ght to please him.

Joe was boiling.

"I'll go back and punch him, if you'll let me. I heard it all."

"No, it'll do no good,--both of us would get into trouble, then."

"Well, then, I'll chuck my job. This ain't no place for any decent girl
nor man. Was it pretty bad where you went, Katie?"

"Bad! Oh, Joe, you don't know. I said, last week, when I forced my way
into the room of that poor mother whose son was arrested, that I'd
never report another case like it. But you ought to have seen what I
saw to-night. The poor girl worked in a box factory, they told me, and
this man hounded her, and in despair she threw herself overboard. The
room was full when I got there,--policemen,--one or two other
reporters,--no woman but me. They had brought her in dripping wet and I
found her on the floor,--just a child, Joe,--hardly sixteen,--her hair
filled with dirt from the water,--the old mother wringing her hands.
Oh, it was pitiful! I could have flashed a picture,--nobody would have
cared nor stopped me,--but I couldn't. Don't you see I couldn't, Joe?
He has no right to ask me to do these things,--nobody has,--it's awful.
It's horrible! What would that poor mother have said when she saw it in
the paper? I'll go home now. No, you needn't come,--they'll want you.
Go back upstairs. Good-night."

Joe watched her until she caught an uptown car, and then turned into
the side door opening on the narrow street. A truck had arrived while
they were talking, and the men were unloading some great rolls of
paper,--enormous spools. "What would dad say if he saw what his trees
had come to?" Joe thought, as he stood for a moment looking them
over,--his mind going back to his father's letter. One roll of wood
pulp had already been jacked up and was now feeding the mighty press.
The world would be devouring it in the morning; the drowned girl would
have her place in its columns,--so would every other item that told of
the roar and crash, the crime, infamy, and cruelty of the preceding
hours. Then the issues would be thrown away to make room for a fresher
record;--some to stop a hole in a broken window; some to be trampled
under foot of horse and man; many to light the fires the city over.

"My poor trees!" sighed Joe, as he slowly mounted the steps to the top
floor. "There ain't no common sense in it, I know. Got to make sumpin'
out o' the timber once they're cut down, but it gits me hot all the
same when I think what they've come to. Gol-da