ship of m-my own
sort. Therefore I accept your invitation. Waiter, a Scotch h-highball."

"We were talking of--" began Banneker, when the newcomer broke in:

"Talk of m-me. Of me and m-my work. I exult in my w-work. L-like Mr.
Whitman, I celebrate myself. I p-point with pride. What think you,
gentlemen, of to-day's paper in honor of which I have t-taken my few
drinks?"

"If you mean the Territon story," growled Edmonds, "it's rotten."

"Precisely. I thank you for your g-golden opinion. Rotten. Exactly as
intended."

"Put a woman's good name on trial and sentence it on hearsay without
appeal or recourse."

"There is always the danger of going too far along those lines," pointed
out Marrineal judicially.

"Pardon me, all-wise Proprietor. The d-danger lies in not going far
enough. The frightful p-peril of being found dull."

"The Territon story assays too thin in facts, as we've put it out. If
Mrs. Territon doesn't leave her husband now for McLaurin," opined
Marrineal, "we are in a difficult position. I happen to know her and I
very much doubt--"

"Doubt not at all, d-doubting Tertius. The very fact of our publishing
the story will force her hand. It's an achievement, that story. No other
p-paper has a line of it."

"Not more than one other would touch it, in its present form," said
Banneker. "It's too raw."

"The more virtue to us. I r-regard that story as an inspiration. Nobody
could have brought it off b-but me. 'A god, a god their Severance
ruled,'" punned the owner of the name.

"Beelzebub, god of filth and maggots," snarled Edmonds.

"Bacchus, god of all true inspiration!" cried Severance. "Waiter, slave
of B-Bacchus, where is my Scotch?"

"Severance, you're going too far along your chosen line," declared
Banneker bluntly.

"Yes; we must tone down a little," agreed Marrineal.

The sensationalist lifted calmly luminous eyes to his chief. "Why?" he
queried softly. "Are you meditating a change? Does the journalistic
l-lady of easy virtue begin to yearn f-for the paths of respectability?"

"Steady, Severance," warned Edmonds.

At the touch of the curb the other flamed into still, white wrath. "If
you're going to be a whore," he said deliberately, "play the whore's
game. I'm one and I know it. Banneker's one, but hasn't the courage to
face it. You're one, Edmonds--no, you're not; not even that. You're the
hallboy that f-fetches the drinks--"

Marrineal had risen. Severance turned upon him.

"I s