“What would stop us?” asked Hal.

“The fear of Elias M. Pierce.  His ‘Must not’ is what kills this story.”

“Let me see it.”

“Oh, it isn’t visible.  But every editor in town knows too much to offend the President of the Consolidated Employers’ Organization, let alone his practical control of the Dry Goods Union.”

“You were at the staff breakfast yesterday, I believe, Mr. Wayne.”

“What?  Yes; of course I was.”

“And you heard what I said?”

“Yes.  But you can’t do that sort of thing all at once,” replied the city editor uneasily.

“We certainly never shall do it without making a beginning.  Please hold the Pierce story until you hear from me.”

“Tell me all about the breakfast,” commanded Esme, as the door closed upon Wayne.

Briefly Hal reported the exchange of ideas between himself and his staff, skeletonizing his own speech.

“Splendid!” she cried.  “And isn’t it exciting!  I love a good fight.  What fun you’ll have.  Oh, the luxury of saying exactly what you think!  Even I can’t do that.”

“What limits are there to the boundless privileges of royalty?” asked Hal, smiling.

“Conventions.  For instance, I’d love to tell you just how fine I think all this is that you’re doing, and just how much I like and admire you.  We’ve come to be real friends, haven’t we?  And, you see, I can be of some actual help.  The breakfast was my suggestion, wasn’t it?  So you owe me something for that.  Are you properly grateful?”

“Try me.”

“Then, august and terrible sovereign, spare the life of my little friend Kathie.”

Hal drew back a bit.  “I’m afraid you don’t realize the situation.”

The Great American Pumess shot forth a little paw—­such a soft, shapely, hesitant, dainty, appealing little paw—­and laid it on Hal’s hand.

“Please,” she said.

“But, Esme,”—­he began.  It was the first time he had used that intimacy with her.  Her eyes dropped.

“We’re partners, aren’t we?” she said.

“Of course.”

“Then you won’t let them print it!”

“If Miss Pierce goes rampaging around the streets—­”

“Please.  For me,—­partner.”

“One would have to be more than human, to say no to you,” he returned, laughing a little unsteadily.  “You’re corrupting my upright professional sense of duty.”

“It can’t be a duty to hold a friend up to ridicule, just for a little accident.”

“I’m not so sure,” said Hal, again.  “However, for the sake of our partnership, and if you’ll promise to come again soon to tell us how to run the paper—­”

“I knew you’d be kind!” There was just the faintest pressure of the delicate paw, before it was withdrawn.  The Great American Pumess was feeling the thrill of power over men and events.  “I think I like the newspaper business.  But I’ve got to be at my other trade now.”