“Undoubtedly.”

“They all do,” sighed Sterne.  “But my contract has several months—­”
“Yes:  I’ve been over the contracts with a lawyer.  Yours and Mr.
Ellis’s.  He says they won’t hold.”

“All newspaper contracts are on the cheese,” observed McGuire Ellis philosophically.  “Swiss cheese, at that.  Full of holes.”

“I don’t admit it,” protested Sterne.  “Even so, to turn a man out—­”

A snort of disgust from Ellis interrupted the plea.  The glare with which that employee favored his boss fairly convicted the seamed and graying editor of willful and captious immaturity.

“Contract or no contract, you’ll both be fairly treated,” said the new owner shortly.

“Who, me?” inquired Ellis.  “You can go rapidly to hell and take my contract with you.  I know when I’m fired.”

“Who fired you?”

“I did.  To save you the satisfaction.”

“Very good of you, I’m sure,” drawled Hal in a tone of lofty superiority, turning away.  Out of the corner of his eye, however, he could see McGuire Ellis making pantomime as of one spanking a baby with fervor.  Amusement helped him to the recovery of his temper.

“Working under an amateur journalist will just suit Sterne,” observed Ellis, in a tone quite as offensive as Hal’s.

“Cut it out, Mac,” suggested his principal.  “There’s no occasion for hard words.”

“Amateur isn’t the hardest word in the dictionary,” said Hal quietly.  “Perhaps I’ll become a professional in time.”

“Buying a newspaper doesn’t make a newspaper man.”

“Well, I’m not too old to learn.  But see here, Mr. Ellis, doesn’t your contract hold you?”

“The contract that you said was no good?  Do you expect it to work all one way?”

“Well, professional honor, then, I should suppose—­”

“Professional honor!” cut in Ellis, with scathing contempt.  “You step in here and buy a paper out of a freak of revenge—­”

“Hold on, there!  How can you know my motive?”

“What else could it be?”

Hal was silent, finding no answer.

“You see!  To feed your mean little spite, you’ve taken over control of the biggest responsibility, for any one with any decent sense of responsibility, that a man could take on his shoulders.  And what will you make of it?  A toy!  A rich kid’s plaything.”

“Well, what would you make of it, yourself?” asked Hal.

“A teacher and a preacher.  A force to tear down and to build up.  To rip this old town wide open, and remould it nearer to the heart’s desire!  That’s what a newspaper might be, and ought to be, and could be, by God in Heaven, if the right man ever had a free hand at it.”

“Don’t get profane, my boy,” tittered Sterne.

“You think that’s swearing?” retorted Ellis.  “Yes; you would.  But I was nearer praying then than I’ve ever been since I came to this office.  We’ll never live to see that prayer answered, you and I.”