"Well! Read 'em!" Mr. Wells spread his papers out before Paul, whose astonished eyes took in for a second time the story of the Wilkes suicide. But what a story! He read his own name in big, black type; he read head-lines that told of a starving boy sent out on a hopeless assignment as a cruel joke; he read the story as it had really occurred, only told in the third person by an author who was neither ashamed nor afraid to give credit where it was due. The egotistical pretense of _The Buffalo Intelligencer_ was torn to shreds, and ridicule was heaped upon its editor. Paul read nervously, breathlessly, until Wells interrupted him. "I'm to blame for this," said he. "I couldn't stand for such a crooked deal. When I got in this morning and saw what that fat imbecile had done to you I tipped the true facts off to the others--all of the facts I knew. They got the rest from Corrigan, down at the Grand Trunk depot. Of course this means my job, if the old man finds it out; but I don't give a damn." As yet Anderson was too dazed to grasp what had happened to him, but the other continued: "The boys have had it in for Burns, on the quiet, for months, and now I guess they're even." "I--I don't know how to thank you," stammered Anderson. "Don't try. You're a born reporter, and the other papers will give you a job even if the baby hippo in yonder fires you." A boy touched Paul on the arm with the announcement, "Mr. Burns wants to see you." "Oho!" cried Wells. "He's got the bad news. Gee! I'd like to hear what he says. I'll bet he's biting splinters out of his desk. Let me know what comes off, will you?" When Anderson entered the office of his editor he was met by a white-faced man whose rage had him so by the throat that speech for a moment was impossible. Beneath Mr. Burns's feet, and strewn broadcast about the room, were the crumpled sheets of the afternoon papers. Burns glared at the newcomer for a moment, then he extended a shaking finger, crying, furiously: "You did this!" "Did what?" "You put up this job. You made a fool of me!" "No, sir! I did not. Your parents saw to that." "Don't tell me you didn't, you--you damned ungrateful--" Burns seemed about to assault his reporter, but restrained himself. "You're fired! Do you understand? Fired--discharged." "Say, Burns--" "Not a word. I'm done with you. I--"