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Updated: June 7, 2025
It was he who first touched on the poisoned theme. "Look here, Boy-ee," said he, a week after the burial. "We're both scared to death of what each of us is thinking. Let's agree to forget this until you are ready to talk it out with me." "What good will talk do?" said Hal drearily. "None at present." His father sighed.
Surtaine heaved a great sigh of relief. "That's horse sense!" he cried jovially. "Now, you go ahead on those lines and you'll make the 'Clarion' the best-paying proposition in Worthington. I'll drop a few hints where they'll do the most good, and you'll see the advertisers breaking their necks to come in. Journalism is no different from any other business, Boy-ee. Live and let live.
"What do you want me to do, Boy-ee?" cried his father, in desperation. "Give up a business worth half a million a year, net?" "I'm not asking anything, sir. Only let me do the best I can, in the way that looks right to me. I've got to go back to the office now. Good-night, Dad." The arch-quack looked after his son's retreating figure, and his big, animal-like eyes were very tender.
Also he kept in personal touch with the office. This evening, however, it was with an obvious effort that he asked how affairs were going. Hal answered listlessly that matters were going well enough. "No, they aren't, Boy-ee. I heard about your talk to-day." "Did you? I'm sorry. I don't want to worry you." "Boy-ee, let me back you." "I can't, Dad." "Because of that old agreement?" "Partly."
I've bought the 'Clarion, presses, plant, circulation, franchise, good-will, ill-will, high, low, jack, and the game." "You! What for?" "Why," said Hal thoughtfully; "mainly because I lost my temper, I believe." "Sounds like a pretty heavy loss, Boy-ee." "Two hundred and thirty thousand dollars.
Already the city man had gained the flooring, and was bending above the child. There was a sprinkle of blood on the bright, rough boards. "Oh, my God! Boy-ee! Has he killed you?" "No: he isn't killed," said the stranger curtly. "Keep the people back. Lift down that torch." The Professor wavered on his legs, grasping at the rail for support. "You are a doctor?" he gasped. "Yes." "Can you save him?
"No; I don't think so." "Why not?" "I think I'd better keep out of the movement, Dad." "As you like. And you'll see that the 'Clarion' keeps out of it, too?" "So that's it." "Yes, Boy-ee: that's it. You can see, for yourself, that a newspaper sensation would ruin everything just now and also ruin the paper that sprung it." "So I heard from Elias M. Pierce sometime since."
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