"Lyman," said Caruthers, "if you have any mercy left, let me throw myself upon it. I know that there ought to be an end to your forgiveness, but why should you draw the line at me?"
"I am a fool," said Lyman, "and it makes me blush to know that I can't hide it from you. But you are so contemptible that I haven't the heart to punish you."
He tore the note into bits and turned toward the door, with his head hung low. He thought that he heard something and looking back he caught Caruthers laughing at him. His head went up; a strange light drove the gentleness out of his eyes.
"Ah, you laugh at my weakness. A moment ago I didn't know what to do. Now I know."
He sprang at Caruthers and seized him by the collar—he shoved him back and struck him in the mouth—he jerked him to his knees, threw him upon the floor and kicked him. The cries of the wretch brought a crowd to the door. A constable rushed in. "Get away," Lyman commanded. "He belongs to me."
"But you don't want to kill him," the officer replied. "Look, you have knocked his teeth out."
"So I have. Well, you may have him now."
Warren sat in the office, smoking. "Why, what's the matter?" he asked, as Lyman entered. "I'll bet you've got another piece of news to suppress."
"No, I haven't—we'll give it two columns. I knocked Brother Caruthers' teeth out and I'm glad of it."
"Good!" Warren cried. And then he called the office boy. "Tom, wet down two hundred extra copies for the next edition. Oh, Samuel, you are coming on first rate. What did he do?"