eed. "He is a first-rate fellow,
but he is as cold and unsympathetic as--well, suppose we say as an
oyster. His great hobby is non-intercourse with the world we have left.
Now, in that I don't agree with him, and there are thousands who don't
agree with him. I admit that there are cases where a man is more unhappy
if he frequents the old world than he would be if he left it alone. But
then there are other cases where just the reverse is true. Take my own
experience, for example; I take a peculiar pleasure in rambling around
Chicago. I admit that it is a grievance to me, as an old newspaper man,
to see the number of scoops I could have on my esteemed contemporaries,
but--"

"Scoop? What is that?" asked Brenton, mystified.

"Why, a scoop is a beat, you know."

"Yes, but I don't know. What is a beat?"

"A beat or a scoop, my dear fellow, is the getting of a piece of news
that your contemporary does not obtain. You never were in the newspaper
business? Well, sir, you missed it. Greatest business in the world. You
know everything that is going on long before anybody else does, and the
way you can reward your friends and jump with both feet on your enemies
is one of the delights of existence down there."

"Well, what I wanted to ask you was this," said Brenton. "You have made
a speciality of finding out whether there could be any communication
between one of us, for instance, and one who is an inhabitant of the
other world. Is such communication possible?"

"I have certainly devoted some time to it, but I can't say that my
success has been flattering. My efforts have been mostly in the line of
news. I have come on some startling information which my facilities here
gave me access to, and I confess I have tried my best to put some of the
boys on to it. But there is a link loose somewhere. Now, what is your
trouble? Do you want to get a message to anybody?"

"My trouble is this," said Brenton, briefly, "I am here because a few
days ago I was poisoned."

"George Washington!" cried the other, "you don't say so! Have the
newspapers got on to the fact?"

"I regret to say that they have."

"What an item that would have been if one paper had got hold of it and
the others hadn't! I suppose they all got on to it at the same time?"

"About that," said Brenton, "I don't know, and I must confess that I do
not care very much. But here is the trouble--my wife has been arrested
for my murder, and she is as innocent as I am."