“Can it be suppressed?” “It’s got to be. Honor of the profession and all that sort of thing. Let’s get out. I want some air.” Outside they walked along for a block, before either spoke. Jeremy said: “Andy, how’s this going to affect you?” “Don’t know. Shut up about it, can’t you! Talk about something else.” “All right,” agreed the other cheerfully. “I’ll talk about myself. I’ve got a chance to make a change. What do you think of editorial writing?” “Nice, soft job. If you can do it. I could n’t.” “I can.” “Go to it, then. Only I would n’t stick to it.” “Why not?” Galpin rubbed his shaggy head. “Oh, I dunno. Too much preaching of the other fellow’s doctrine, I guess.” Jeremy’s mind reverted to Milliken’s view and he wondered how nearly the two agreed. Certainly between preaching and the profession to which the Socialist had bitterly likened editorializing, yawned the widest of gulfs. He stated Milliken’s characterization. “Rough stuff,” commented Galpin. “I guess there’s something in it, though. Ay-ah. I get his point.” “Then you would n’t take the job?” “You might try it on for a while. But as a permanency--well, it seems to me a fellow that’s settled down to write editorials for another man all his life has sort of given up.” “Given up? What?” “Everything. He’s licked. Ay-ah. He’s a beaten man. He’s under contract to think another man’s thoughts and make other folks think ’em if he can.” “Are n’t we doing that as reporters?” “Not so much. Facts ain’t thoughts. You can report and keep your mind independent. That’s why I climb off the desk whenever I can, like to-day. Whew! I came near having Mr. Wymett go along with me. He was held up at the last minute.” Galpin turned into his office. Jeremy went to The Record to report to Wackley and was turned over to Mr. Farley. “Nothing about The Guardian can be published, of course,” prescribed that diplomat, who had already been in communication with the local leaders. “Give us half a column of the rest. And go light. It’s ticklish ground.” After finishing, Jeremy went out for a long and thoughtful walk. On his return home he found a letter with the letterhead of Messrs. Hunt & Hunt, Attorneys, of Philadelphia. The firm begged to inform him that, with due allowance for taxes and fees, he was heir, under his great-aunt’s will, to the sum of $86,730.18. CHAPTER XI AFTER listening to Andrew Galpin’s verbal report upon Senator Martin Embree’s painful and convincing characterization of The Guardian’s editorial page as for sale to the highest bidder, backed up by discouraging details regarding himself, A. M. Wymett retired to his house to commune with a bottle and a time-table of the trains to Canada. As a man’s house is his castle and as castles are not connected with a troublous and uncharitable world by wires of communication, he further fortified his position by cutting off the telephone. He then profoundly considered his prospects and as profoundly misliked them.