“The scoundrels!” growled Officer Hicks. “Surely, Mr. Gale, we can do something to prevent them from printing our pictures in their newspaper? Ain’t there any way of stopping them?” A malicious glint came to Gale’s eyes. “Probably there is, John,” he said. “We must see what we can do. Perhaps it will be possible not only to prevent them from publishing the pictures, but to put them in jail, besides, for violating the new anticamera law.” As he finished speaking, his gaze lighted on a boy who was walking on the opposite side of the street. “Seems to me I know that kid,” said Gale. “He’s employed in the _Bulletin_ office. My father pointed him out to me on the street the other day as Carroll’s office boy.” Then his face suddenly lighted up as an idea came to him. “Excuse me for a few minutes, John,” he said to the policeman. “I’m going to have a talk with our young friend across the way. I’ve got a sort of hunch that he may be able to help us.” CHAPTER XXI. TEMPTED. “Pardon me, sir, but may I take the liberty of asking you if you are not a newspaper man?” said Gale, addressing Editor Carroll’s office boy. Master Charles Miggles, better known in the _Bulletin_ office as “Miggsy,” regarded the speaker with some suspicion. Miggsy was only fourteen years old, and not in the habit of being addressed as “sir.” To be looked upon as a newspaper man was also a brand-new experience for him. He had never dared to consider that his job as office boy in the _Bulletin_ office entitled him to that classification. Miggsy’s first thought, therefore, was that he was being joshed by the good-looking, nattily dressed young man who thus addressed him. A brief study of the latter’s face, however, caused him to change his mind. Apparently this polite stranger was perfectly serious. Whereupon Miggsy’s chest suddenly swelled with pride. Nothing could have flattered him more than to be treated in this fashion. He was a precocious youngster, and since the tender age of twelve his greatest regret had been that he was not yet old enough to use a razor. “I may be wrong, of course,” the good-looking young man went on, with a smile, “but I don’t think so. I am a pretty good judge of men, and there is something about your appearance that tells me that you are a newspaper man. Am I right, sir?” Miggsy smiled graciously. “You are a good guesser, mister; I am on the _Daily Bulletin_,” he said, fervently hoping that the other would not inquire as to the specific nature of his duties. “I knew it!” the good-looking man exclaimed triumphantly. “I can tell a brother scribe every time. Shake hands, old chap. I, too, am a newspaper man. My name is Gale--formerly of the New York _Daily News_, now of the Oldham _Daily Chronicle_.” Miggsy’s eyes opened wide with astonishment. “Gee!” he exclaimed excitedly, “I know who you are. You’re the son of the guy what owns the _Chronicle_. I heard about you being in town.”