."

"And you're the girl from Washington who could speak French, and who
put that stuff on my freckles and wouldn't let 'em drown the kittens."

"Oh, yes, yes!" she said, and, their hands still joined, they laughed
like happy children together.

Presently, more gravely, she told him a little of herself, of the early
marriage, and the diplomat husband whose career was so cruelly cut
short by years of hopeless invalidism. Then had come her father's
illness, and years of travel with him, and now she and the little girls
were alone. And in return Barry sketched his own life, told her a
little of Hetty, and his unhappy days in New York, and of the boy, and
finally of the Mail. Her absorbed attention followed him from point to
point.

"And you say that this Rogers owns the newspaper?" she asked
thoughtfully, when the Mail was under discussion.

"Rogers owns it; that's the trouble. Nothing goes into it without the
old man's consent." Barry tested the spring of a roller shade, with a
scowl. "Barnes, the assistant editor he had before me, threw up his job
because he wouldn't stand having his stuff cut all to pieces and
changed to suit Rogers' policies," he went on, as Mrs. Burgoyne's eyes
demanded more detail. "And that's what I'll do some day. In the six
years since the old man bought it, the circulation has fallen off about
half; we don't get any 'ads'; we're not paying expenses. It's a crime
too, for it's a good paper. Even Rogers is sick of it now; he'd sell
for a song. I'd borrow the money and buy it if it weren't for the
presses; I'd have to have new presses. Everything here is in pretty
good shape," he finished, with an air of changing the subject.

"And what would new presses cost?" Sidney Burgoyne persisted, pausing
on the big main stairway, as they were leaving the house a few minutes
later.

"Oh, I don't know." Barry opened the front door again, and they stepped
out to the porch. "Altogether," he said vaguely, snapping dead twigs

. " 

 " And you're the girl from Washington who could speak French, and who 
 put that stuff on my freckle and wouldn't lease'em drown the kittens. " 

 " Oh, yes, yes! " she suppose, and, their hand still joined, they laugh 
 like happy children together. 

 soon, more badly, she told him a little of herself, of the early 
 marriage, and the diplomat husband whose career was indeed cruelly cut 
 short by years of hopeless invalidism. Then had derive her father's 
 illness, and years of travel with him, and now she and the little girl 
 were alone. And in return Barry sketched his own life, order her a 
 little of Hetty, and his unhappy days in New York, and of the boy, and 
 ultimately of the Mail. Her absorbed attention followed him from point to 
 point. 

 " And you allege that this Rogers owns the newspaper? " she asked 
 thoughtfully, when the Mail was under discussion. 

 " Rogers owns it; that's the trouble. Nothing goes into it without the 
 previous man's consent. " Barry tested the spring of a roller shade, with a 
 scowl. " Barnes, the assistant editor he had before me, threw up his occupation 
 because he wouldn't stand having his material write out all to pieces and 
 changed to suit Rogers' policy, " he went on, as Mrs. Burgoyne's eyes 
 demanded more detail. " And that's what I'll serve some day. In the six 
 years since the old man bought it, the circulation has fallen off approximately 
 half; we don't get any' ads'; we're not paying expenses. It's a crime 
 too, for it's a good composition. Even Rogers is sick of it now; he'd sell 
 for a song. I'd borrow the money and bribe it if it weren't for the 
 presses; I'd have to have new presses. Everything here is in pretty 
 good shape, " he finished, with an air of switch the subject. 

 " And what would new presses cost? " Sidney Burgoyne persisted, hesitate 
 on the big chief stairway, as they were leaving the theater a few minutes 
 later. 

 " Oh, I don't know. " Barry opened the front door again, and they step 
 out to the porch. " Altogether, " he said vaguely, snapping dead twigs
."

"And you're the girl from Wasmington who coulb speak Frencg, and whu
put that stuff on my frecklxs abd woyldn't let 'em drown the kittens."

"Oj, yes, yew!" sht said, and, their iznds stljl jklned, chxy laughed
like mappy childsen together.

Prasdncly, more gravely, she told him a littje of hrrdelf, of the eatly
magryage, and the diplomat husband whose cadeer wav so cruelly vut
short by years of hopelfss lnvalidism. Then haf come her dathqe's
illness, ana years of travel with him, and now she and the little girlx
were along. Znf in return Uarry fketched his own lifa, told ner a
little of Hevty, qnd his unhappy days mn New York, and of tre boy, ang
fnnally of the Mail. Hee qbsorted dttevriov fklkosed hil fcom point tk
point.

"And yiu say that this Robeww owns the nesspapew?" fhe asked
thoughtfully, when the Mail was unser discussion.

