The Clarion. Samuel Hopkins Adams

come here, a minister of the gospel," Dr. Surtaine reproached him sorrowfully, "and use hard words about a transaction that is perfectly straight business and happens every day."

      "Not in my church."

      "It isn't your letter, anyhow. You didn't write it."

      "It is written on the official paper of the church. Smithson told me so. He didn't understand what use would be made of it when he wrote it. Take your check back, Dr. Surtaine, and give me the letter."

      "Persistency, thy name is a jewel," said Dr. Surtaine with an air of scholarliness. "You win. The letter will be returned to-morrow. You'll take my word, I suppose?"

      "Certainly; and thank you."

      "And now, suppose I offered to leave the check in your hands?" asked the Doctor curiously.

      "I couldn't take it," came the decisive reply.

      "Do you mind telling me why?"

      The visitor spread out upon the table the newspaper page which he had taken from his pocket. "This morning's 'Clarion,'" he said.

      "So that's the trouble! You've been reading that blackmailing sheet. Why, what's the 'Clarion,' anyway? A scandal-mongering, yellow blatherskite, on its last legs financially. It's for sale to any bidder who'd be fool enough to put up money. The 'Clarion' went after me because it couldn't get our business. It ain't any straighter than a corkscrew's shadow."

      "Do I understand you to say that this attack is due to your refusal to advertise in the 'Clarion'?"

      "That's it, to a T. And now, you see, Mr. Hale," continued Dr. Surtaine in a tone of long-suffering and dignified injury, "how believing all you see in print lures you into chasing after strange dogs."

      The visitor's mouth quivered a little at this remarkable paraphrase of the Scripture passage; but he said gravely enough:

      "Then we get back to the original charges, which the 'Clarion' quotes from the 'Church Standard.'"

      "And there you are! Up to three years ago the 'Standard' took all the advertising we'd give them, and glad to get it. Then it went daffy over the muckraking magazine exposures, and threw out all the proprietary copy. Now nothing will do but it must roast its old patrons to show off its new virtue."

      "Do you deny what the editor of the 'Standard' said about Certina?"

      Dr. Surtaine employed the stock answer of medical quackery when challenged on incontrovertible facts. "Why, my friend," he said with elaborate carelessness, "if I tried to deny everything that irresponsible parties say about me, I wouldn't have any time left for business. Well, well; plenty of other people will be glad of that two thousand. Turn in the check at the cashier's window, please. Good-day to you."

      The Reverend Norman Hale retired, leaving the "Clarion's" denunciation lying outspread on the table.

      Meantime, wandering in the hallway, Hal had encountered Milly Neal.

      "Are you very busy, Miss Neal?" he asked.

      "Not more than usual," she answered, regarding him with bright and kindly eyes. "Did you want me?"

      "Yes. I want to know some things about this business."

      "Outside of my own department, I don't know much."

      "Well; inside your own department, then. May I ask some questions?"

      With a businesslike air she consulted a tiny watch, then glanced toward a settee at the end of the hall. "I'll give you ten minutes," she announced. "Suppose we sit down over there."

      "Do the writers of those letters—symp-letters, I believe, you call them—" he began; "do they seem to get benefit out of the advice returned?"

      "What advice? To take Certina? Why, yes. Most of 'em come back for more."

      "You think it good medicine for all that long list of troubles?"

      The girl's eyes opened wide. "Of course it's a good medicine!" she cried. "Do you think the Chief would make any other kind?"

      "No; certainly not," he hastened to disclaim. "But it seems like a wide range of diseases to be cured by one and the same prescription."

      "Oh, we've got other proprietaries, too," she assured him with her pretty air of partnership. "There's the Stomachine, and the headache powders and the Relief Pills and the liniment; Dr. Surtaine runs 'em all, and every one's a winner. Not that I keep much track of 'em. We only handle the Certina correspondence in our room. I know what that can do. Why, I take Certina myself when there's anything the matter with me."

      "Do you?" said Hal, much interested. "Well, you're certainly a living testimonial to its efficacy."

      "All the people in the shop take it. It's a good tonic, even when you're all right."

      The listener felt his vague uneasiness soothed. If those who were actually in the business had faith in the patent medicine's worth, it must be all that was claimed for it.

      "I firmly believe," continued the little loyalist, "that the Chief has done more good and saved more lives than all the doctors in the country. I'd trust him further than any regular doctor I know, even if he doesn't belong to their medical societies and all that. They're jealous of him; that's what's the matter with them."

      "Good for you!" laughed Hal, feeling his doubts melt at the fire of her enthusiasm. "You're a good rooter for the business."

      "So's the whole shop. I guess your father is the most popular employer in Worthington. Have you decided to come into the business, Mr. Surtaine?"

      "Do you think I'd make a valuable employee, Miss Milly?" he bantered.

      But to Milly Neal the subject of the Certina factory admitted of no jocularity. She took him under advisement with a grave and quaint dubiety.

      "Have you ever worked?"

      "Oh, yes; I'm not wholly a loafer."

      "For a living, I mean."

      "Unfortunately I've never had to."

      "How old are you?"

      "Twenty-five."

      "I don't believe I'd want you in my department, if it was up to me," she pronounced.

      "Do you think I wouldn't be amenable to your stern discipline?"

      Still she refused to meet him on his ground of badinage. "It isn't that. But I don't think you'd be interested enough to start in at the bottom and work up."

      "Perhaps you're right, Miss Neal," said Hal, a little startled by the acuteness of her judgment, and a little piqued as well. "Though you condemn me to a life of uselessness on scant evidence."

      She went scarlet. "Oh, please! You know I didn't mean that. But you seem too—too easy-going, too—"

      "Too ornamental to be useful?"

      Suddenly she stamped her foot at him, flaming into a swift exasperation. "You're laughing at me!" she accused. "I'm going back to my work. I won't stay and be made fun of." Then, in another and rather a dismayed tone, "Oh, I'm forgetting about your being the Chief's son."

      Hal jumped to his feet. "Please promise to forget it when next we meet," he besought her with winning courtesy. "You've been a kind little friend and adviser. And I thank you for what you have said."

      "Not at all," she returned lamely, and walked away, her face still crimson.

      Returning to the executive suite, the young scion found his father immersed in technicalities of copy with the second advertising writer.

      "Sit down, Boyee," said he. "I'll be through in a few minutes." And he resumed his discussion of "black-face," "36-point," "indents," "boxes," and so on.

      Left to his own devices Hal turned idly to the long table. From the newspaper which the Reverend Norman Hale had left, there glared up at him in savage black