"Thanks awfully for the advice," snapped Faxon sarcastically. "But I'm not here to see you or Mr. Jenkins. I'm here to see Mr. Wynrod. And I'm here to see him privately--you hear--_privately_. If such a visit is not contrary to the rules of the office, or if Mr. Wynrod is allowed to decide such matters for himself...." Good had kept his gaze fastened on Roger as Faxon spoke, and the flood of colour in the young man's face at the latter's innuendo, had not been lost on him. "You need say no more, Mr. Faxon," he interrupted suddenly. Then he turned to Roger. "Wynrod," he said slowly, as if measuring his words, "you know, I believe, who's boss of this paper. Act accordingly." With a low bow to Faxon and a nod to Jenkins, who followed him, he left the room. "If you know who's boss," said Faxon with a sneer as the door closed, "they apparently don't." "Appearances are frequently deceiving," said Roger shortly. "I hope so," snapped Faxon, his face hardening, as he drew a folded newspaper from his pocket and threw it on the desk. "Now then, my boy, I'd like to know the meaning of this?" "Of what?" asked Roger quietly. "Oh, don't stall." "I'm not stalling." "You mean to say you don't know?" demanded Faxon with honest astonishment. "You haven't seen fit as yet to tell me." "This sentimental poppycock you've been running in _The Dispatch_ about our strike." "And what about it?" Faxon's manner changed and he smiled indulgently. "You haven't been in business very long, Roger. There are some things you don't understand very clearly." "Very probably." "But there are some things, my boy, so elementary that a child could understand them." "In other words," said Roger coldly, "even I." "Yes," snapped Faxon brutally, "even you." "Well, go on." "In the paper this morning there is a mess of stuff, probably cooked up by that damn fool, Good, taking the side of those girls against us. Now what I want to know is the meaning of it." "The meaning?" "Yes. Are you on our side or on theirs?" "My dear Faxon," said Roger, "you have already told me how little I know about such things. How can you expect me to answer such a question as that? Mr. Good has my sister's confidence and mine. If he ran this article, I believe it to be a good article. And anyway, who the hell are you to come here asking me questions like that?" The young man's temper had suddenly ignited. His face paled and his lips became set in a thin straight line. Faxon raised his hand. "Now don't get sore, Roger," he said more affably. "I simply want to come to an understanding with you, so we know where each other stands, that's all. Were these articles printed with your sanction or not?" he asked slowly, tapping on the desk with his pencil. "I wasn't consulted," said Roger simply; "that's not my business." "Well, damn it," roared Faxon, losing his temper, "it ought to be your business! Isn't it your business to prevent a lot of crack-brained idiots from making a fool out of you?"