galley
proof.

"Are you the editor?" asked Hal.

"One editor. I'm Mr. Sterne. How the devil did you get in here?"

"Are you responsible for this?" Hal held up the morning's clipping,
headed "Surtaine Fakeries Explained."

"Who are you?" asked Sterne, nervously hitching in his chair.

"I am Harrington Surtaine."

The journalist whistled, a soft, long-drawn note. "Dr. Surtaine's son?"
he inquired.

"Yes."

"That's awkward." "Not half as awkward as it's going to be unless you
apologize privately and publicly."

Mr. Sterne looked at him estimatingly, at the same time wadding up a
newspaper clipping from the desk in front of him. This he cast at the
slumberer with felicitous accuracy.

"Hoong!" observed that gentleman, starting up and caressing his cheek.

"Wake up, Mac. Here's a man from the Trouble Belt, with samples to
show."

The individual thus addressed slowly rose out of his chair, exhibiting a
squat, gnarly figure surmounted by a very large head.

Hal's hand came up out of his pocket, with the dog-whip writhing
unpleasantly after it. Simultaneously, the ex-sleeper projected himself,
without any particular violence but with astonishing quickness, between
the caller and his prey. Without at all knowing whence it was derived,
Hal became aware of a large, black, knobby stick, which it were
inadequate to call a cane, in his new opponent's grasp.

Of physical courage there was no lack in the scion of the Surtaine line.
Neither, however, was he wholly destitute of reasoning powers and
caution. The figure before him was of an unquestionable athleticism; the
weapon of obvious weight and fiber. The situation was embarrassing.

"Please don't lick the editor," said the interrupter of poetic justice
good-humoredly. "Appropriately framed and hung upon the wall, fifteen
cents apiece. Yah-ah-ah-oo!" he yawned prodigiously. "Calm down," he
added.

Hal stared at the squat and agile figure. "You're the office bully and
bouncer, I suppose," he said.

"McGuire Ellis, _at_ your service. Bounce only when compelled. Otherwise
peaceful. _And_ sleepy."

"My business is with this man," said Hal, indicating Sterne. "Put up
your toy, then, and state it in words of one syllable."

For a moment the visitor pondered, drawing the whip through his hands,
uncertainly. "I'm not fool enough to go up against that war-club," he
remarked.

Mr. McGuire Ellis nodded approval. "First sensible thing I've heard you
say," he remarked