"No. We've got a two-page story in proof now, giving the whole facts of the epidemic."
"You can't publish it, Boy-ee," said his father firmly.
"Can't? That sounds like an order."
Adroitly Dr. Surtaine caught at the word. "An order drawn on your word of honor."
"If there's any question of honor to the 'Clarion,' it's to tell the truth plainly and take the consequences."
"Who said anything about the 'Clarion's honor? This is between you and me."
"You'll have to speak more plainly," said Hal with a dawning dread.
"Boyee, I hate to do this, but I've got to, to save the city. You gave me your word that the day you had to suppress news for your own sake, you'd quit this Don Quixotic business and treat others as decently and considerately as you treated yourself."
"Go on," said Hal, in a half whisper.
"Well—Milly Neal." Dr. Surtaine wet his lips nervously. "You saved yourself there by keeping the story out of the papers. Of course you were right. You were dead right. You'd have been a fool to do anything else. But there you are. And there's your promise."