Yetta began to understand. It was her first introduction to serious temptation. In six months newspaper work had got into her blood. Besides the pleasant thrill of it, there was the usefulness. There were hundreds of girls who depended on her largely. It was hard to give up such an audience. And it was pleasant work--well-paid. It was a wonderful thing for a sweat-shop girl to have climbed so high. Should she go on "playing the game"? For a while she tried to shift the responsibility to other shoulders. What would people think? She knew what Mabel and Isadore would think. Mabel would tell her to compromise. Isadore the opposite. What would Walter think? And then it suddenly came to her clearly that it didn't matter at all what anybody else thought. She had to decide it by herself. Whatever happened, she would always have to live with herself. Self-respect was more important than the regard of even the closest friend. They were asking her to do just what she had emphatically told Cowan she would never do. She put on her hat and went to Mr. Karner's office. "This matter does not concern me," he said. "I employ Mr. Brace to edit the magazine page, and I trust his ability and judgment. If he considered it unwise to run your article, that ends it." "Mr. Karner, if _The Star_ is afraid to touch department stores, I'll resign." He spun round in his chair. "Afraid? That's strong language." "It's very easy to prove it unjustified," she said quickly. He looked at her sternly for a few minutes, taking her measure. It was his ability at this process which had enabled him to build up his paper from a third-rater to its present position. "Miss Rayefsky, you want a flat answer. We're in business to make money. We won't attack our heaviest advertisers." Yetta got up. "Don't be in a hurry. Nobody gets a chance to resign from my staff twice. Think this over for a couple of days. We've been satisfied with your work; I hoped you were. I hoped that you thought what you were doing was worth while. You can go on doing it indefinitely as far as I can see. You're about to throw up this work because you can't do the impossible. It isn't just _The Star_. It's a limitation of journalism. No editor in the city could print that story." "Within twenty-four hours I'll mail it to you in print," Yetta said, moving towards the door. "So!" he growled. "That's it, is it? Somebody else has offered you a better contract. You forget, of course, that we taught you how to write--that we advertised you--made you. You forget all that as soon as somebody else offers you--" But Yetta had slammed the door in his face. Back in her room, she called up Isadore and told him the story. "I'm mailing you the article to print in _The Clarion_." So she made the honorable amend. "I was half wrong, anyhow," he tried to comfort her. "I never would have believed they'd let you free as long as they did. And besides--you've learned to write. I hope you'll give us some more."