"It was wholly the injured woman's fault," pursued Mr. Pierce, and turned a slow, challenging eye upon Hal. Over his shoulder the editor-in-chief caught sight of McGuire Ellis laying finger on lip, and following up this admonition by a gesture of arms and hands as of one who pays out line to a fish. Douglas fidgeted on his desperate edge. "You sent a reporter to interview my daughter. He was impertinent. He should be discharged." Still Mr. Pierce was firing into silence. Something rattled and flopped in a chute at his elbow. He turned, irritably. That Mr. Pierce's attention should have been diverted even for a moment by this was sufficient evidence that he was disconcerted by the immobility of the foe. But his glance quickly reverted and with added weight. Heavily he stared, then delivered his ultimatum. "The 'Clarion' will print nothing about the accident." The editor of the "Clarion" smiled. At sight of that smile some demon-artist in faces blocked in with lightning swiftness parallel lines of wrath at right angles to the corners of the Pierce mouth. Through the lips shone a thin glint of white. "You find me amusing?" Men had found Elias M. Pierce implacable, formidable, inscrutable, even amenable, in some circumstances, with a conscious and godlike condescension; but no opponent had ever smiled at his commands as this stripling of journalism was doing. Still there was no reply. In his chair McGuire Ellis leaned back with an expression of beatitude. The lawyer, shrewd enough to understand that his principal was being baited, now took a hand. "You may rely on Mr. Pierce to have the woman suitably cared for." Now the editorial smile turned upon William Douglas. It was gentle, but unsatisfying. "_And_ the reporter will be discharged at once," continued Elias M. Pierce, exactly as if Douglas had not spoken at all. "Mr. Ellis," said Hal, "will you 'phone Mr. Wayne to send up the man who covered the Pierce story?" The summoned reporter entered the room. He was a youth named Denton, one year out of college, eager and high-spirited, an enthusiast of his profession, loving it for its adventurousness and its sense of responsibility and power. These are the qualities that make the real newspaper man. They die soon, and that is why there are no good, old reporters. Elias M. Pierce turned upon him like a ponderous machine of vengeance. "What have you to say for yourself?" he demanded. Up under Denton's fair skin ran a flush of pink. "Who are you?" he blurted. "You are speaking to Mr. Elias M. Pierce," said Douglas hastily.