Smith looked at her curiously. The cause was plainly one that lay near to her heart. Her face was flushed and eager. He wavered, and, having wavered, he did what no practical man should do. He allowed sentiment to interfere with business. He knew that a series of articles on Broster Street would probably be so much dead weight on the paper, something to be skipped by the average reader, but he put the thought aside. "Very well," he said. "If you care to turn in a few crisp remarks on the subject, I'll print them." Betty's first instalment was ready on the following morning. It was a curious composition. A critic might have classed it with Kid Brady's reminiscences, for there was a complete absence of literary style. It was just a wail of pity, and a cry of indignation, straight from the heart and split up into paragraphs. Smith read it with interest, and sent it off to the printer unaltered. "Have another ready for next week, Comrade Brown," he said. "It's a long shot, but this might turn out to be just what we need." And when, two days after the publication of the number containing the article, Mr. Martin Parker called at the office, he felt that the long shot had won out. He was holding forth on life in general to Betty shortly before the luncheon hour when Pugsy Maloney entered bearing a card. "Martin Parker?" said Smith, taking it. "I don't know him. We make new friends daily." "He's a guy wit' a tall-shaped hat," volunteered Master Maloney, "an' he's wearing a dude suit an' shiny shoes." "Comrade Parker," said Smith approvingly, "has evidently not been blind to the importance of a visit to _Peaceful Moments_. He has dressed himself in his best. He has felt, rightly, that this is no occasion for the flannel suit and the old straw hat. I would not have it otherwise. It is the right spirit. Show the guy in. We will give him audience." Pugsy withdrew. Mr. Martin Parker proved to be a man who might have been any age between thirty-five and forty-five. He had a dark face and a black mustache. As Pugsy had stated, in effect, he wore a morning coat, trousers with a crease which brought a smile of kindly approval to Smith's face, and patent-leather shoes of pronounced shininess. "I want to see the editor," he said. "Will you take a seat?" said Smith. He pushed a chair toward the visitor, who seated himself with the care inspired by a perfect trouser crease. There was a momentary silence while he selected a spot on the table on which to place his hat. "I have come about a private matter," he said, looking meaningly at Betty, who got up and began to move toward the door. Smith nodded to her, and she went out. "Say," said Mr. Parker, "hasn't something happened to this paper these last few weeks? It used not to take such an interest in things, used it?"