eart, and was about to
send it up with the final "O.K." when he came out of his absorption to
realize that some one was standing waiting, had been standing waiting,
for some minutes at his elbow. He looked around and met the intent gaze
of the foreman of the composing-room.

"What is it, Veltman?" he asked sharply.

"That epidemic story."

"Well? What about it?"

"Did you order it killed?"

"Certainly. Haven't you thrown it down?"

"No. It's still in type."

"Throw it down at once."

"Mr. Surtaine, have you thought what you are doing?"

"It is no part of your job to catechize me, Veltman."

"Between man and man." He stepped close to Hal, his face blazing with
exaltation. "I must speak now or forever hold my peace."

"Speak fast, then."

"It's your last chance, this epidemic spread. Your last chance to save
the 'Clarion' and yourself."

"That will do, Velt--"

"No, no! Listen to me. I didn't say a word when you kept Milly's suicide
out of print."

"I should think not, indeed!" retorted Hal angrily.

"That's my shame. I ought to have seen that published if I had to set it
up myself."

"Perhaps you're not aware, Veltman, that I know your part in the Neal
affair."

"I'd have confessed to you, if you hadn't. But do you know your own?
Yours and your father's?"

"Keep my father out of this!"

"Your own, then. Do you know that the money that bought this paper for
you was coined out of the blood of deceived girls? Do you know that you
and I are paid with the proceeds of the ad. that led Milly Neal to her
death? Do you know that?"

"And if I do, what then?" asked Hal, overborne by the man's conviction
and vehemence.

"Tell it!" cried the other, beating his fist upon the desk until the
blood oozed from the knuckles. "Tell it in print. Confess, man, and warn
others!"

"Veltman, suppose we were to print that whole wretched story to-morrow,
including the truth about your relations with her."

"Do it! Do it!" cried the other, choked with eagerness. "I'd thank you
on my knees. Penance! Give me my chance to do penance! I'll make my own
confession in writing. I'll write it in my own blood if need be."

"Steady, Veltman. Keep cool."

"You think I'm crazy? Perhaps I am. There's a fire at my brain since she
died. I loved her, Mr. Surtaine."

"But you sacrificed her, Veltman," returned Hal in a gentler tone, for
the man's face was livid with agony.

"Don't I know it! My God, don't I know it! But _you_