“Look here Mack, did you write that extra bit on this fire story?”
Mack looked up, startled, pulled off the eye shade, and stared. His face was as red as the rouge Gertie used. He didn’t need to say a word to show that he was guilty.
Joan could hardly help feeling sorry for him.
“Maybe,” she ventured, coming over, “maybe he did it because he was—jealous of Tim.”
Miss Betty, who had by this time sensed what had happened, gave a little gasp of protest. “Oh, no,” she cried.
Joan suddenly realized that while Mack may have disliked her somewhat on the grounds that she was his rival’s sister, still, he had been afraid all along that she and Chub, in their investigations, might suspect him.
“Jealous, nothing!” shouted the editor. “He’s on the staff of the Star. He’s been deliberately trying to ball us up with the administration.”
Mack wrenched his hands away. He looked sorry and ashamed. “Let go,” he said. “I’m leaving anyway.”
Joan always believed that there was some story back of it that excused Mack a little. Maybe he needed the money—or something. But Mr. Nixon did not share her leniency.
“You bet you’re going,” he roared, and he took Mack by the collar. “But not until you make a full confession to the manager.” The editor marched him into Uncle John’s office.