the editor of the "Clarion."

Overnight young Mr. Surtaine revised his project. Horsewhipping would be
no more than the offending editor deserved. However, he should have his
chance. Let him repent and retract publicly, and the castigation should
be remitted. Forthwith the avenger sat him down to a task of
composition. The apology which, after sundry corrections and
emendations, he finally produced in fair copy, was not alone complete
and explicit: it was fairly abject. In such terms might a confessed and
hopeless criminal cast himself desperately upon the mercy of the court.
Previsioning this masterly _apologium_ upon the first page of the
morrow's "Clarion,"--or perhaps at the top of the editorial
columns,--its artificer thrilled with the combined pride of authorship
and poetic justice.

On the walls of the commodious room which had been set aside in the
Surtaine mansion for the young master's study hung a plaited dog-whip.
The agent of just reprisals curled this neatly inside his overcoat
pocket and set forth upon his errand. It was then ten o'clock in the
morning.

Now, in hunting the larger fauna of the North American continent with a
dog-whip, it is advantageous to have some knowledge of the game's
habits. Mr. Harrington Surtaine's first error lay in expecting to find
the editorial staff of a morning newspaper on duty in the early
forenoon. So much a sweeper, emerging from a pile of dust, communicated
to him across a railing, further volunteering that three o'clock would
be a well-chosen hour for return, as the boss would be less pressed upon
by engagements then, perhaps, than at other hours.

In the nature of things, the long delay might well have cooled the
knightliest ardor. But as he departed from the office, Mr. Surtaine took
with him a copy of that day's "Clarion" for perusal, and in its pages
discovered a "follow-up" of the previous day's outrage. Back home he
went, and added to his literary effort a few more paragraphs wherein the
editorial "we" more profoundly cringed, cowered, and crawled in
penitential abasement. Despite the relish of the words, Hal rather hoped
that the editor would refuse to publish his masterpiece. He itched to
use that whip.

CHAPTER VI

LAUNCHED

For purposes of vital statistics, the head office boy of the Worthington
"Daily Clarion" was denominated Reginald Currier. As this chaste
cognomen was artistically incompatible with his squint eye, his militant
swagger, a