Dr. Surtaine, after studying the problem, decided to employ the instance of the Mid-State and Great Muddy River Railroad as the entering wedge of his argument. Hal owned a considerable block of stock, earning the handsome dividend of eight per cent. Under attacks possibly leading to adverse legislation, this return might well be reduced and Hal's own income suffer a shrinkage. Therefore, in the interests of all concerned, Hal ought to keep his hands off the subject. Could anything be clearer? Obviously not, the senior Surtaine thought, and so laid it before the junior, one morning as they were walking down town together. Hal admitted the assault upon the Mid-and-Mud; defended it, even; added that there would be another phase of it presently in the way of an attempt on the part of the paper to force a better passenger service for Worthington. Dr. Surtaine confessed a melancholious inability to see what the devil business it was of Hal's. "It isn't I that's making the fight, Dad. It's the 'Clarion.'" "The same thing." "Not at all the same thing. Something very much bigger than I or any other one man. I found that out at the breakfast." That breakfast! Socialistic, anarchistic, anti-Christian, were the climactic adjectives employed by Dr. Surtaine to signify his disapproval of the occasion. "Sorry you didn't like it, Dad. You heard nothing but plain facts." "Plain slush! Just look at this railroad accident article broad-mindedly, Boyee. You own some Mid-and-Mud stock." "Thanks to you, Dad." "Paying eight per cent. How long will it go on paying that if the newspapers keep stirring up trouble for it? Anti-railroad sentiment is fostered by just such stuff as the 'Clarion' printed. What if the engineer _was_ worked overtime? He got paid for it." "And seven people got killed for it. I understand the legislature is going to ask why, mainly because of our story and editorial." "There you are! Sicking a pack of demagogues onto the Mid-and-Mud. How can it make profits and pay your dividends if that kind of thing keeps up?" "I don't know that I need dividends earned by slaughtering people," said Hal slowly. "Maybe you don't need the dividends, but there's plenty of people that do, people that depend on 'em. Widows and orphans, too." "Oh, that widow-and-orphan dummy!" cried Hal. "What would the poor, struggling railroads ever do without it to hide behind!" "You talk like Ellis," reproved his father. "Boyee, I don't want you to get too much under his influence. He's an impractical will-o'-the-wisp chaser. Just like all the writing fellows." By this time they had reached the "Clarion" Building. "Come in, Dad," invited Hal, "and we'll talk to Ellis about Old Home Week. He's with you there, anyway." "Oh, he's all right aside from his fanatical notions," said the other as they mounted the stairs. The associate editor nodded his greetings from above a pile of left-over copy. "Old Home Week?" he queried. "Let's see, when does it come?"