“Advertisers,” said the city editor significantly. “Let ‘em drop out. They’ll come back quick enough, when we’ve shown up one or two and told why they quit us. And think of the splash we can make! Only paper in the city that dares tell the truth. We’ll rub that into our highly respectable rivals. I’ll make you a proposition,” he added, turning to his caller. “Make it.” “You know I’ve hammered at Tom Clyde pretty hard. I don’t cotton to that saintly, holier-than-thou reform bunch at all. Well, let Clyde come into the ‘Star’ with a signed statement as President of the Public Health League, and we’ll make it the basis of a campaign that will rip this town wide open for a couple of weeks. I’d like to see him in my paper, after all the roasting we’ve handed him.” And the malicious face wrinkled into another grin. “You’ve bought a bargain,” stated Mrs. Sharpless. “The statement will be ready to-night. And another from Dr. Strong for good measure.” “Fine business!” ejaculated the “Star’s” owner. “Not open to a reasonable offer in the newspaper game, are you?” he added, laughing. “No? Well, I’m sorry.” “Would there be any use in my seeing the editors of the other papers?” asked Mrs. Sharpless. “Watch them fall in line,” was the grim response. “Before we’ve been out a day, they’ll be tumbling over each other to make the dear, deluded public believe that they’re the real pioneers in saving the city from the deadly germ.” “Well, here are my notes, if you can make anything out of them.” “Eh? Notes?” said the newspaper man, who had been glancing at the sheets over Mrs. Sharp-less’s shoulder. “Oh—ah. Yes, of course. All right. Glad to have metcher,” he added, politely ushering her to the door. “I’ll send a reporter up for the statements at eight o’clock.” “Thank you very much, Bartholomew Snyder,” said Grandma Sharpless, shaking hands. “Not a bit of it! Thanks the other way. You’ve given me a good tip in my own game. Watch me—us—wake ‘em up to-morrow.”