A roar went up from the table at this, somewhat relieving the tension of the atmosphere.

Shearson, the advertising manager, lolling deep in his chair, spoke up diffidently, as soon as he could be heard: 

“I ain’t rich.  But I’ve put a little wad aside.  I could chip in three thou’ if that’d help.”

“I’ve got five hundred that isn’t doing a stitch of work,” declared Wainwright.

“Some of my relations have wads of money,” suggested young Denton.  “I wouldn’t wonder if—­”

“No, no, no!” cried Hal, in a shaken voice.  “I know how well you fellows mean it.  But—­”

“As a loan,” said Wainwright hopefully.  “The paper’s good enough security.”

“Not good enough,” replied Hal firmly.  “I can’t take it, boys.  You—­you’re a mighty good lot, to offer.  Now, about looking for other places—­”

“All those that want to quit the ‘Clarion,’ stand up,” shouted McGuire Ellis.

Not a man moved.

“Unanimous,” observed the convalescent.  “I thought nobody’d rise to that.  If anybody had,” he added, “I’d have punched him in the eye.”

The gathering adjourned in gloom.

“All this only makes it harder, Mac,” said Hal to his right-hand man afterward.  “They can’t afford to stick till we sink.”

“If a sailor can do it, I guess a newspaper man can,” retorted the other resentfully.  “I wish I could poison Pierce.”

At dinner that night Hal found his father distrait.  Since the younger man’s return, the old relations had been resumed, though there were still, of necessity, difficult restraints and reservations in their talk.  The “Clarion,” however, had ceased to be one of the tabooed subjects.  Since the publication of the President’s letter and the saving of Old Home Week, Dr. Surtaine had become an avowed Clarionite.  Also he kept in personal touch with the office.  This evening, however, it was with an obvious effort that he asked how affairs were going.  Hal answered listlessly that matters were going well enough.

“No, they aren’t, Boy-ee.  I heard about your talk to-day.”

“Did you?  I’m sorry.  I don’t want to worry you.”

“Boy-ee, let me back you.”

“I can’t, Dad.”

“Because of that old agreement?”

“Partly.”

“Call it a loan, then.  I can’t stand by and see the paper licked by Pierce.  Fifty thousand won’t touch me.  And it’ll save you.”

“Please, Dad, I can’t do it.”

“Is it because it’s Certina money?”

Hal turned miserable eyes on his father.  “Hadn’t we better keep away from that?”

“I don’t get you at all on that,” cried the charlatan.  “Why, it’s business.  It’s legal.  If I didn’t sell ’em the stuff, somebody else would.  Why shouldn’t I take the money, when it’s there?”

“There’s no use in my trying to argue it with you, Dad.  We’re miles apart.”

“That’s just it,” sighed the older man.  “Oh, well!  You couldn’t help my paying the damages if Pierce wins,” he suggested hopefully.