d you what would happen."

"But I thought you wanted a free newspaper?"

"I did and do, Miss Wynrod."

"How many curious things I'm learning," said Judith. Then, with a
shudder, she added, "What a dreadful neighbourhood this is. Did you ever
see so many children?"

"Do children make neighbourhoods dreadful?" he asked sarcastically,
nettled by her irrelevance. But she was silent, remaining so until they
reached downtown.

"I think,--if you'll let me off at _The Dispatch_ office ..." said Good
stiffly.

Mechanically she gave the order to the chauffeur but made no reply. He
wondered what was going through her mind. Her silence seemed to
indicate that his great dream had been shattered before it had been
well launched. She had broken at the first pressure. He might have
expected as much. Environment and training could not be so quickly
counteracted. But none the less it was bitterly disappointing. He
dreaded the word he would have to give to Bassett.

"Good night, Miss Wynrod," he said quietly as the car stopped and he got
out. "I hope you found the evening not unprofitable."

"Mr. Good," said Judith slowly, looking at him steadily, "I want
everybody who reads _The Dispatch_ to-morrow to read--about that girl
and her broken arm. Do you understand?"

His eyes widened. "And you know the consequences?" he whispered huskily.

"I think you have made them quite clear."

"You have friends among the department store owners, Miss Wynrod."

Judith smiled, but it was a grim smile. "I think I can venture where
Mrs. Dodson has ventured," she said. Good seized her hand and his voice
trembled.

"I was afraid--for a moment, but--you're a wonder! Good night." His
emotion communicated itself to her and she did not venture to say
anything in reply. She merely shook his hand firmly and sank back in
the cushions. He turned and sped for the office.

"Bassett," he said, with simulated indifference a minute later, "let's
see that stuff you've got on the girls."

"You mean," cried Bassett, "you're going to run it?"

"Double leaded," said Good shortly. "Got any pictures?"

"Say," said Bassett, "I've got some stuff that would make dynamite look
like lemon candy. We'll make _The World_ look like a gospel messenger.
I'll make you a bet, Good."

"Yes?"

"I'll bet you a stein of imported Muenchen that there'll be hell let
loose to-morrow in several advertising offices we know of."

"Why not ask me for it outright?" asked Good wi