He whirled as his father ambled up the street, his round face wearing a grin.
"What is that greasy smirk for?" demanded Bill. "If you have any business in the Herald office, spit it out."
"I knowed it would come out sooner or later," spluttered Bowers, shifting his position to avoid a pool in the pavement, left by the recent rain. "With half an eye, anybody could see the mongrel streak in——"
He stopped as his son advanced swiftly toward him.
"What kind of a streak?" he threatened. "I dare you to say that again, and hitch anybody's name to it."
"Why, William," expostulated his father, "you shorely ain't goin' to have Jap and his mammy hitched up to the Herald? Barton 'll ride Bloomtown proper."
"It will give Jones a whack at the Herald," suggested Granger mildly.
"And it will be his last whack!" foamed Bill. "For I'll finish him and his filthy paper before I go to the pen for burning down the Herald office. The day that Jap Herron leaves the Herald, there will be the hell-firedest bonfire that Bloomtown ever saw!" His eyes were blazing. "Get away from here," he cried fiercely, "you—you milksop friends!"
He stopped as Isabel, her eyes swollen from crying, crossed the street. She had come across the corner of the park, and her face was white and drawn. Bill stepped up into the doorway and awaited her.
"I want to speak to Jap," she said, as he barred the passage.