ining specials he'd turned out on unfaithful husbands, the
snappy columns on unhappy wives, careless of the cost of his sensation
in blood and tears! And now they'd write him up--Naylor would attend to
that editorial himself, and do it in his most virtuous style--and brand
him as a fakir, a liar, and a yellow dog.

Simpkins was back at the news-stand again and there were the Boston
papers. He snatched a _Banner_ from the top of the pile. No, he
must have the wrong paper. He tore through it from front to back and
then to front again, his heart bounding with joy. There was not a line
of his story in it. They had received that Associated Press dispatch,
after all. Yes, there it was, but oh, how differently it looked! It
spelt damnation an hour ago, it meant salvation now.

* * * * *

After all, hadn't his mistake been a natural one? Hadn't he done his
best for the paper? Wasn't it his duty to run down a lead like that?
He'd made errors of judgment, perhaps, but he'd like to see the man who
wouldn't have under the circumstances. Of course, mistakes would creep
in occasionally and give innocent people the worst of it, but look at
the good he'd done in his life by exposing scoundrels. How could he, how
could any man, have acted differently who was loyal to his paper, whose
first interests were the public good? If Naylor didn't appreciate a star
man when he had him, he thought he knew an editor or two who did. Simp.,
old boy, wasn't going to starve.... Starve? It had been hungry work, so
he'd just step across to the Manhattan, get a bite of breakfast, and
look up the trains to Boston.

Naylor did know a good man when he had him, and likewise--quite as
valuable a bit of knowledge--he knew when a man had had enough. So when
Simpkins sat down that afternoon to tell him his experiences, he only
smiled quizzically as the reporter wound up by asking, "Now, what do
_you_ think?" and answered:

"Well, for one thing, I think it did you a power of good to look behind
that veil, because I reckon that for once in your life you've told me
the truth as near as you know how."

"No, but aside from this pleasant personal conclusion," persisted
Simpkins, modestly shedding the compliment.

"Well, I guess we won't bother with the Blavatsky story just now, but
here's a clipping about a woman who's discovered what she calls soul
aura--says we've got red, white and blue souls and all that sort of
stuff. You're