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Updated: June 1, 2025
Max Veltman lay, senseless to all this, between stupor and a fevered delirium in which the spirit of Milly Neal called on him for delayed vengeance. Earthquake or armed invasion could scarce have shocked staid Worthington more profoundly than did the "Clarion's" exposure. Of the facts there could be no reasonable doubt.
He's foreman of our composing-room." "She's been with him a great deal lately." "Why not? They're old friends. No harm in Veltman." "He's a married man." "That so! I never knew that. Well, 'Kitty the Cutie' ought to be keen enough to take care of herself." "There's the difficulty. She doesn't seem to want to take care of herself. She's lost interest in the club.
He looked around and met the intent gaze of the foreman of the composing-room. "What is it, Veltman?" he asked sharply. "That epidemic story." "Well? What about it?" "Did you order it killed?" "Certainly. Haven't you thrown it down?" "No. It's still in type." "Throw it down at once." "Mr. Surtaine, have you thought what you are doing?" "It is no part of your job to catechize me, Veltman."
'We Lead: Let Those Who Can Follow." Hal pointed to the "black-face" legend at the top of the first editorial column. "Got anything in its place?" "I thought of 'With Malice Toward None: With Charity for All." "Worked to death. But I've never seen it on a newspaper. Shall I tell Veltman to set it up in several styles so you may take your pick?" "Yes. Let's start it in to-morrow."
Not until nearly two o'clock in the morning did Hal find time to draw breath over an early proof, which stated the casualties as seven killed outright, including Veltman who was literally torn to pieces, and twenty-two seriously wounded. From his reading Hal was called to the 'phone. Esmé's voice came to him with a note of hope and happiness. "Oh, Hal, they say there's a chance!
Once Veltman, intruding on their talk, had glared blackly and, withdrawing, had waited for the girl in the hallway outside from whence, as she left, Hal could hear the foreman's deep voice in anger and her clear replies tauntingly stimulating his chagrin.
Veltman?" repeated Elias M. Pierce, who possessed a wonderful memory for men and events. "He's that anarchist fellow. Hates every man with a dollar. Stirred up the labor troubles two years ago. I told my men to smash his head if they ever caught him within two blocks of our place." "Speaking of anarchy," said McGuire Ellis softly.
But he was concerned lest, in Veltman, it take some form of direct vengeance. When he learned that Veltman had returned to the "Clarion" composing-room to work, the minister, unable to spare time for a call from his almost sleepless activities, sent an urgent request to Hal to meet him at the Recreation Club.
Max Veltman, who sat just beyond the speaker, half rose from his chair. "The men who run the road ought to be tried for murder." "Oh, you can call it that, all right, in one of your Socialist meetings," returned the reporter genially. "But I can't." "Why can't you?" demanded Hal. "The railroad people would shut down on news to the 'Clarion. I couldn't get a word out of them on anything.
'Kitty the Cutie' was a feature." "Why did she leave?" "Just quit. Sent in word about ten days ago that she was through. No explanation." "Mr. Ellis, I'm interested in Milly Neal," said the minister, after some hesitation. "She's helped me quite a bit with our club down here. There's a lot in that girl. But there's a queer, un-get-at-able streak, too. Do you know a man named Veltman?" "Max? Yes.
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