“Don't you want to come out and have some oysters?” asked Bartley. “Why this princely hospitality? I'll come with you in half a minute,” Ricker said, going to the slide that carried up the copy to the composing-room and thrusting his manuscript into the box. “Where are you going?” he asked, when they found themselves out in the soft starlit autumnal air; and Bartley answered with the name of an oyster-house, obscure, but of singular excellence. “Yes, that's the best place,” Ricker commented. “What I always wonder at in you is the rapidity with which you've taken on the city. You were quite in the green wood when you came here, and now you know your Boston like a little man. I suppose it's your newspaper work that's familiarized you with the place. Well, how do you like your friend Witherby, as far as you've gone?” “Oh, we shall get along, I guess,” said Bartley. “He still keeps me in the background, and plays at being editor, but he pays me pretty well.” “Not too well, I hope.” “I should like to see him try it.” “I shouldn't,” said Ricker. “He'd expect certain things of you, if he did. You'll have to look out for Witherby.” “You mean that he's a scamp?” “No; there isn't a better conscience than Witherby carries in the whole city. He's perfectly honest. He not only believes that he has a right to run the Events in his way; but he sincerely believes that he is right in doing it. There's where he has the advantage of you, if you doubt him. I don't suppose he ever did a wrong thing in his life; he'd persuade himself that the thing was right before he did it.” “That's a common phenomenon, isn't it?” sneered Bartley. “Nobody sins.” “You're right, partly. But some of us sinners have our misgivings, and Witherby never has. You know he offered me your place?” “No, I didn't,” said Bartley, astonished and not pleased. “I thought he might have told you. He made me inducements; but I was afraid of him: Witherby is the counting-room incarnate. I talked you into him for some place or other; but he didn't seem to wake up to the value of my advice at once. Then I couldn't tell what he was going to offer you.” “Thank you for letting me in for a thing you were afraid of!” “I didn't believe he would get you under his thumb, as he would me. You've got more back-bone than I have. I have to keep out of temptation; you have noticed that I never drink, and I would rather not look upon Witherby when he is red and giveth his color in the cup. I'm sorry if I've let you in for anything that you regret. But Witherby's sincerity makes him dangerous,--I own that.” “I think he has some very good ideas about newspapers,” said Bartley, rather sulkily. “Oh, very,” assented Ricker. “Some of the very best going. He believes that the press is a great moral engine, and that it ought to be run in the interest of the engineer.” “And I suppose you believe that it ought to be run in the interest of the public?” “Exactly--after the public has paid.”