New Year's article. But I shouldn't like those
other fellows to get hold of that story before we've done with it. The
citizens are interested, and we haven't your superstitious fear of
commenting on cases _sub judice_. No, sir, we're afraid of nothing, and
don't let British capitalists walk over us with nails in their boots. Now
I'm going to make reparation and tell that tale in style, showing up all
your client's fine qualities. Want to revise the item? You couldn't do it
for ten thousand dollars. We're 'way beyond dictation, and pride ourselves
on knowing how our readers like their news."

At a hint from the solicitor I contented myself with a more definite
promise to do me justice. Then as we left the office, Martin Lorimer
turned to the editor.

"Keep a hand on your imagination," he said grimly, "or you'll see me here
again."

"Always glad to meet an interesting Britisher," the man of the pen
answered with cheerfulness. "Come in peace, and we'll regale you on our
special cigars; otherwise, my assistant will stand by with the
politicians' club."

"And that's the creature who libeled us!" said Martin Lorimer when we
reached the street. "I've a good mind to go back and show him whether I'm
an interesting Britisher--confound him!" whereupon the lawyer laughed
heartily.

"They're not all like him," he said. "This particular journal depends on
its raciness, and he has to maintain the character. After all, he is an
honest man, and he'll do you justice, though the item may contain
specimens of what passes for local humor."

This was apparently the case, for when we read it together Martin Lorimer
grew very red in the face, and at first I was divided between vexation and
amusement. It ran as follows: "We have unwittingly cast suspicion on an
innocent man, and for once an unprincipled informant has fooled us. The
cattle-thief prosecutor has appeared, and will shortly present himself
blushing before the public gaze. We have seen him, and can testify that
instead of a Don Juan he is a Joseph, for there is an air of ingenuous
innocence about him which makes it certain that he would crawl into a
badger-hole if he met a pretty woman on the prairie. If further proof were
wanted, he goes about in charge of a highly respectable British Croesus,
one of the full-crusted elderly models of virtue they raise in Lancashire.
The class is not obsolete. We have seen one."

Then, with whimsical directness, the following lines set forth