“Has it ever been done here?”

“Has it?  Get Veltman down to tell you about the Store Employees’ Federation.”

“Veltman?  What does he know of it?  He’s in the printing-department, isn’t he?”

“Composing-room; yes.  Outside he’s a labor agitator and organizer.  A bit of a fanatic, too.  But an A1 man all right.  Get the composing-room,” he directed through the telephone, “and ask Mr. Veltman to come to Mr. Surtaine’s office.”

As the printer entered, Hal was struck again with his physical beauty.

“Did you want to see me?” he asked, looking at the “new boss” with somber eyes.

“Tell Mr. Surtaine about the newspapers and the Store Federation, Max,” said Ellis.

The German shook his head.  “Nothing new in that,” he said, with the very slightest of accents.  “We can’t organize them unless the newspapers give us a little publicity.”

“Explain it to me, please.  I know nothing about it,” said Hal.

“For years we’ve been trying to organize a union of department store employees.”

“Aren’t they well treated?”

“Not quite as well as hogs,” returned the other in an impassive voice.  “The girls wanted shorter hours and extra pay for overtime at holiday time and Old Home Week.  Every time we’ve tried it the stores fire the organizers among their employees.”

“Hardly fair, that.”

“This year we tried to get up a public meeting.  Reverend Norman Hale helped us, and Dr. Merritt, the health officer, and a number of women.  It was a good news feature, and that was what we wanted, to get the movement started.  But do you think any paper in town touched it?  Not one.”

“But why?”

“E.M.  Pierce’s orders.  He and his crowd.”

“Even the ‘Clarion,’ which is supposed to have labor sympathies?”

“The ’Clarion’!” There was a profundity of contempt in Veltman’s voice; and a deeper bitterness when he snapped his teeth upon a word which sounded to Hal suspiciously like the Biblical characterization of an undesirable citizeness of Babylon.

“In any case, they won’t give the ‘Clarion’ any more orders.”

“Oh, yes, they will,” said Veltman stolidly.

“Then they’ll learn something distinctly to their disadvantage.”

The splendid, animal-like eyes of the compositor gleamed suddenly.  “Do you mean you’re going to run the paper honestly?”

Hal almost recoiled before the impassioned and incredulous surprise in the question.

“What is ’honestly’?”

“Give the people who buy your paper the straight news they pay for?”

“Certainly, the paper will be run that way.”

“As easy as rolling off a log,” put in McGuire Ellis, with suspicious smoothness.

Veltman looked from one to the other.  “Yes,” he said:  and again “Yes-s-s.”  But the life had gone from his voice.  “Anything more?”

“Nothing, thank you,” answered Hal.