is morning?"

"Yes. But what has that to do with Veltman's resignation?"

"Everything, I should think. Notice anything queer about the page?"

"No."

"Look it over again."

Hal took up the paper and scrutinized the sheet. "I don't see a thing
wrong," he said.

"That lets me out," said Ellis grimly. "If you can't see it when you're
told it's there, I guess I can't be blamed for not catching it in proof.
Of course the last thing one notices is a stock line that's always been
there unchanged. Look at the motto of the paper. Veltman must have
chiseled out the old one, and set this in, himself, the last thing
before we went to press. How do you like it? Looks to me to go pretty
well with our leading editorial this morning."

There between the triumphal cocks, where formerly had flaunted the
braggart boast of the old "Clarion," and more latterly had appeared the
gentle legend of the martyred President, was spread in letters of shame
to the eyes of the "Clarion's" owner, the cynic profession of the led
captain, of the prostituted pen, of all those who have or shall sell
mind and soul and honor for hire;--

_"Whose Bread I Eat, his Song I Sing."_

CHAPTER XXIX

CERTINA CHARLEY

Mr. Belford Couch was a man of note. You might search vainly for the
name among the massed thousands of "Who's Who in America," or even in
those biographical compilations which embalm one's fame and picture for
a ten-dollar consideration. Shout the cognomen the length of Fifth
Avenue, bellow it up Walnut and down Chestnut Street, lend it vocal
currency along the Lake Shore Drive, toss it to the winds that storm in
from the Golden Gate to assault Nob Hill, and no answering echo would
you awake. But give to its illustrious bearer his familiar title; speak
but the words "Certina Charley" within the precincts of the nation's
capital and the very asphalt would find a viscid voice wherewith to
acclaim the joke, while Senate would answer House, and Department reply
to Bureau with the curses of the stung ones. For Mr. Belford Couch was
least loved where most laughed at.

From the nature of his profession this arose. His was a singular career.
He pursued the fleeting testimonial through the mazy symptoms of disease
(largely imaginary) and cure (wholly mythical). To extract from the
great and shining ones of political life commendations of Certina; to
beguile statesmen who had never tasted that strange concoction into
asseverating thei