The door stood open, and he looked in over the top of his steel-bowed spectacles. The office was dark and shadowy, but from an inner room, where the presses stood, a light shone. While he hesitated, the half-grown boy who was Griff's chief assistant came from the office. Roger Oakley placed a hand on his shoulder. “Is Mr. Ryder in, sonny?” he asked. “Yes, he's in the back room, where you see the light.” “Thank you.” He found Ryder busy making up, by the light of a single dingy lamp, for the _Herald_ went to press in the morning. Griff gave a start of surprise when he saw who his visitor was; then he said, sharply, “Well, sir, what can I do for you?” It was the first time the old convict and the editor had met, and Roger Oakley, peering over his spectacles, studied Ryder's face in his usual slow fashion. At last he said: “I hope I am not intruding, Mr. Ryder, for I'd like to speak with you.” “Then be quick about it,” snapped Griff. “Don't you see I'm busy?” With the utmost deliberation the old convict took from his pocket a large red-and-yellow bandanna handkerchief. Then he removed his hat and wiped his face and neck with elaborate thoroughness. When he finally spoke he dropped his voice to an impressive whisper. “I don't think you understand Dannie, Mr. Ryder, or the reasons for the trouble down at the shops.” “Don't I? Well, I'll be charmed to hear your explanation.” And he put down the rule with which he had been measuring one of the printed columns on the table before him. Without being asked Roger Oakley seated himself in a chair by the door. He placed his hat and handkerchief on a corner of the table, and took off his spectacles, which he put into their case. Ryder watched him with curious interest. “I knew we could settle this, Mr. Ryder,” said he, with friendly simplicity. “You've been unfair to my son. That was because you did not understand. When you do, I am certain you will do what you can to make right the wrong you have done him.” A vicious, sinister smile wreathed Ryder's lips. He nodded. “Go on.” “Dannie's done nothing to you to make you wish to hurt him--for you are hurting him. He don't admit it, but I know.” “I hope so,” said Ryder, tersely. “I should hate to think my energy had been entirely wasted.” A look of pained surprise crossed Roger Oakley's face. He was quite shocked at the unchristian feeling Griff was displaying. “No, you don't mean that!” he made haste to say. “You can't mean it.” “Can't I?” cynically. Roger Oakley stole a glance from under his thick, bushy eyebrows at the editor. He wondered if an apt quotation from the Scriptures would be of any assistance. The moral logic with which he had intended to overwhelm him had somehow gone astray-He presented the singular spectacle of a man who was in the wrong, and who knew he was in the wrong and was yet determined to persist in it.