ere
was a uproar inside there, and presently out they come running, and I
went in, and there was Mr. Petheram on the floor knocked silly and the
furniture all broke, and now 'e's gorn to 'orspital. Those fellers 'ad
been putting 'im froo it proper," concluded Jimmy with moody relish.

Roland sat down weakly. Jimmy, his tale told, resumed the study of his
illustrated paper. Silence reigned in the offices of 'Squibs.'

It was broken by the arrival of Miss March. Her exclamation of
astonishment at the sight of the wrecked room led to a repetition of
Jimmy's story.

She vanished on hearing the name of the hospital to which the stricken
editor had been removed, and returned an hour later with flashing eyes
and a set jaw.

"Aubrey," she said--it was news to Roland that Mr. Petheram's name was
Aubrey--"is very much knocked about, but he is conscious and sitting up
and taking nourishment."

"That's good."

"In a spoon only."

"Ah!" said Roland.

"The doctor says he will not be out for a week. Aubrey is certain it was
that horrible book-maker's men who did it, but of course he can prove
nothing. But his last words to me were, 'Slip it into Percy again this
week.' He has given me one or two things to mention. I don't understand
them, but Aubrey says they will make him wild."

Roland's flesh crept. The idea of making Mr. Pook any wilder than he
appeared to be at present horrified him. Panic gave him strength, and
he addressed Miss March, who was looking more like a modern Joan of Arc
than anything else on earth, firmly.

"Miss March," he said, "I realize that this is a crisis, and that we
must all do all that we can for the paper, and I am ready to do anything
in reason--but I will not slip it into Percy. You have seen the effects
of slipping it into Percy. What he or his minions will do if we repeat
the process I do not care to think."

"You are afraid?"

"Yes," said Roland simply.

Miss March turned on her heel. It was plain that she regarded him as a
worm. Roland did not like being thought a worm, but it was infinitely
better than being regarded as an interesting case by the house-surgeon
of a hospital. He belonged to the school of thought which holds that it
is better that people should say of you, "There he goes!" than that they
should say, "How peaceful he looks".

Stress of work prevented further conversation. It was a revelation to
Roland, the vigor and energy with which Miss March threw herself into
th