As an indication of the stakes Reynolds was playing for, I cite this case. A tired, overworked, Commercial street business man—and family man—was reportedly seen crossing the river bridge with another man’s wife. The incident rated only five lines. Somehow the tired merchant got hold of a first copy of the afternoon paper—and it was said, paid $500 to have the objectionable five lines lifted before the edition was printed. And I still think Reynolds had engineered matters so that the overworked merchant could have a look-see in plenty of time to act. I had set that five line item. But I balked, later, when I got a “take” attacking one of Atchison’s foremost professional men, involving a woman, who, of all women, in her most respectable churchy connection, should have been above reproach. I gave that “take” and my “string”—type set that morning—to a printer whose case was next to mine; and called for my time. Nannie Reynolds, the publisher’s pretty 18-year-old daughter—she was really pretty—gave me a statement of the amount due me. Ordinarily, it would have been the foreman’s place to attend to this matter, but, unfortunately, he was in jail—said to have been put there because of his position on the paper, but more likely for a night’s celebration. Oldtime printers thought they had to go on periodical “busts” to ward off lead poisoning caused from handling so much type. And, incidentally, I had declined to take the foreman’s place—that is, the foremanship of the Times, while the ranking man was confined in the City bastile. I took the statement Nannie had given me down stairs to Scott Hall, who was to be the cashier of a new bank not yet formally opened, in that building—but he had been paying the paper bills. Scott said he had paid out all he was going to until more definite arrangements could be made. I went back to Reynolds. He grabbed up a full blank newspaper sheet and wrote in six-inch letters diagonally across from corner to corner: “Pay this man $17.65.” Scott Hall reluctantly went into the vault and brought out the money. He said, “This IS THE LAST. You can count yourself lucky in getting away now.” I learned later that the tall Irishman who so bravely took my “string,” did not profit by it. In fact, there were no more payments. And, with the publisher in the penitentiary and a portion of his printing plant in the Missouri river, the Times also was no more. Atchison’s enraged “good” people did not overlook any bets. Reynolds was caught in a Federal net, charged with irregularities while president of a defunct Atchison Live Stock Insurance Company. Reynold’s wife died a few months after he was taken to Leavenworth. He was permitted to come home for the funeral, under guard, of course. Nannie had neither brother nor sister. Thus, she was now left entirely alone. It is always a very sad thing for a beautiful young girl to be left out in a cold world alone.