"'Any way,' I said, 'if I can't get on here, I must dig out for a place nearer sundown. Once let me get a fair chance on a paper, and I can keep my end of the stick.'
"The Editor went on to tell me what I knew already, that they wanted live men on the paper, fellows that would do a murder right up to the handle. Then he came to business; offered me a triple execution just to show my style; and got up to introduce me to the other boys.
"Just then there was a knock at the door.
"'That's Poulter, our local Editor,' he said. 'Come in, Poulter. He will take you down for me.'
"The door opened, but it wasn't Poulter. I knew that by instinct. It was a rough-looking customer, with a black-dyed moustache, a diamond pin in his shirt front, and a great gold chain across his vest; and he carried a heavy stick in his hand.
"'Which is the one of you two that runs this machine?' he asked, looking from one to the other.
"'I am the Editor,' said Mr. Van Cott, 'if you mean that.'
"'Then you air the Rooster I'm after,' he went on. 'I am John Halkett of Tenth Ward. I want to know what in thunder you mean by printing infernal lies about me and my party in your miserable one-hoss paper.'
"He drew a copy of the paper from his pocket, and held it before the Editor's eyes.
"'You know your remedy, sir,' said Mr. Van Cott, quietly edging in the direction of the table, where there was a drawer.