"The machine's around on Lafayette Street," interrupted the Colonel. "I thought it better...." "Right," declared Wilkinson. "But we don't need it yet." Leslie turned to Colonel Morehead; her eyes were bright, her cheeks red with excitement. "Why did my father have to stay in there; can you tell me that?" she asked. "The bail was stupendous. I had arranged for reasonable bail; but this was unusual," the Colonel explained. "But that's not all--the surety companies had been warned." "Warned! Did you say warned not to give bail when they were secured?" she cried. "Warned," repeated Morehead, "not to furnish bail without being sure that they were secure." "Who warned them?" echoed Wilkinson, incredulous. "The _Morning Mail_," began the Colonel, but was interrupted by Wilkinson: "Phew! And who owns the _Morning Mail_?" Morehead smiled. "Check and countercheck," he grinned. "Ougheltree and his gang have just bought it." Turning to Leslie, he explained that Ougheltree was the President of the Twentieth Century National Bank. "The National Banks have formed in line to fight the Trust Companies," he told her, "because the Trust Companies, having bigger powers, attract more people. And they've opened fire on your father, first, and his string of Trust Companies." And now once more he turned to Wilkinson, and laying his hand on the other's shoulder, he said: "Do you know what I was thinking just this morning? I think you ought to buy a daily paper. I do, indeed! This is a crisis----" "But I already own a paper," objected Wilkinson. "I mean a good one. My idea would be to buy--well, say the _Daily Reporter_. It's a crackerjack sheet that's just begun to go down hill. It can be bought cheap, too." Leslie tightened her grasp on her father's arm. "Let me buy it for you, father, that is, if there's money enough left to buy it with." Morehead's attention was directed afresh toward Leslie. "Let me go on, Miss Leslie," he continued. "There were other reasons why haste was inadvisable. The _Morning Mail_, owned by this gang of national bankers, is trying to poison public opinion against your father. If we had instantly snapped a bail bond of three-quarters of a million dollars on the files, the _Mail_ would have charged Peter V. Wilkinson with being a rich man still, having the money of the masses in his coat-tail pocket. It was wise and necessary, too, for me to forestall this. I gave to every newspaper in the city the pedigree of the stocks and bonds that you put up, showing that they were the individual property of your mother, and had come down to you direct. The result is that the _Morning Mail_ had not a word to say. We've got to be mighty careful," he concluded, "about public opinion. For there's a trial waiting for us out there in the future." There was determination in the girl's voice as she answered excitedly: "And we'll win it, too!" Wilkinson snorted. "Of course we'll win!" he cried.