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Updated: June 1, 2025
Veltman, who had long been whispering with Pasha, inconspicuously, in the hubbub, slipped out of the cabinet, while a few minutes after him Pasha also went away, smiling with her quiet, insane and bashful smile.
His "story," leaded out and with subheads, ran flush to two pages of the paper, and every paragraph of it struck fire. It would, as Ellis said, set off a ton of dynamite beneath sleepy Worthington. That night Veltman "pulled" a proof, and Ellis stayed far into the morning, pasting up a dummy of the article for Hal's inspection and final judgment.
"Now, see here, Surtaine," said Douglas smoothly, "be reasonable. It won't do the 'Clarion' any good to print a lot of yellow sensationalism about this. There are half a dozen witnesses who say it was the nurse's fault." "We have evidence on the other side." "From whom?" "Max Veltman, of our composing-room." "Veltman?
"It's Max Veltman," said Hal, catching sight of a wild, strained face. "What is he up to?" The former "Clarion" man squirmed through the front rank and crawled slowly under the ropes. Above the murmur of confused tones, a voice of terror shrilled out: "He's got a bomb." The mass surged back from the spot.
It was Veltman, the foreman of the 'Clarion' composing-room. "He's a street-car employee. It's as much as his job is worth to go up against Pierce." They were pressed back, as the clanging ambulance arrived with its white-coated commander. "No; not dead," he said. "Help me get her in." This being accomplished, Hal hurried up to the city room of the paper.
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!
The excision of the offending "Relief Pills" ad. after the culmination of the tragedy, was simply a sop to hypocrisy. Only once had Ellis made any reference to Milly's death. On the day of her funeral Max Veltman had disappeared, without notice. A week later he reported for duty, shaken and pallid. "Do you want to take him back?" Ellis inquired of Hal.
"Tell 'em the whole thing," fiercely urged Ellis. "Be a man. Own up to the whole business, between you and the girl." "I don't know what you mean!" cried Hal. "Don't be young," groaned Ellis; "you've gone halfway. Clean it up. Then we can face the situation with the 'Clarion. Tell 'em you were her lover." "Milly's? I wasn't. It was Veltman." "Good God of Mercy!" "Did you think "
"Certainly, the paper will be run that way." "As easy as rolling off a log," put in McGuire Ellis, with suspicious smoothness. Veltman looked from one to the other. "Yes," he said: and again "Yes-s-s." But the life had gone from his voice. "Anything more?" "Nothing, thank you," answered Hal. "Brains, fire, ambition, energy, skill, everything but balance," said Ellis, as the door closed.
"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!
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