f my faith in Heaven."

The old man straightened up, drawing a breath so profound that it seemed
to raise his stature.

"I wouldn't take a million dollars for that word," he declared.

"But your own part in this?" queried the other in wonderment. "I hated
to have to say--"

"What does it matter?"

"You have no concern for yourself?" puzzled the minister.

"Oh, I'll come out on top. I always come out on top. What got to my
heart was my boy. I thought he'd gone wrong. And now I know he hasn't."

The old charlatan's strong hand fell on his assailant's shoulder, then
slipped down supportingly under his arm.

"You look pretty shaky," said he with winning solicitude. "Let me take
you home in my car. It's waiting outside."

The Reverend Norman Hale accepted, marveling greatly over the complex
miracle of the soul of man--who is formed in the image of his Maker.

CHAPTER XXXII

THE WARNING

Tradition of the "Clarion" office embalms "the evening the typhus story
broke" as a nightmare out of which was born history. Chronologically,
according to the veracious records of Bim the Guardian of Portals, the
tumult began at exactly 10.47, with the arrival of Mr. McGuire Ellis,
traveling up the staircase five steps at a jump and calling in a
strangled voice for Wayne. That usually controlled journalist rushed out
of an inner room in alarm, demanding to know whether New York City had
been whelmed with a tidal wave or the King of England murdered in his
bed, and in an instant was struggling in the grasp of his fellow editor.

"What's left of the epidemic spread?" demanded the new arrival
breathlessly.

"The killed story?"

"What's left of it?" clamored Ellis, dancing all over his colleague's
feet. "Can you find the copy? Notes? Anything?"

"Proofs," said Wayne. "I saved a set."

Ellis sat down in a chair and regarded his underling with an expression
of stupefied benevolence.

"Wayne," he said, "you're a genius. You're the fine flower and perfect
blossom of American journalism. I love you, Wayne. With passionate
fervor, I love you. Now, _gitta move on_!!!" His voice soared and
exploded. "We're going to run it to-morrow!"

"To-morrow? How? It isn't up to date. Nobody's touched it since--"

"Bring it up to date! Fire every man in the office out on it. Tear the
hide off the old paper and smear the story all over the front page. Haul
in your eyes and _start_!"

The whirl of what ensued swamped even Bim's cynic