"Not a thing to it, Doc," Cargan repeated, "Your bunch has tried to get me before. You've shouted from the housetops that you had the goods on me. What's always happened?" "Your own creatures have acquitted you," replied the professor, from a cloud of Cargan cigar smoke. "Fair-minded men decided that I hadn't done wrong. I tell you, Doc, there's dishonest graft, and I'm against that always. And there's honest graft--the rightful perquisites of a high office. That's the trouble with you church politicians. You can't see the difference between the two." "I'm not a church politician," protested the professor. "I'm bitterly opposed to the lily-white crowd who continually rant against the thing they don't understand. I'm practical, as practical as you, and when--" Noiselessly Mr. Max slid up to the group, and stood silent, his eyes wide, his yellow face pitiful, the fear of a dog about to be whipped in his every feature. "Jim," he cried, "Jim! You got to get me out of this. You got to stand by me." "Why, what's the matter, Lou?" asked the mayor in surprise. "Matter enough," whined Max. "Do you know what's happened? Well, I'll tell--" Mr. Max was thrust aside, and replaced by a train newsboy. Mr. Magee felt that he should always remember that boy, his straw colored hair, his freckled beaming face, his lips with their fresh perpetual smile. "All the morning papers, gents," proclaimed the boy. "Get the _Reuton Star_. All about the bribery." He held up the paper. It's huge black head-lines looked dull and old and soggy. But the story they told was new and live and startling. "The Mayor Trapped," shrilled the head-lines. "Attempt to Pass Big Bribe at Baldpate Inn Foiled by Star Reporter. Hayden of the Suburban Commits Suicide to Avoid Disgrace." "Give me a paper, boy," said the mayor. "Yes--a _Star_." His voice was even, his face unmoved. He took the sheet and studied it, with an easy smile. Clinging in fear to his side, Max read, too. At length Mr. Cargan spoke, looking up at Magee. "So," he remarked. "So--reporters, eh? You and your lady friend? Reporters for this lying sheet--the _Star_?" Mr. Magee smiled up from his own copy of the paper. "Not I," he answered. "But my lady friend--yes. It seems she was just that. A _Star_ reporter you can call her, and tell no lie, Mr. Mayor." CHAPTER XXI THE MAYOR IS WELCOMED HOME It was a good story--the story which the mayor, Max, the professor and Magee read with varying emotions there in the smoking-car. The girl had served her employers well, and Mr. Magee, as he read, felt a thrill of pride in her. Evidently the employers had felt that same thrill. For in the captions under the pictures, in the head-lines, and in a first-page editorial, none of which the girl had written, the _Star_ spoke admiringly of its woman reporter who had done a man's work--who had gone to Baldpate Inn and had brought back a gigantic bribe fund "alone and unaided". "Indeed?" smiled Mr. Magee to himself.