"Blackmailers!" Mr. O'Neill's eyes seemed to catch fire from his hair. His face paled. "I've been in the newspaper business seventeen years, and nobody ever called me a blackmailer and got away with it. I'm in a generous mood. I'll give you one chance to take that back—"
"Nonsense. It happens to be true—" put in Paddock.
"I'm talking to your friend here." O'Neill's breath came fast. "I'll attend to you, you lily of the field, in a minute. You—you liar—are you going to take that back?"
"No," cried Minot.
He saw a wild Irishman coming for him, breathing fire. He squared himself to meet the attack. But the man at the typewriter leaped up and seized O'Neill from behind.
"Steady, Bob," he shouted. "How do you know this fellow isn't right?"
Unaccountably the warlike one collapsed into a chair.
"Damn it, I know he's right," he groaned. "That's what makes me rave. Why didn't you let me punch him? It would have been some sat-
