t the
palm of his hand, began.

"To begin with, Miss Wynrod, you know how I feel toward the press.
We've talked it over often. You know I believe that to turn this old
world over and set it on its feet where it belongs, all clean and sound
and sweet, the first thing we've got to have is truth--truth, truth,
always truth and more truth--nothing whatever but truth, nothing evaded
or concealed. In a word, we've got to have a free and a candid press.
You understand all that, don't you?"

His eyes clouded and a look of anxiety came into them. But it was
dispelled at her answer.

"I'm not deaf, Mr. Good."

"Well...." He stopped and scratched his head as if something eluded him.
"I'm so full of it all--all the time--that I don't know where to begin.
It's my great dream. Every dreamer has one particular dream. This is
mine. I've been on the hunt for my chance. Now when it seems to be here
I don't know how to seize it. I'm afraid of saying the wrong thing and
spoiling it all. For years I've been looking for a millionaire--some one
to endow my dream. You're the one I've picked. You understand, I think.
I don't seem so crazy to you. And you've got the stuff in you to stand
the gaff when things go hard. It's not so hard to get money, but
sympathy ... faith ... people stop when the light goes out. You're
different. You'd go on. You ... do you follow me?"

He stopped and surveyed her anxiously. The deep creases over his nose,
his short sentences, the sharp nervous movements of his hands, all
betrayed the stress under which he spoke. It would disappoint him,
perhaps stop him altogether, if she said that she did not follow. But as
she assured him that she did, she wondered how much of his meaning she
really missed. Nevertheless her manner seemed to satisfy him.

"If I went to you and asked for money to build a hospital or a school,
or a church--"

She looked up sharply at that. But it was plain that there was no covert
meaning in his words. He went on intently.

"You'd think that understandable enough. You'd probably hand it over.
But, Miss Wynrod, I want your money for something of greater value to
society than all the churches and hospitals put together. I want you to
put your money to work clearing up this muddled old world of ours by
bringing sunshine and oxygen and hope and understanding into men's
minds. I want you--how can I possibly make clear to you how much I want
it--I want you to--to--buy ... a _newspaper_!"

He