"Always look out for a guy that smiles when he's licked. He's got a
come-back to him."

Eleven o'clock that night saw McGuire Ellis lift his head from the
five-minute nap which he allowed himself on evenings of light pressure
after the Washington copy was run off, and blink rapidly. At the same
moment Mr. David Sterne gave utterance to an exclamation, partly of
annoyance, partly of surprise. Mr. Harrington Surtaine, wearing an
expression both businesslike and urbane stood in the doorway.

"Good-evening, gentlemen," he remarked.

Mr. Sterne snorted. Mr. Ellis's lips seemed about to form the
reproachful monosyllable "young." Without further greeting the visitor
took off his hat and overcoat and hung them on a peg. "You make
yourself at home," growled Sterne.

"I do," agreed Hal, and, discarding his coat, hung that on another peg.
"I've got a right to."

Tilting a slumber-burdened head, McGuire Ellis released his adjuration
against youthfulness.

"What's the answer?" demanded Sterne.

"I've just bought out the 'Clarion,'" said Hal.