"Let me sit down," said Lyman.

"That's exactly what you must do, and write like a horse trotting.
I've left two columns open, and I want you to spread yourself."

"Something important?" Lyman asked, sitting down.

"Now, what do you want to talk that way for? It's a world beater."

"What do you mean?"

"The marriage, don't you understand? Make two columns out of it and
I'll get fifty subscribers before night. Hurry up, I've got a tramp
printer waiting for the copy."

"Nonsense," said Lyman, lighting a cigar. "You wouldn't expect a man
to write up his own marriage, any more than you would his own
funeral."

"If his funeral was as extraordinary as this marriage I would. Finest
piece of news I ever heard of. Never heard of anything to beat it; and
we'll make the hair rise up in this community like bristles on a dog.
Go ahead with it. The tramp's waiting and I am paying him time."

"Sit down," said Lyman. Warren did so reluctantly. Lyman put his hand
on the young man's shoulder. "My dear boy," said he, "don't you know
it would be very indelicate, not to say vulgar, for us to print a
sensational account of that marriage? For a day it might be a news
victory, but afterwards it would be a humiliating defeat. To tell you
the truth, I am about ready to confess my regret that it happened." He
was silent for a moment, as if to take note of Warren's hard
breathing. "And if McElwin had come to me more as a man and less like
a mad bull I would have agreed to sign the divorce petition. But I
don't like to be driven. I am sorry to disappoint you; it is hard to
throw cold water on your warm enthusiasm, but I won't write a word
about the marriage."

Tears gathered in Warren's eyes. "This life's not worth living," he
said. "Nothing but disappointment all the time. No hope; everything
dead."

"But you shouldn't hang a hope on a poisonous weed, my boy."

"No matter where I hang one, it falls to the dust. But say, you are
not going to sign that paper, are you?"

"Not at present. I am man enough to be stubborn."

"Good!" Warren cried, his wonted enthusiasm beginning to rise. "Don't
sign it at all. You've got him on the hip, and you can throw him where
you please. I've been waiting two years to get even with him. He
stopped his paper because I printed a communication from a farmer
denouncing money sharks. All right," he said, getting up, "we can make
the paper go anyway. I'll put that tramp on another job."

He went out with