Wayne eyed the papers critically. There was no lack of respect in the text which was spread across two columns at the top of the page beneath the joined portraits; he even caught the flavour of some of his father’s own phrases, though they were not directly quoted, and as for the illustrations, they were not better or worse than the average newspaper pictures. One journal presented a sketch of the Craighill family, with generous reference to Wayne’s mother and her high place among the women who had contributed to the city’s better life. Miss Allen was a woman of unusual charm, of an old New England family, who had lived much abroad, and her coming would be an event of interest and importance in the Greater City. Mrs. Blair and Wayne were mentioned in all these recitals to complete the family history. “You get off easy,” remarked Wayne, carelessly, scanning the column of condensed news. “The _Star_ has an editorial on some of the points I made in my Cleveland speech. I suppose Bixby had that done. Bixby’s a good enough fellow, but why he should own a newspaper as vile as the _Star_ I don’t know.” “I guess men don’t own newspapers for fun,” remarked Wayne. “Bixby bought the _Star_ to use as a club in his other businesses. It would help us if we had a sheet to fight back with.” “I had a chance to buy the _Star_ when Bixby took it, but I had too many cares already.” “Well, you might have made a decent paper of it. That’s what you’ve always said we need in this town; but nobody wants to sink money in a daily Sunday-school organ.” “If I had my life to live over again I should go into journalism; its opportunities for public service are limitless and I don’t believe the people really want these indecent things that are thrown on our doorsteps to-day.” The decline of the American press was a familiar topic of conversation at the Craighill breakfast table, but to-day it served to divert attention from the great issue of the hour. When Wayne had finished with the papers he told the maid to take them away and addressed himself to the simple breakfast. “They talk of running John for mayor,” remarked Colonel Craighill, “and I hope he’ll consent to be the Municipal League’s candidate. He’d have the support of the best element beyond a doubt.” “Beyond a doubt,” Wayne repeated, not particularly interested in his brother-in-law’s political ambitions; “but that wouldn’t elect him. We’ve had reform candidates before who were just as good as John. They start all right, but they don’t finish.” “All we can do in such matters is to keep up the fight. The powers of evil can’t prevail forever.” “No; but they work with the boys in the trenches while the rest of us abuse them over expensive dinners. There’s a practical difference. This town’s all right. If we’d stop abusing it and suppress the muck-rakers we might get somewhere.”