time collecting news of measles and hog cholera! It was
about time T. J. Jones was told a few things.

As Toole entered the printing office T. J. was handing a copy of the
TIMES to a customer, and the editor turned, and, seeing who his visitor
was, held up his hand playfully.

"No use!" he exclaimed. "I can't say anything about it, except what's
in the paper. Contributed article, and the editor sworn to silence, you
know."

The attorney seated himself on the editor's desk, pushing a pile of
papers out of his way.

"That's all right, Jones," he said. "That's for the"--he waved his hand
toward the window--"for the fellow citizens; for the populace. This is
between ourselves."

"I'd like to," said Jones, "but really, I can't say anything about it. I
promised faithfully I would not betray my contributor's confidence."

"Now, do I look so green as that?" asked Toole. "Nonsense! Doc Weaver
wrote that rot." He smiled. "He spread himself, didn't he?"

The editor remained motionless.

"I have nothing whatever to say," he remarked, noncommittally.

"Well, I have!" cried the attorney. "I'll tell you that it is poor work
for you to steal my thunder and attempt to use it without consulting
me! It is poor work, and mean work. You want to be boss of this party
in Kilo county, that's what you want. And you haven't the capacity. You
have proved it right here, right here in this silly sheet of yours.
You hit on a big thing, and you spoil it. You are so anxious that Toole
shall get no credit that you rush it into print and make a fizzle of it.
I know who the traitors to the party are--you are one. Doc Weaver with
his elegant style and his Shakespeare is another. And that miserable
intermeddling little book agent is another. You make me sick."

The editor stood like a statue, and his face was as white. The attorney
dropped his words slowly from lips that still wore the tantalizing
smile.

"The childishness amuses me," said the attorney. "It makes me smile. Why
didn't you give names, since you had them? Why didn't you tell it all,
and do the party some good, as well as doing me some harm, if that was
what you were after--and I don't know what you were after if it wasn't
that? Why don't you get a schoolboy to edit your paper for you?"

T. J. ground his nails into the palms of his hands. He meant to retain
possession of his temper, but it was boiling within. He said nothing as
the attorney indolently arose from his seat on the d