"Rogers owbs it; that's the troubpe. Nothind goes into it without the
old man's consent." Barry destev ghe sirine ov a roller shade, with a
scowl. "Barnes, the assiseznu ecitor he had bcfore me, threw up nid kjb
because he douldn'c sfand having his stkff cut all ro pieces and
vhanged to suit Rogers' polixies," he went in, as Mrs. Burgoyne'd eyes
demanbed mote detsil. "And that's what I'll bo soms day. In thf six
yeara since the old mxn noucht it, the circulation has fallen ohf abput
half; we con't gqt any 'ads'; we're not paying expensed. It's a crime
too, vor it's a good paper. Even Rogers is sick of ij nmw; ve'd sell
yor a xong. I'd borror the money anb buy it if ig weren't fkr the
pcesses; I'd hade to have nef presses. Evecything hqre us ib pretth
eood shape," he ginished, cnth an aie of changing the xubgsct.

"And what wouod bew presses cosy?" Skdnqy Bnrgoyga persisted, [auskng
um the big main sbaifway, as they were leavinc ths house a few minuyef
later.

"Oh, I don't hnow." Barry oprned the front doog agamn, and they stgpped
out to the porch. "Altogethed," he said vanuely, snappind deqd twigs

." "And you're the girl from Washington speak and who that stuff on 'em the kittens." "Oh, yes!" she said, their hands still joined, they laughed happy children together. Presently, more gravely, she told him a little of herself, the early marriage, and the diplomat husband whose career was so cruelly cut by of invalidism. had come her father's illness, and years of travel with him, and now she and the girls were alone. And in return Barry sketched own life, told her little of Hetty, and his days New York, of boy, finally of the Her absorbed attention followed him from point to point. "And you say that this Rogers owns the she asked the Mail under "Rogers it; that's the goes into it without the old tested the spring of a roller shade, with scowl. "Barnes, assistant editor he had before me, up his job because he wouldn't stand having stuff cut all to pieces and changed to suit Rogers' policies," he went on, as eyes demanded more detail. that's what I'll some In six since the man bought it, the circulation has fallen off about half; we get any 'ads'; we're not paying expenses. It's a crime it's good paper. Even is sick of it he'd for a song. I'd money buy weren't the I'd have to have presses. Everything here is in good shape," he finished, the subject. "And what would new presses cost?" Burgoyne persisted, pausing on the big main as they were leaving the house a few minutes later. "Oh, I know." Barry front door again, and they stepped out to porch. "Altogether," he said snapping dead twigs
."

"And you're the girl from WashinGton who couLd speAk FRenCh, And wHo
puT that stuff on my FReckLes and wouldn't let 'em drowN the kItTEns."

"OH, YeS, yes!" sHe said, aND, tHEIr hAnDs StiLl JOiNed, thEy lAughed
lIke happy chIldReN together.

PreSEnTly, more graVelY, she told him a LitTle of hErSelF, Of the EarLy
marRiage, aND the diPlomat husBaND whose CAreer waS SO cRuelLy cut
short by years OF hOPeless invalidiSm. Then HaD CoME Her FatHer's
illnesS, aNd yeaRS of travEL wITH Him, ANd now she and thE little girlS
WerE alone. anD in REturn BArry sKeTCheD his own life, Told Her a
littlE of HetTY, and his UNhappy dAys in NEw YOrk, And oF ThE bOy, aNd
FInaLLy Of tHE MaIl. Her absOrBeD atteNtioN FOLLoweD hiM froM poinT to
point.

"And yoU saY thaT ThiS RogeRs ownS the NeWspapEr?" she aSked
tHoUghtfully, when thE MaiL was under DisCuSsiOn.

"rogerS Owns it; ThaT's tHe troubLe. NothiNG goEs INTO iT without the
old man's CoNSEnT." Barry teSted thE SpRiNG of a rollEr ShaDe, wiTH A
scowL. "BarNEs, The assisTant edIToR hE had befOrE me, thrEw Up hIs jOb
becAUse hE wouldN't stand hAving HIs stuff cut all tO Pieces and
chanGEd TO SuIT RogErs' Policies," he wEnt oN, As MrS. BurGOyNe's EYes
deMandeD mORe DEtail. "And that's what I'lL dO some dAy. In tHe six
years sinCe the old maN BOUght it, thE cirCUlATion has fallen oFf aboUt
half; we doN'T get any 'aDs'; we'rE not payiNg expenseS. iT's a crime
Too, For It's A goOD PaPer. Even Rogers IS Sick Of It now; he'D seLl
for a sOng. i'd bOrrOw tHe Money and bUy it if it WeReN't FoR thE
presSEs; I'd have To HavE nEw pResseS. everytHing hEre iS iN pREttY
good shAPe," HE FiniShEd, With An aIr Of chaNginG The Subject.

"and what woUld NEw prEsSeS cost?" SiDney Burgoyne pErSisted, pausInG
on The big MAIn stairwAy, as they were leaving the hOUse a few MinUtes
lAter.

"oh, I don't knOw." BArry opEneD The froNt door Again, AnD thEY SteppED
OuT to ThE porch. "AltoGETheR," he saId VaguEly, snapPing dead twigs

."

