ‘Clarion’ is going to carry this to-morrow.”

“In case you’re nervous about Mr. Pierce,” put in McGuire Ellis with Machiavellian innuendo, “I can pass it on to him that you’re in no way responsible for the ‘Clarion’s’ policy.”

“Me, afraid of Elias M. Pierce?” Our Leading Citizen’s prickly vanity was up in arms at once.  “I’ll match him or fight him dollar for dollar, as long as my weasel-skin lasts.  No, sir:  if Hal’s going to fight, I’ll stick by him as long as there’s a dollar in the till.”

“It’s mighty good of you, Dad, and I know you’d do it.  But I’ve made up my mind to win out or lose out on the capital you gave me.  And I won’t take a cent more.”

“That’s business, too, son.  I like that.  But I hate to see you lose.  By publishing your editorial you’re committing your paper absolutely to a policy, and a fatal one.  Well, I won’t argue any more.  But I haven’t given up yet.”