"Here's something," he said, tossing a few typewritten pages on the editor's desk. "This'll settle Warrington's hash, Walford."
"What is it?" asked Walford.
"Read it and see for yourself." McQuade sat down and picked up the early New York papers.
Walford read slowly. When he reached the last paragraph he returned to the first and read the article through again. He laid it down and faced his employer.
"Mr. McQuade, the Call and the Times are the only papers in town that pay dividends. The Times as it stands to-day is a good, legitimate business investment. Do you want the circulation to drop ten thousand and the big advertisers to cancel their contracts?"
"What's the matter with the story? Isn't it all right?"
"Frankly, it isn't."
"It's true," said McQuade, his fist thudding on the desk; "it's true, I tell you, every damned word of it."
"The truth of it isn't the question. It's the advisability of publishing it. I say to you that if you insist on this story's publication, you'll kill the Times deader than a door-nail. I'll call the business manager in." Walford whistled through a tube, and shortly after the business manager appeared. "Read this," said Walford briefly, "and give Mr. McQuade your honest opinion regarding its publication. Mr. McQuade thinks it ought to run as local news."
The business manager read it.