“It means a loss of thousands of dollars in advertising, just as like as not.”

“That can’t be helped.”

Shearson did the only thing he could think of in so unheard-of an emergency.  He went out to call up the office of E.M.  Pierce.

Left to his own thoughts, the editor-in-chief reconstructed the scene of the outrage.  None too strong did that term seem to him.  The incredible callousness of the daughter of millions, speeding away without a backward glance at the huddled form in the gutter, set a flame of wrath to heating his brain.  He built up a few stinging headlines, and selected one which he set aside.  “GIRL PLAYS JUGGERNAUT.  ELIAS M. PIERCE’S DAUGHTER SERIOUSLY INJURES NURSE AND LEAVES HER LYING IN GUTTER.”  Not long after he had concluded, McGuire Ellis entered, slumped into his chair, and eyed his employer from under bent brows.

“Got a grip on your temper?” he asked presently.

“What’s the occasion?” countered Hal.

“I think you’re going to have an interview with Elias M. Pierce.”

“Where and when?”

“In his office.  As soon as you can get there.”

“I think not.”

“Not?” repeated Ellis, conning the other with his curious air.

“Why should I go to Elias M. Pierce’s office?”

“Because he’s sent for you.”

“Don’t be absurd, Mac.”

“And don’t you be young.  In all Worthington there aren’t ten men that don’t jump when Elias M. Pierce crooks his finger.  Who are you, to join that noble company of martyrs?” Achieving no nibble on this bait, the speaker continued:  “Jerry Saunders has been keeping Wayne’s telephone on the buzz, ordering the story stopped.”

“Who is Jerry Saunders?”

“Pierce’s man, and master of our fates.  So he thinks, anyway.  In other words, general factotum of the Boston Store.  Wayne told him the matter was in your hands.  All storm signals set, and E.M.’s secretary telephoning that the Great Man wants to see you at once. Don’t you think it would be safer to go?”

Mr. Harrington Surtaine swung full around on his chair, looked at his assistant with that set and level gaze of which Esme Elliot had aforetime complained, and turned back again.  A profound chuckle sounded from behind him.

“This’ll be a shock to Mr. Pierce,” said Ellis.  “I’ll break it diplomatically to his secretary.”  And thus was the manner of the Celt’s diplomacy.  “Hello,—­Mr. Pierce’s secretary?—­Tell Mr. Pierce—­get this verbatim, please,—­that Mr. Harrington Surtaine is busy at present, but will try to find time to see him here—­here, mind you, at the ‘Clarion’ office, at 4.30 this afternoon—­What?  Oh, yes; you understood, all right.  Don’t be young.—­What?  Do not sputter into the ’phone.—­Just give him the message.—­No; Mr. Surtaine will not speak with you.—­Nor with Mr. Pierce.  He’s busy.—­Good-bye.”