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Updated: July 16, 2025
All these and many similar experiences, the "Clarion" published in its "News of the M. and M." column. It headed them, "Stories of Survivors." For six weeks the railroad endured the proddings of ridicule. Then the Fourth Vice-President of the road appeared in Mr. Harrington Surtaine's sanctum. He was bland and hinted at advertising. Two weeks later the Third Vice-President arrived.
He must have refused to help. He had not the criminal courage to produce the abortion which he falsely promised in his advertisements. What passed between them I do not know. But I believe that she attempted to kill him and failed. She attempted to kill herself and succeeded. The blood of Camilla Neal is on every cent of Dr. Surtaine's ten-thousand-dollar subscription."
Barring a scorpion I once sat down on while in swimming, he was the worst outrage upon the scheme of creation ever perpetrated by a short-sighted Providence." "Get out of that chair!" The little man had shot from his own and was dancing upon the pavement. "What for?" Dr. Surtaine's tone was that of inquiring innocence. "To have your fat head knocked off."
Surtaine's tact and knowledge of character be it said, O'Farrell was still the older man's loyal though more humble friend, after the incident. To-day he was plainly apprehensive. "Them other cases the same thing?" he asked. "Yes, O'Farrell." "What is it?" "That I can't tell you." "You went in and saw 'em?" Dr. Surtaine nodded. "By God, I wouldn't do it," declared O'Farrell, shivering.
Now, you start an epidemic scare and kill off the biggest retail business of the year, and you won't find an advertiser in town to stand by you. Is that plain?" "Plain coercion," said Hal. "Call it what you like," began the apostle of frankness, when Hollenbeck cut in on him. "No use getting excited," he said. "Let's hear Mr. Surtaine's views.
But thought shared the pillow with Hal Surtaine's head. Try as he would to banish the contestants, Dr. Surtaine's Pæan of Policy and McGuire Ellis's impassioned declaration of faith did battle for the upper hand in his formulating professional standards. The Doctor's theory was the clean-cut, comprehensible, and plausible one.
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.
More than once the more personal note was touched, and the girl spoke of her coming to the Certina factory, a raw slip of a country creature tied up in calico, and of Dr. Surtaine's kindness and watchfulness over her. "He wanted to do well by me because of the old man my father, I mean," she caught herself up, blushing. "They knew each other when I was a kid." "Where?" asked Hal.
Surtaine, a little uneasily. "I suppose it's a question," he continued, aloud, "of the disposition of the sum " "No: it is not." If this bald statement required elucidation or expansion, its proponent didn't seem to realize the fact. "Well?" queried the other, adding to himself, "What the devil ails the man!" Surtaine's domed forehead. Following it thus far, the visitor's gaze rested. Dr.
Surtaine's eyes twinkled. "There may have been some such notion in the back of my head." "Expensive exercise. Did you do it?" "No. He had a club." "If I were running a slander-machine like the 'Clarion' I'd want six-inch armor-plate and a quick-fire battery. Well, what did you do?" "Bought the paper." "You needn't have gone down town to do that. It comes to the office." "You don't understand.
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