ow is,
what's the paper going to do about this meeting?"

"Print it."

Into Ellis's face flashed the fervor of the warrior who sees victory
loom through the clouds of hopeless defeat.

"You mean that?"

"Every word of it. And run the epidemic spread--"

Before he could finish, Ellis was fighting his way to a telephone.

Hal met his father's eyes, and turned away with a heartsick sense that,
in the one glance, had passed indictment, conviction, a hopeless
acquiescence, and the dumb reproach of the trapped criminal against
avenging justice. He turned and made for the nearest exit, conscious of
only two emotions, a burning desire to be away from that place and a
profound gladness that, without definite expression of the change, the
bitter alienation of McGuire Ellis was past.

As Hal left, there arose, out of the turmoil, one clear voice of reason:
the thundering baritone of Festus Willard moving an adjournment. It
passed, and the gathering slowly dispersed. Avoiding the offered
companionship of Congressman Harkins and Douglas, Dr. Surtaine took
himself off by a side passage. At the end of it, alone, stood the
Reverend Norman Hale, leaning against the sill of an open window. The
old quack rushed upon him.

"Keep off!" warned the young minister, throwing himself into an attitude
of defense.

"No, no," protested Dr. Surtaine: "don't think I meant _that_. I--I want
to thank you."

"Thank _me_?" The minister put his hand to his head. "I don't
understand."

"For leaving my boy out of it."

"Oh! That. I didn't see the necessity of dragging him in."

"That was kind. You handled me pretty rough. Well, I'm used to rough
work. But the boy--look here, you knew all about this Milly Neal
business, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Maybe you could tell me," went on the old quack miserably. "I can
understand Hal's getting into a--an affair with the girl--being kinda
carried away and losing his head. What I can't get is his--his quittin'
her when she was in trouble."

"I still don't understand," protested the minister. "My head isn't very
good. I've been ill, you know."

"You let him off without telling his name to-night. And that made me
think maybe he wasn't in wrong so far as I thought. Maybe there
were--what-ye-call-'em?--mitigating circumstances. Were there?"

A light broke in upon the Reverend Norman Hale. "Did you think your son
was Milly Neal's lover? He wasn't."

"Are you sure?" gasped the father.

"As sure as o