“That also would be interesting,” remarked Dana. “But they won’t. Our trail is too well covered. It would take them a year to get at the facts.” “But what’s the young fool driving at, anyway, Dana?” The lawyer rubbed his long angular jaw, and the somnolent look of his eyes deepened into musing. “I figure he’s making a bid for the radical support. The radicals have never had a show here, and he may be able to rally them to him.” “What do they amount to, the radicals! A newspaper has got to have the support of people with money.” “That’s the accepted theory,” admitted the lawyer. “What do you know of young Robson’s financial status!” “Quite a bit. I handled the sale for Wymett.” “Yes; yes. A good bargain for Wymett. Eh?” “A stroke of fortune.” “How much has Robson got behind him?” “Not much. Twenty thousand. Perhaps twenty-five.” Mr. Clark looked relieved. “I think we need have no misgivings.” “I’m not so sure. A paper with radical leanings might find material in that transfer ordinance of ours when it comes up again. Even some of our good friends balk at that as pretty raw.” “An essential step to our expansion, Dana,” said the public utilitarian blandly. “Exactly. But an uncharitable mind mightn’t see it that way. Which reminds me: Embree is threatening a legislative investigation if the ordinance goes through.” “Local matters are no affair of Embree’s,” declared the other angrily. “Fortunately he has no newspaper backing.” “Has n’t he? I wish I were sure.” “You don’t think that young Robson has sold out to Embree already?” “No.” “Very well, then--” “Not sold out. It is n’t a question of cash. This boy is n’t A. M. Wymett.” “Nevertheless a newspaper is a business proposition,” opined Montrose Clark dryly. “It ought to be. Much simpler if it were. But this boy is a bit of a sentimentalist. I’m afraid he’s in the way of being influenced by Smiling Mart’s line of clap-trap.” “Then we must act promptly.” The public utilitarian sat, thoughtful. “We’ll start a campaign of public education on the transfer question, through the newspapers,” he decided. “Including, of course, The Guardian.” “Straight-out, a-d-v kind of advertising?” “Hardly. The usual thing. Well-prepared articles. Perhaps a careful editorial or two. Do you think it too early?” “Not too early. Too late for The Guardian. It won’t take ’em.” “Oh, I think it will,” returned the other comfortably. “At our special rate.” “Not at any price, the editorials. The ‘readers,’ yes. But they’ll have the ‘a-d-v’ sign at the bottom. Maybe the ‘P.-U.’ trade-mark also.” Montrose Clark’s face puffed red. “Where do you get your information?” “From inside,” answered Dana, whose special virtue and value was to be “inside” on all available sources of information. “Those are the new orders.” “Robson’s?” “I suppose so. Andrew Galpin may have a hand in it. He’s in general charge.”