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Updated: June 10, 2025
Harrington Surtaine?" Hal threw it over to Ellis. "Whose writing is that?" he asked. "It looks familiar to me." "Max Veltman's," said Ellis. He took in the meaning of it. "The insolent whelp!" he said. "Insolent? Yes; he's that. But the worst of it is, I'm afraid he's right." And he telephoned for Shearson. The advertising manager came up, puffing. Hal held out the clipping to him.
Surtaine as a shabby, anxious-looking man ambled forward. "We're having trouble with that last lot of cascara, sir," said he lugubriously. "In the Number Four?" "Yes, sir. It don't seem to have any strength." "Substitute senna." So offhand was the tone that it sounded like a suggestion rather than an order. As the latter, however, the chemist contentedly took it.
Oh, here he is." A clean-shaven, rather floridly dressed man came forward, was introduced to Hal, and inquired courteously whether he was going to settle down in Worthington. "Probably depends on how well he likes it," cut in the dry Mr. Pierce. "You might help him decide. I'm sure William would be glad to have you lunch with him one day this week at the Huron Club, Mr. Surtaine."
When he spoke his voice floated up as softly as a ring of smoke. "How honest are you going to be, Mr. Surtaine?" "What!" "I asked you how honest you are going to be." "It's a question I don't think you need to ask me." "I do. How else will I find out?" "I intend the 'Clarion' to be strictly and absolutely honest. That's all there is to that." "Don't be so young," said McGuire Ellis wearily.
Hal's disclaimer had sufficient diplomatic warmth to banish her displeasure. She introduced to him as Dr. Merritt a striking-looking, gray-haired young man, who had come up at the same time with an anticipatory expression. This promptly vanished when she said offhandedly to him: "You've had three dances with me already, Hugh. I'm going to give this one to Mr. Surtaine if he wants it."
Vitality and a high satisfaction with his environment and with himself as well placed in it, radiated from his bulky and handsome person; but it was the vitality that impressed you first: impressed and warmed you; perhaps warned you, too, on shrewder observation. A gleaming personality, this. But behind the radiance one surmised fire. Occasion given, Dr. Surtaine might well be formidable.
Surtaine, consciously on the defensive. "About the medical ads." "McQuiggan's a sore-head" began the Doctor. "But you might have told me about Certina, as I've been living on Certina money." "There's nothing to tell." All the self-assurance had gone out of the quack's voice. "Father, does Certina cure Bright's disease?" "Cure? Why, Boyee, what is a cure?" "Does it cure it?" insisted Hal.
Surtaine contemplated his old acquaintance with friendly interest. "The same old scrappy Elpy," he observed. "What's happened to you, since you used to itinerate with the Iroquois Extract of Life?" "Plenty." "You're looking pretty prosperous." "Have to, in my line." "What is it?" Mr. McQuiggan produced a card, with the legend:
Out on the street again he drew full, heaving breath. "O'Farrell's got to clean up. That's all there is to that," he said decisively. "The Doctor thinks?" queried the little physician. Dr. Surtaine shook his head. "I don't know. But I'm sure of one thing. There's three of them ought to be gotten out at once. The third-floor woman, and that brother and sister in the basement."
"What for?" "On a matter of journalistic import," said Miss Elliot solemnly. "But you don't cry for Hal Surtaine," objected her friend, reverting to the lunar metaphor. "Don't I? I'd have cried I'd have burst into a perfect storm of tears for him or you or anybody who so much as pointed a finger at me, I was so scared." "Scared? You! I don't believe it."
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