Then suddenly his face lighted up. “Guess I’ll go and have a talk with my friend Gale, of the _Chronicle_,” he mused. “He ought to be able to help me out of this trouble. When it comes to clever tricks, there ain’t an editor in the country is equal to that chap. Ten to one he’ll be able to dope out a way to turn the tables on that miserable rag of a _Bulletin_.” CHAPTER VI. GALE SUGGESTS. As Chief Hodgins walked down Main Street toward the _Chronicle_ office, he became painfully aware that there was a broad grin upon the face of nearly every person he met. Many of the amused persons had copies of the _Bulletin_ in their hands or protruding from their coat pockets; so that, although he was not a particularly sensitive man, he was forced to conclude that they were smiling at his expense. Several small boys followed him at a discreet distance, giggling and jeering. One street urchin, more bold than the rest, came up close behind him, and gave a graphic imitation of a man snoring. With a snarl of rage, the head of the Oldham police force wheeled around, with the intention of making a terrible example of this juvenile tormentor, but the youngster darted beyond his reach. The chief started to give chase, but soon abandoned the idea. He was too fat to be much of a sprinter. Fortunately the Chronicle Building was not far from police headquarters, so these painful experiences soon came to an end. Delancey Gale, editor and publisher of the Oldham _Chronicle_, greeted Chief Hodgins cordially when the latter stepped into his private office. “My dear chief, this is, indeed, a pleasure,” he cried effusively. “Pray sit down and make yourself comfortable.” Mr. Gale was a dapper little old man, with neatly trimmed white mutton-chop whiskers, and a very prominent Adam’s apple. There was something about his lean, sharp-featured countenance which made one think of a fox, although just in what respect he bore a physical resemblance to that animal it would have been difficult to point out. As Chief Hodgins sank into a chair, he became aware of the fact that he and the editor were not the only occupants of the room. A good-looking young man whose clothes were of the very latest cut stood near the window, with his profile toward the policeman. “You’ve met my son, of course, chief?” said the editor and publisher of the _Chronicle_. “Sure!” replied Hodgins, with a gracious nod to the young man. “But I declare I shouldn’t have known him. He’s changed a whole lot since I saw him last. That was more’n ten years ago, I guess. Doin’ newspaper work in New York, ain’t you, sir?” “He has been,” replied the elder Gale, with a proud look in the direction of the young man. “For several years, chief, my son has been a distinguished member of the staff of the New York _Daily News_. But he has resigned that position to come out here and help me run the _Chronicle_.”