“Get an issue out tomorrow!” he repeated, staring at her.

“Certainly.  I would have done what I could about it,” said Sidney briskly, “but not knowing where you were, or when you were coming back, my hands were absolutely tied.  Now, Barry, listen!” she broke off, not reassured by his expression, “and don’t jump at the conclusion that it’s impossible.  What would it mean?”

“To get an issue of the mail out tomorrow?  Why, great Scott, Sid, you don’t seem to realize that there’s not a stick left standing!”

“I do realize.  I was there until the fire was out,” she said calmly.  And for a few minutes they talked of the fire.  Then she said abruptly:  “Would Ferguson let you use the old star press for a few weeks, do you think?”

“I don’t see why he should,” Barry said perversely.

“I don’t see why he shouldn’t.  I’ll tell you something you don’t know.  Night before last, Barry, while I was down in the office, old Ferguson himself came in, and poked about, and asked various questions.  Finally he asked me what I thought the chances were of your wanting to buy out the Star.  What do you think at that?”

“He’s sick of it, is he?” Barry said, with kindling eyes.  “Well, we’ve seen that coming, haven’t we?  I will be darned!” He shook his head regretfully.  “That would have been a big thing for the mail” he said, “but it’s all up now!”

“Not necessarily,” the lady undauntedly rejoined.  “I’ve been thinking, Barry,” she went on, “if you reordered the presses, they’d give you plenty of time to pay for them, wouldn’t they?  Might even take something off the price, under the circumstances?”

“I suppose they might.”  He made an impatient gesture.  “But that’s just one—­”

“One item, I know.  But it’s the main item.  Then you could rent the office and loft over the old station, couldn’t you?  And move the old Star press in there this afternoon.”

“This afternoon,” said Barry calmly.

“Well, we don’t gain anything by waiting.  You can write a manly and affecting editorial,”—­her always irrepressible laughter broke out, “full of allusions to the phoenix, you know!  And my regular Saturday column is all done, and Miss Porter can send in something, and there’s any amount of stuff about the Folsom lawsuit.  And Young, Mason and Company ought to take at least a page to advertise their premium day to-morrow.  I’ll come down as soon as you’ve moved—­”

Barry reached for his hat.

“The thing can’t be done,” he announced firmly, “but, by George, Sid, you would give a field mouse courage!  And what a grandstand play, if we could put it through!  There’s not a second to be lost, though.  But look here,” and with sudden gravity he took both her hands, “it’ll take some more money, you know.”

“I have some more money,” she answered serenely.

“Well, I’ll get some!” he declared emphatically.  “It won’t be so much, either, once we get started.  And so old Ferguson wanted to sell, did he?”