Mr. Ellis," said Hal.

Having led him to the editorial office, Hal sat down to work, but found
no escape from his thoughts. There was but one thing to do: he must have
it out at once with Dr. Surtaine. He telephoned the factory for an
appointment. Sharp-eared McQuiggan caught the call.

"That my old pal, Andy?" said he. "Gimme a shot at him while you've got
him on the wire, will you?"

Cheery, not to say chirpy, was the mining promoter's greeting projected
into the transmitter which Hal turned over to him. Straightway, however,
a change came o'er his blithe spirit.

"Something's biting the old geezer," he informed Hal and Ellis. "Seems
to have a grouch. Says he's coming over, pronto--right quick."

Five minutes later, while Mr. McQuiggan was running over some proofs
which he had brought with him, Dr. Surtaine walked into the office.
There was about him a formidable smoothness, as of polished metal. He
greeted his old friend with a nod and a cool "Back again, I see, Elpy."

"And doing business at the old stand," rejoined his friend.
"Worthington's the place where the dollars grow, all right."

"Grow, _and_ stay," said Dr. Surtaine.

"Meaning?" inquired McQuiggan solicitously.

"That you've over-medicated this field."

"Have I got any dollars away from you, Andy?"

"No. But you have from my people."

"Well, their money's as good to buy booze with as anybody else's, I
reckon."

Dr. Surtaine had sat down, directly opposite the visitor, fronting him
eye-to-eye. Nothing loath, McQuiggan accepted the challenge. His hard,
brisk voice, with a sub-tone of the snarl, crossed the Doctor's strong,
heavy utterance like a rapier engaging a battle-axe. Both assumed a
suavity of manner felt to be just at the breaking point. The two
spectators sat, surprised and expectant.

"I don't suppose," said Dr. Surtaine, after a pause, "there's any use
trying to get you to refund."

"Still sticking out for the money-back-if-not-satisfied racket--in the
other fellow's business, eh, Andy? Better practice it in your own."

"Hal,"--Dr. Surtaine turned to his son,--"has McQuiggan brought in a new
batch of copy?"

"So I understand."

"The 'Clarion' mustn't run it."

"The hell it mustn't!" said McQuiggan.

"It's crooked," said the quack bluntly.

The promoter laughed. "A hot one, you are, to talk about crookedness."

"He's paying his advertising bills out of my people's pay envelopes!"
accused Dr. Surtaine.

"How's that, Do