"I just stepped in to tell you," said Cleggett quietly, "that I don't think much of the way you are running the Enterprise." Wharton stopped stroking his mustache so quickly and so amazedly that one might have thought he had run into a thorn amongst the hirsute growth and pricked a finger. He glared. He opened his mouth. But before he could speak Cleggett went on: "Three years ago I made a number of suggestions to you. You treated me contemptuously--very contemptuously!" Cleggett paused and drew a long breath, and his face became quite red. It was as if the anger in which he could not afford to indulge himself three years before was now working in him with cumulative effect. Wharton, only partially recovered from the shock of Cleggett's sudden arraignment, began to stammer and bluster, using the words nearest his tongue: "You d-damned im-p-pertinent------" "Just a moment," Cleggett interrupted, growing visibly angrier, and seeming to enjoy his anger more and more. "Just a word more. I had intended to conclude my remarks by telling you that my contempt for YOU, personally, is unbounded. It is boundless, sir! But since you have sworn at me, I am forced to conclude this interview in another fashion." And with a gesture which was not devoid of dignity Cleggett drew from an upper waistcoat pocket a card and flung it on Wharton's desk. After which he stepped back and made a formal bow. Wharton looked at the card. Bewilderment almost chased the anger from his face. "Eh," he said, "what's this?" "My card, sir! A friend will wait on you tomorrow!" "Tomorrow? A friend? What for?" Cleggett folded his arms and regarded the managing editor with a touch of the supercilious in his manner. "If you were a gentleman," he said, "you would have no difficulty in understanding these things. I have just done you the honor of challenging you to a duel." Mr. Wharton's mouth opened as if he were about to explode in a roar of incredulous laughter. But meeting Cleggett's eyes, which were, indeed, sparkling with a most remarkable light, his jaw dropped, and he turned slightly pale. He rose from his chair and put the desk between himself and Cleggett, picking up as he did so a long pair of shears. "Put down the scissors," said Cleggett, with a wave of his hand. "I do not propose to attack you now." And he turned and left the managing editor's little office, closing the door behind him.