th, sometimes comes through
the shmall room, and out into the passage whin he doesn't want to see
anyone at all, at all, and goes out into the strate, leavin' everybody
waitin' for him. Now I'll put ye into this room, and if the editor tries
to slip out, then ye can speak with him; but if he asks ye how ye got
there, for the sake of hiven don't tell him I sint ye, because that's
not my duty at all, at all."

"Indeed, I won't tell him how I got there; or, rather, I'll say I came
there by myself; so all you need to do is to show me the door, and there
won't need to be any lies told.

"True for ye, an' a very good idea. Well, miss, then will ye just come
up the stairs with me? It's the fourth door down the passage."

Miss Jennie beamed upon the susceptible Irishman a look of such melting
gratitude that the man, whom bribery had often attempted to corrupt in
vain, was her slave for ever after. They went up the stairs together, at
the head of which the porter stood while Miss Baxter went down the long
passage and stopped at the right door; Ryan nodded and disappeared.

Miss Baxter opened the door softly and entered. She found the room not
too brilliantly lighted, containing a table and several chairs. The door
to the right hand, which doubtless led into the waiting-room, where the
dozen men were patiently sitting, was closed. The opposite door, which
led into Mr. Hardwick's office, was partly open. Miss Baxter sat down
near the third door, the one by which she had entered from the passage,
ready to intercept the flying editor, should he attempt to escape.

In the editor's room someone was walking up and down with heavy
footfall, and growling in a deep voice that was plainly audible where
Miss Jennie sat. "You see, Alder, it's like this," said the voice. "Any
paper may have a sensation every day, if it wishes; but what I want is
accuracy, otherwise our sheet has no real influence. When an article
appears in the _Bugle_, I want our readers to understand that that
article is true from beginning to end. I want not only sensation, but
definiteness and not only definiteness, but absolute truth."

"Well, Mr. Hardwick," interrupted another voice--the owner of which was
either standing still or sitting in a chair, so far as Miss Baxter could
judge by the tone, while the editor uneasily paced to and fro--"what
Hazel is afraid of is that when this blows over he will lose his
situation--"

"But," interjected the editor, "no one c