I used to deliver papers there. And I went around one
night this month--"
"_To drum up business?_"
"Yes, sir." Roger looked at him aghast.
"John," he asked, in deep reproach, "do you expect this office to feed the
vanity of thieves?"
"Where's the vanity," John rejoined, "in being called a crime wave?" And
seeing the sudden tremor of mirth which had appeared on Roger's face, "Look
here, Mr. Gale," he went eagerly on. "When every paper in the town is
telling these fellers where they belong--calling 'em crooks, degenerates,
and preaching regular sermons right into their faces--why shouldn't we help
'em to read the stuff? How do we know it won't do 'em good? It's church to
'em, that's what it is--and business for this office. Nine of these guys
have sent in their money just in the last week or so--"
"Look out, my boy," said Roger, with slow and solemn emphasis. "If you
aren't extremely careful you'll find yourself a millionaire."
"But wait a minute, Mr. Gale--"
"Not in this office," Roger said. "Send 'em back, every one of 'em!
Understand?"
"Yes, sir," was the meek reply. And with a little sigh of regret John
turned his wits to other kinds and conditions of New Yorkers who might care
to see themselves in print.
As they worked together day by day, Roger had occasional qualms over
leaving John here in the hot town while he himself went up to the
mountains. He even thought of writing to Edith that he was planning to
bring John, too.
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