ies?"--"Don't know."--"They say the death-rate is a terror."--"Are
they concealing it at the City Hall?"--"No; Merritt can't find
out."--"Bet Tip O'Farrell can."--"Oh, he's in on the game."--"Just
another fake, I guess."

In vain Hal strove to catch a clue from the confused voices. He had made
a note of it for future inquiry, when some one called out: "Mac Ellis
hasn't said anything yet." The others caught it up. "Speech from
Mac!"--"Don't let him out."--"If you can't speak, sing a song."--"Play a
tune on the _bazoo_."--"Hike him up there, somebody."--"Silence for the
MacGuire!!"

"I've never made a speech in my life," said Ellis, glowering about him,
"and you fellows know it. But last night I read this in Plutarch:
'Themistocles said that he certainly could not make use of any stringed
instrument; could only, were a small and obscure city put into his
hands, make it great and glorious.'"

Ellis paused, lifting one hand. "Fellows," he said, and he turned
sharply to face Hal Surtaine, "I don't know how the devil old
Themistocles ever could do it--unless he owned a newspaper!"

Silence followed, and then a quick acclaiming shout, as they grasped the
implicit challenge of the corollary. Then again silence, tense with
curiosity. No doubt of what they awaited. Their expectancy drew Hal to
his feet.

"I had intended to speak but once," he said, in a constrained voice,
"but I've learned more here this afternoon--more than--than I could have
thought--" He broke off and threw up his hand. "I'm no newspaper man,"
he cried. "I'm only an amateur, a freshman at this business. But one
thing I believe; it's the business of a newspaper to give the news
without fear or favor, and that's what the 'Clarion' is going to do from
this day. On that platform I'll stand by any man who'll stand by me.
Will you help?"

The answer rose and rang like a cheer. The gathering broke into little,
excited, chattering groups, sure symptom of the success of a meeting.
Much conjecture was expressed and not a little cynicism. "Compared to us
Ishmael would be a society favorite if Surtaine carries this through,"
said one. "It means suspension in six months," prophesied Shearson. But
most of the men were excitedly enthusiastic. Your newspaper man is by
nature a romantic; otherwise he would not choose the most adventurous of
callings. And the fighting tone of the new boss stimulated in them the
spirit of chance and change.

Slowly and reluctantly they