Faxon looked at him helplessly for a moment and when he saw the determination plainly evident in the young man's face and realised that there was no further purpose in discussion, he took his hat. "You're a fine young demigod now, Roger," he sneered. "But wait. Bigger men than you have tried this game before. They've broken—every one of them."
Faxon paused in the doorway as if he would say more, but Roger had already turned his back upon him. With an oath he slammed the door.
"I wonder what he takes me for," murmured Roger. "Thinks I'm a child does he ... got another think, I guess." Then he went in search of Good and Jenkins.
His sense of isolation and futility seemed to have deserted him utterly. For the first time in his life he felt himself at grips with a man's reality. Disdaining the elevator he skipped up the stairs to Bassett's office with his heart full of a curious exaltation such as he had never experienced before. Like a boy, but feeling very much a man, he burst into the editor's office.
"Good Lord," he cried, as he saw their sombre countenances, "who's dead?"
"Well, what happened?" asked Jenkins perfunctorily, as if he knew the answer already.
"Oh, we fixed things up beautifully," said Roger, lightly.
"Of course," muttered Bassett under his breath, "I knew you would."
Though Good did not speak, the question was in his expression. Roger saw it, and a light came into his eyes which none of them had ever seen there before.
"I hope you've got some more of that stuff on the girls for to-morrow," he said quietly. "Go after 'em strong."