With what anxiety they awaited the appearance of the Clarion may be guessed. Simeon Deaves and Evan started out immediately after lunch to get a copy. The old man wanted to go direct to the publishing office to get it damp from the press, but Evan persuaded him it would never do to betray so much anxiety in the matter. The Clarion office might be watched. Indeed it was not unlikely the gang had an agent there.
They found that none of the newsstands in the vicinity of the plaza carried the Clarion: "a socialistic rag" it was called in that neighbourhood. They had to walk all the way to Third avenue to find a dealer who would confess to handling it. It would be up at four he said, so that they had an hour to kill, which old Simeon spent very happily in the fish-market.
For the last fifteen minutes they hung around outside the newsstand while the proprietor watched them suspiciously from inside his window. When the newswagon drove up Simeon Deaves snatched a Clarion from the top of the pile. The newsdealer held out his hand for the two cents, but it was ignored.
Evan got a copy for himself. Skimming over the headlines he failed to find the name of Deaves and breathed more freely. A more careful search column by column revealed not so much as a stick of type devoted to Simeon Deaves. Evan and his employer looked at each other and grinned.
The newsdealer demanded his two cents.
"Shan't need the paper now," said Simeon, calmly putting it down.
Evan averted an explosion by hastily paying for both copies.
On the way home the old man was in such an extraordinary good humour that he actually bought Evan a five-cent cigar. Evan keeps it to this day as a curiosity.
At home they found an ashy and shaken George Deaves waiting for them in the library.
"It's all right!" said Evan.