"Don't be young!" besought McGuire Ellis wearily. "Pretend you're a grown-up man, anyway. You look as if you might have some sense about you somewhere, if you'd only give it a chance to filter through." Some not unpleasant quirk of speech and manner in the man worked upon Hal's humor. "Why, I believe you're right about the youngness," he admitted, with a smile. "Perhaps there are other ways of getting at this thing. Just for a test,--for the last time will you or will you not, Mr. Sterne, publish this apology?" "We will not. There's just one person can give me orders." "Who is that?" "The owner." "I think you'll be sorry." McGuire Ellis turned upon him a look that was a silent reproach to immaturity. "Anything more?" queried Sterne. "Nothing," said Hal, with an effort at courtesy. "Good-day to you both." "Well, what about it?" asked McGuire Ellis of his chief, as the visitor's footsteps died away. "Nothing about it. When'll the next Surtaine roast be ready?" "Ought to be finished to-morrow." "Schedule it for Thursday. We'll make the old boy squeal yet. Do you believe the boy when he says that his father didn't send him?" "Sounded straight. Pretty straight boy he looked like to me, anyway." "Pretty fresh kid, _I_ think. And a good deal of a pin-head. Distributing agency for the old man's money, I guess. He won't get anywhere." "Well, I'm not so sure," said Ellis contemplatively. "Of course he acts gosh-awful young. But did you notice him when he went?" "Not particularly." "He was smiling." "Well?" "Always look out for a guy that smiles when he's licked. He's got a come-back to him." Eleven o'clock that night saw McGuire Ellis lift his head from the five-minute nap which he allowed himself on evenings of light pressure after the Washington copy was run off, and blink rapidly. At the same moment Mr. David Sterne gave utterance to an exclamation, partly of annoyance, partly of surprise. Mr. Harrington Surtaine, wearing an expression both businesslike and urbane stood in the doorway. "Good-evening, gentlemen," he remarked. Mr. Sterne snorted. Mr. Ellis's lips seemed about to form the reproachful monosyllable "young." Without further greeting the visitor took off his hat and overcoat and hung them on a peg. "You make yourself at home," growled Sterne. "I do," agreed Hal, and, discarding his coat, hung that on another peg. "I've got a right to." Tilting a slumber-burdened head, McGuire Ellis released his adjuration against youthfulness. "What's the answer?" demanded Sterne. "I've just bought out the 'Clarion,'" said Hal. CHAPTER VII THE OWNER Some degree of triumph would perhaps have been excusable in the new owner. Most signally had he turned the tables on his enemies. Yet it was with no undue swagger that he seated himself upon a chair of problematical stability, and began to study the pages of the morning's issue. Sterne regarded him dubiously. "This isn't a bluff, I suppose?" he asked. "Ask your lawyers."