's
caught, the reward's yours. But you'd only be in the way now. You'd
better go to the office and make your peace with the chief."

"If the paper can get along without me, I can get along without the old
paper," said Gallegher, hotly. "And if I ain't a-going with you, you
ain't neither, for I know where Hefflefinger is to be, and you don't,
and I won't tell you."

"Oh, very well, very well," replied the sporting editor, weakly
capitulating. "I'll send the note by a messenger; only mind, if you lose
your place, don't blame me."

Gallegher wondered how this man could value a week's salary against the
excitement of seeing a noted criminal run down, and of getting the news
to the paper, and to that one paper alone.

From that moment the sporting editor sank in Gallegher's estimation.

Mr. Dwyer sat down at his desk and scribbled off the following note:

I have received reliable information that Hade, the Burrbank
murderer, will be present at the fight to-night. We have
arranged it so that he will be arrested quietly and in such a
manner that the fact may be kept from all other papers. I need
not point out to you that this will be the most important piece
of news in the country to-morrow. Yours, etc.,

Michael E. Dwyer.

The sporting editor stepped into the waiting cab, while Gallegher
whispered the directions to the driver. He was told to go first to a
district-messenger office, and from there up to the Ridge Avenue Road,
out Broad Street, and on to the old Eagle Inn, near Torresdale.

* * * * *

It was a miserable night. The rain and snow were falling together, and
freezing as they fell. The sporting editor got out to send his message
to the _Press_ office, and then lighting a cigar, and turning up
the collar of his great-coat, curled up in the corner of the cab.

"Wake me when we get there, Gallegher," he said. He knew he had a long
ride, and much rapid work before him, and he was preparing for the
strain.

To Gallegher the idea of going to sleep seemed almost criminal. From the
dark corner of the cab his eyes shone with excitement, and with the
awful joy of anticipation. He glanced every now and then to where the
sporting editor's cigar shone in the darkness, and watched it as it
gradually burnt more dimly and went out. The lights in the shop windows
threw a broad glare across the ice on th