drifted away to the day's task. At the close
Hal sat, thoughtful and spent, in a far corner when Ellis walked heavily
over to him. The associate editor gazed down at his bemused principal
for a time. From his pocket he drew the thick blue pencil of his craft,
and with it tapped Hal thrice on the shoulder.

"Rise up, Sir Newspaper Man," he pronounced solemnly. "I hereby dub thee
Knight-Editor."

CHAPTER XII

THE THIN EDGE

Across the fresh and dainty breakfast table, Dr. Miles Elliot surveyed
his even more fresh and dainty niece and ward with an expression of
sternest disapproval. Not that it affected in any perceptible degree
that attractive young person's healthy appetite. It was the habit of the
two to breakfast together early, while their elderly widowed cousin, who
played the part of Feminine Propriety in the household in a highly
self-effacing and satisfactory manner, took her tea and toast in her own
rooms. It was further Dr. Elliot's custom to begin the day by
reprehending everything (so far as he could find it out) which Miss Esme
had done, said, or thought in the previous twenty-four hours. This, as
he frequently observed to her, was designed to give her a suitably
humble attitude toward the scheme of creation, but didn't.

"Out all night again?" he growled.

"Pretty nearly," said Esme cheerfully, setting a very even row of very
white teeth into an apple.

"Humph! What was it this time?"

"A dinner-dance at the Norris's."

"Have a good time?"

"Beautiful! My frock was pretty. And I was pretty. And everybody was
nice to me. And I wish it were going to happen right over again
to-night."

"Whom did you dance with mostly?"

"Anybody that asked me."

"Dare say. How many new victims?" he demanded.

"Don't be a silly Guardy. I'm not a man-eating tiger or tigress, or the
Great American Puma--or pumess. Don't you think 'pumess' is a nice
lady-word, Guardy?"

"Did you dance with Will Douglas?" catechised the grizzled doctor,
declining to be shunted off on a philological discussion. Next to acting
as legal major domo to E.M. Pierce, Douglas's most important function in
life was apparently to fetch and carry for the reigning belle of
Worthington. His devotion to Esme Elliot had become stock gossip of the
town, since three seasons previous.

"Almost half as often as he asked me," said the girl. "That was eight
times, I think."

"Nice boy, Will."

"Boy!" There was a world of expressiveness i