e pointed
to a clipping on his desk from the Indianapolis "Advertiser" of that
morning. The headlines proclaimed:--

SCANDAL IN SYCAMORE TRACTION

RUMORS THAT RECEIVERSHIP IS IMMINENT

FOREIGN BONDHOLDERS THREATENING

HOLTON ESTATE TO BE INVESTIGATED

Phil's face grew serious. Her father had not been home for several days
and she knew that his business in Indianapolis had absorbed his time and
attention increasingly.

"I'm sure I don't know anything about it," she answered, "and of course
if you thought I did you wouldn't ask me."

"Of course not, Phil. But it's a mess. And I don't know whether to print
something about it or let it go. Bill Holton's out of town and I don't
like to shoot without giving him a chance. But I owe him a few. If the
company goes bust, there's going to be a row round here we won't forget
in a hurry. Every widow and orphan in the county has got some of that
stuff. They worked that racket as hard as they could--home road for the
home people. What's the answer?"

Phil drew up the editor's clip of paper and wrote:--

"Mr. Amzi Montgomery went to Indianapolis yesterday to attend the
Nordica concert."

Barker stared at this item blankly.

"What's that got to do with it?"

"Nothing," said Phil indifferently; "it's only an item."

"Amzi's always going to concerts," remarked the editor inconsequently.

"I thought maybe he wasn't going to this one, for the excellent reason
that he declined to take me along."

Barker ran his hand through his hair, looked at Phil with dawning
intelligence, and his brow cleared.

"I haven't said anything," remarked Phil discreetly, "because I don't
know anything."

Barker put on his coat and hat.

"Guess I'll go out and sniff the local feeling on this proposition. It's
about time I blew the lid off and said a few things about Bill Holton.
If Bernstein brings in copy for his Christmas 'ad,' whistle for the boy
and tell 'em to hustle it. Hang your stuff on the hook and I'll write
the heads later. Don't let your playful humor get away with you, and if
any farmers come in with the biggest pumpkin ever raised on Sugar Creek,
note the name and weight carefully, call the boy and send the precious
fruit right home to our wife. Our annual biggest pumpkin is long overdue
and undelivered. You might just head that item 'When the Frost is on the
Punkin.' We have captious subscribers who check up on favorite
quotations and our aim is to please one and a