say Drake bought Pittsburgh & New Orleans--what do you mean?"

"Bought control, of course, and sold it back at midnight to Gunther &
Co. for a profit of ten millions."

"Repeat that," said Marsh, aghast. "Good Lord! What? When? Where was the
sale? For God's sake, Bojo, don't you know you've got the biggest story
of the year? Three-twenty now. It's 'good-night' to our composing-room
at half past. Talk it fast and I can make it."

Hastily, under his prompting, Bojo recalled details and scraps of
information. Three minutes later Marsh was at the telephone and they
heard the shouted frantic orders.

"_Morning Post?_ Who's on the long wait? Hill? Give him to me--on the
jump. Damn it, this is Marsh! Hello, Ed? Hold your press men for an
extra. We've got a smashing beat. Front page and the biggest head you
can put on! Play it up for all you're worth. Ready: Dan Drake bought
control...." The outlines in staccato, dramatic sentences, followed,
then directions to get Gunther, Drake, Fontaine, and others on the wire.
Then silence, and Marsh burst through the room and down the stairs in a
racket that threatened to wake the house.

Granning and Bojo sat on, watching the restless, heavy figure on the
couch, too feverishly awake for sleep, talking in broken phrases, while
the white mists came into the room and the city began to wake. At four
o'clock Doris called up from long distance. Bojo had completely
forgotten her in the tension of the night and rather guiltily hastened
to reassure her. Gladys was at her side, anxious to hear from Fred, to
learn if she might come to his assistance, wondering why he had not sent
her word--alarmed.

He invented a lie to clear the situation--a friend who was in desperate
straits--with whom Fred was watching out the night.

At six o'clock DeLancy rose up suddenly, disheveled and haggard, staring
at them, bewildered at the pressure of the straps. "What the devil's
happened?"

Granning rose and released him. "You were rather obstreperous last
night, young man," he said quietly. "We were afraid you might dent the
fire-escape or carry off the mantel. How are you?"

"Oh, good God!" said DeLancy, sinking his head in his hands with a
groan, suddenly recalling the pool.

"If you hadn't gone off like a bad Indian," said Bojo sternly, "you'd be
celebrating in a different way." Then, as Fred without interest
continued oblivious, he went over and struck him a resounding blow
between the shoulders. "W