"Glad to hear it. Your hands will be full with this job. But it was news. Everybody is interested in the son of our leading citizen. The 'Banner' is strong on that sort of local stuff. I think I'll jack up our boys in the city room by hinting that there may be a shake-up coming under the new owner. Knowing they're on probation will make 'em ambitious." "And the news of the outside world?" "Much the same principle as the local matter and just as machine-like. The 'Clarion' is a unit in a big system, the National News Exchange Bureau. Not only has the bureau its correspondents in every city and town of any size, but it covers the national sources of news with special reporters. Also the international. Theoretically it gives only the plainest facts, uncolored by any bias. As a matter of fact, it's pretty crooked. It suppresses news, and even distorts it. It's got a secret financial propaganda dictated by Wall Street, and its policies are always open to suspicion." "Why doesn't it get honest reporters?" "Oh, its reporters are honest enough. The funny business is done higher up, in the executive offices." "Isn't there some other association we can get into?" "Not very well, just now. The Exchange franchise is worth a lot of money. Besides," he concluded, yawning, "I don't know that they're any worse than we are." Hal got to his feet and walked the length of the office and back, five times. At the end of this exercise he stood, looking down at his assistant. "Ellis, are you trying to plant an impression in my mind?" "No." "You're doing it." "Of what sort?" "I hardly know. Something subtle, and lurking and underhanded in the business. I feel as if you had your hands on a curtain that you might pull aside if you would, but that you don't want to shock my--my youthfulness." "Plain facts are what you want, aren't they?" "Exactly." "Well, I'm giving them to you as plain as you can understand them. I don't want to tell you more than you're ready to believe." "Try it, as an experiment." "Who do you suppose runs the newspapers of this town?" "Why, Mr. Vane runs the 'Banner.' Mr. Ford owns the 'Press.' The 'Telegram'--let me see--" "No; no; no," cried Ellis, waving his hands in front of his face. "I don't mean the different papers. I mean all of 'em. The 'Clarion,' with the others." "Nobody runs them all, surely." "Three men run them all; Pierce, Gibbs, and Hollenbeck." "E.M. Pierce?" "Elias Middleton Pierce." "I had luncheon with him yesterday, and with Mr. Gibbs--" "Ah! That's where you got your notions about the strike." "--and neither of them spoke of any newspaper interests." "Catch them at it! They're the Publication Committee of the Retail Dry Goods Union." "What is that?" "The combination of local department stores. And, as such, they can dictate to every Worthington newspaper what it shall or shall not print." "Nonsense!" "Including the 'Clarion.'" "There you're wrong, anyway."