ng his eyes from the light with his hand, an
old trick of his compositor days, and still looked at her in the same
friendly way.

"Ever hear of the Down-East daily that black-guarded one of our
greatest presidents the very day he died? I've often wondered if the
public realized when that item appeared that not an editor on the staff
knew it was coming out, that when two of the editors read it, they
cried and went to pieces right there and then before their men for very
shame! Item had been sent straight to the composing room just before
the forms were locked up, by man who owned the paper. President had
refused him some public concession. Such things sometimes happen to
lesser folks than presidents."

"Were you so kind as to come here to say all this to me?" asked Eleanor.

"No, Miss MacDonald, I wasn't!" He blushed furiously, like a boy
caught in the act culpable. "Fact is, I'm keen to see Wayland, been
such a crush of men round him all day, haven't been able to get in a
word with him."

It was her turn to blush furiously.

"I didn't want him to go off up the Valley before I could get hold of
him. I wanted to have a shake with him. We're in the same boat now,
Miss MacDonald."

"I don't the very least bit in the world understand what you are
saying."

The news editor laughed and laid his hat on the onyx centre table
beneath the electric lights.

"Why, we're both fired," he said.

"Fired?" repeated Eleanor.

This time he laughed aloud: "I don't mean fired out of a gun," he
explained. "We're fired out of our job. I knew after the inquest, I'd
get the sack," he went on, making light of it, "but the wire didn't
come till this morning."

There were a lot of things the news editor didn't tell Eleanor just
here; and I beg of you, dear reader, to remember these things when you
execrate the press; for they happen every day to plain fellows, some of
them profane fellows, who make no professions and blow no trumpet.
When the news editor walked out of the office that morning, he owned,
besides the Smelter City lots, which were mortgaged to the hilt, and
six "kiddies," who had to be fed, precisely the five dollar bill in his
pocket, the clothes on his back and the duster coat that he carried out
on his arm. It was a mere detail, of course; but it was one of the
details he didn't tell Eleanor. When he had gone home and told his
wife, she had asked, "For Heaven's sake, Joe, what ever will we do, run
a fruit