"There's the difficulty. She doesn't seem to want to take care of herself. She's lost interest in the club. For a time she was drinking heavily at some of the all-night places. And this news of her quitting here is worst of all. She seemed so enthusiastic about the work." "Her job's open for her if she wants to come back." "Good! I'm glad to hear that. It gives me something to work on." "By the way," said McGuire Ellis, "how do you like the paper?" Sooner or later he put this question to every one with whom he came in contact. What he found out in this way helped to make him the journalistic expert he was. "Pretty well," hesitated the other. "What's wrong with it?" inquired Ellis. "Well, frankly, some of your advertising." "We're the most independent paper in this town on advertising," stated Ellis with conviction. "I know you dropped the Sewing Aid Society advertisement," admitted Hale. "But you've got others as bad. Yes, worse." "Show 'em to me." Leaning forward to the paper on Ellis's desk, the visitor indicated the "copy" of Relief Pills. Ellis's brow puckered. "You're the second man to kick on that," he said. "The other was a doctor." "It's a bad business, Mr. Ellis. It's the devil's own work. Isn't it hard enough for girls to keep straight, with all the temptations around them, without promising them immunity from the natural results of immorality?" "Those pills won't do the trick," blurted Ellis. "They won't?" cried the other in surprise. "So doctors tell me." "Then the promise is all the worse," said the clergyman hotly, "for being a lie." "Well, I have troubles enough over the news part of the paper, without censoring the ads. When an advertiser tries to control news or editorial policy, I step in. Otherwise, I keep out. There's my platform." Hale nodded. "Let me know how I can help on the epidemic matter," said he, and took his leave. "The trouble with really good people," mused McGuire Ellis, "is that they always expect other people to be as good as they are. And _that's_ expensive," sighed the philosopher, turning back to his desk.