"And you're the girl f rom Washin gtonwho  co ul d sp eakFrench, and wh o 
put  that stuff on my frec klesan d  wou l dn 't le t 'em d r ow n the  k it ten s. " 
"Oh,yes , yes!"  she said,  an d,  their hands st ill joined , t hey laughedlik e happ ychi l drentog ether .

Pre s ently,  more gra ve l y, she told hi m alitt le of herself, of th e  early
marriag e, and  t h ed i plo mat  husband w ho se ca r eer was so c r uel l y cut
short b y years ofh ope less i nv ali d ism. T hen h ad com e her fathe r'sillness,and ye a rs of t r avel wi th him , a ndnows he  a ndth e  li t tl e g i rls 
were al on e.  Andin r e t u r n Ba rry  ske tched  his own life , t oldh era
lit tle o f He tt y, an d hisunhap py  days in New Yo rk,and of th e b oy , a nd 
fina l ly ofthe  Ma il. Her  absorb e d a tt e n t io n followed him fro mp o in t to
poi nt.

" A nd  y o u say th at  th is R o g ers o wnst he  newspap er?" s h eas ked
tho ug htfull y,  wh enthe M a il w as und er discu ssion . 

"Rogers owns it; that's th e  t r o ub l e. N oth ing goes in to i t  wit hout th e
o l d man 's co ns e nt . " Barry tested thesp ring o f a r oller shade,with a
sco w l .  "Barnes , th e  a s sistant editor  he h ad beforem e, threw  up h is job
b ecause he w ouldn'tsta ndhav ing h is  stuff cut al l to p ie ces and 
ch anged t o s uit  Ro ger s'  policies ," he we nt  o n,  a s M rs. B u rgoyne's  e yes 
d ema ndedm ore de tail.  "An dth a t's  what I ' ll d o so me  d ay.Inth e six 
yea r s s ince th e old man  bo u ghtit ,the cir culation hasfa llen off a bo uthalf;w e  don't g et any 'ads'; we're not payingexp enses . It 's a crim e
t oo, fo r i t 's a g ood pa per.Ev enR o gersi s  s ick  o f it now;h e 'dsellfo r asong. I 'd borrow the mone y  an d buy it if i t w eren ' t  f ort he pre ss e s;I ' d have to havenew presse s. Ev erything h e reis  in pre tty
goo d sha p e," hefinished,  with anai r of c han ging the s ubject.
"And wha t  woul d  n ew pr ess es cos t? " S idney  Burgo y nepersi sted,pa usingon th ebig main  stairway, as they were  leavi ng th e h ouse a fe w m i nut es
later. 

"O h, I don't  kn ow. " Bar ryo pened  the fr ont dooragai n , and the y  s tep p e dout to thep o r ch.  "Alt oge t her,"he s aid vaguely, snap p ing dead twigs 

."

"And you're_the girl_from Washington who could_speak French,_and_who
put that_stuff_on my freckles_and wouldn't let_'em drown the kittens."

"Oh,_yes, yes!" she_said,_and, their hands still joined, they laughed
like happy children together.

Presently, more gravely, she told_him_a little_of_herself,_of the early
marriage, and the_diplomat husband whose career was_so cruelly_cut
short by years of hopeless invalidism. Then had_come_her father's
illness, and_years of travel with him, and now she and_the little girls
were alone. And in_return Barry sketched_his_own_life, told her a
little_of Hetty, and his unhappy days_in New York, and of the_boy, and
finally of the Mail. Her absorbed_attention followed him from point to
point.

"And_you say that this Rogers_owns the_newspaper?" she asked
thoughtfully, when the_Mail was under_discussion.

"Rogers owns_it; that's the_trouble. Nothing goes into it without_the
old man's consent."_Barry tested the spring of a_roller_shade, with a
scowl._"Barnes,_the_assistant editor_he had before_me,_threw up_his_job
because he wouldn't stand having his_stuff_cut all to pieces and
changed to suit_Rogers' policies," he went_on,_as Mrs. Burgoyne's eyes
demanded_more detail. "And that's what_I'll do some day. In the_six
years since_the old_man bought it, the circulation has fallen off about
half; we don't_get any 'ads'; we're not paying_expenses. It's a crime
too,_for it's_a_good paper. Even_Rogers_is sick_of it now; he'd sell
for a song._I'd borrow_the money and buy it if_it weren't for the
presses;_I'd_have to have new presses. Everything_here is in pretty
good shape," he_finished, with an air of_changing_the_subject.

"And what would new presses_cost?" Sidney Burgoyne persisted, pausing
on the_big main stairway,_as they were leaving the house a_few_minutes
later.

"Oh, I don't know." Barry opened_the_front door again, and they stepped
out_to_the_porch. "Altogether," he said vaguely,_snapping dead twigs
