“All right,” assented Caleb with cheerful acquiescence, “I won’t, if it jars you. But that’s the story that’s goin’ out under my name. An’ you’re the man who’s goin’ to help me. Now, listen to me, an’ be sure you get my instructions right. An’ don’t butt in with any objections. Because I need you to help me. If you don’t, some other paper will. May as well get a ‘beat’ for the _Star_. Besides, you know I can help folks sometimes who helps me. There’s other deals besides Steeloid. Will you stand by me? Is it a go?” The Fighter’s tone had deepened to a growl that held more menace than appeal. His eyes were fixed in scowling command on his visitor’s face. “This cringing attitude of yours touches me to the heart,” said Caine; speaking lightly, though he felt the other’s magnetic domination throughout his entire being, “What do you want me to do?” “I want you,” dictated Conover, “to go back to your office and send for your best reporter. Don’t put this up to your managin’ editor, but handle it yourself. The reporter will work a lot better when he thinks it’s a story the owner’s int’rested in. That’s workman-nature, ain’t it?” “Go ahead,” smiled Caine, fighting against that merciless domination which found expression in the man himself, not in his words. “Send for your best, sharpest reporter,” resumed Caleb, “Give him an outline of this case against old Shevlin. Tell him to spread himself on it. As a starter, tell him Shevlin an’ me used to be friends, an’ suggest that he’d better chase around here first of all an’ interview me, to find out if I ever heard of the graft trick that was worked on those two public buildin’s. I never let reporters get in here; but I’ll make an exception in this case, ’cause he’ll bring a pers’nal note from my pers’nal friend, Amzi Nicholas Caine, Esquire. I’ll talk to him kind of guarded-like. But pretty soon I’ll get rattled under his questions, an’ let out enough to put him on the right track. Then when I see he’s s’picious, I’ll give in an’ tell him the whole thing, an’ exonerate ol’ Shevlin to beat the band. That reporter’ll feel like the man who went out for squirrels an’ brought home a bear. Then, when he reports back to you, I want you should be firm in your dooty to the c’moonity. You must decide that pers’nal friendship can’t stand in the way of the public’s sacred right to find out things that’s none of their business. Print the whole terr’ble trooth. Don’t spare _me_. But see that you clear Shevlin’s name till it shines like it had a Sat’dy night bath. An’ _Dey--ain’t--to--be--mentioned_! Understand?” “Perfectly,” answered Caine, “And I’ll do nothing of the sort.” “D’ye mean you--?”