"You haven't!" declared $100,000,000.
"I have nothing to say!" meekly echoed one-tenth of one hundred.
The Post man walked out with a distinctly editorial stride. He began to envy the yellows and their vulgar editors, as all Post men must at times.
Mr. Goodchild's efforts to suppress the publication of his family affairs were in vain. He unfortunately sought to argue over the telephone with the owners.
The owners spoke to the editors.
"It's News!" the editors pointed out.
"It's News," the owners regretfully explained to the bank president.
"But it's a crime against decency," said Mr. Goodchild.
"You are right. It's a damned shame. But it's News!" said the owners, and hung up.
Mr. Goodchild summoned his lawyer. The lawyer looked grave. He recognized the uselessness of trying to stop the newspapers, and realized that there would be no fat fees, even if he were otherwise successful. He tried to frighten H. R., but was referred to Max Onthemaker, Esquire.