"There you are," said Gonzale at last, standing. "Put an eight column head on that, please, and run it on the front page. A very fine story. The paper must go to press"—he looked at a diamond studded watch—"in an hour. Only four pages. Please see to the make-up. My circulation manager will assist you with the distribution." At the door he paused. "It occurs to me that your exchequer may be low. Seventy-five dollars a week for the managing editor. Fifty for the city editor. Allow me—ten dollars each in advance. If you need more, pray remind me."
Into their hands he put crinkling bills. And then, gliding still like the fox he looked, he went out into the night.
"Sister," cried O'Neill weakly, "the fairies are abroad to-night. I hear the rustle of their feet over the grass."
"Fairies," sneered Howe. "I could find another and a harsher name for them."
"Don't," pleaded O'Neill. "Don't look a gift bill in the treasury number. Don't try to pen-
