shall fight you
honestly, Dick. In all I have said so far, there has been no innuendo;
I've stood out in the open. I did you a good turn this morning, but
you will never be any the wiser. Personally, I like you; I have always
liked you, and I am glad to see one man of the craft rise above the
grubs and earn a splendid competence. It hasn't been easy, Dick;
you've had to fight for it, and that's what I admire. You're a good,
clean fighter. If I should rebel against continuing this attack
against you, the attack would go on, but I shouldn't. That would do
neither of us any good. McQuade might find a man with less scruples
than I have. And that's how the matter stands, Dick."

"Well, you're frank and honest about it, and I know you will at least
give me a square deal, in the event of my nomination."

"You may reckon on that. Good luck to you and bad luck to your cause."

They talked about the old days for a while, and then Warrington
departed and directed his steps to the office of the Journal, the
paper in which he had begun his career. Oh, here they were willing to
do anything in their power from now on. If he was really determined to
accept the nomination, they would aid him editorially. That evening
the editor made good his word, frankly indorsing Warrington as the
best possible choice for Republican nominee. The editor explained his
former attitude by setting forth his belief that Mr. Warrington's
candidacy was not serious. At the office of the Telegraph they treated
him cordially enough. They never meddled with politics till the fight
was on. Then they picked the candidate whose views most coincided with
their own. If Mr. Warrington was nominated, doubtless they would
support his ticket. The general manager had been a classmate of
Warrington's. He called on him and explained his errand. The manager
simply wrote on a pad: "McQuade owns fifty-five per cent. of the
shares," held it under Warrington's nose and then tore it up.

"That's where our independence stands at this moment."

"I had heard of this, but didn't quite believe it," Warrington said.
Bill Osborne evidently knew what was going on, then. "I'm sorry to
have troubled you."

"None at all."

On the street Warrington was stopped by Ben Jordan, the Telegraph's
star reporter, who had worked with Warrington on the Journal.

"Say, Dick, I am glad to see you. I was going up to your house on
purpose to see you. Come over to Martin's a minute. I've got some