"The lady says she wants your telephone number--says she must
have it."

"Tell her you don't know it; tell her it's against the
rules--and hang up."

Ten minutes later the telephone boy, in the strictest
confidence, had informed every member of the local staff that
Anita Flagg--the rich, the beautiful, the daring, the
original of the Red Cross story of that morning--had twice
called up Sam Ward and by that young man had been thrown
down--and thrown hard!

That night Elliott, the managing editor, sent for Sam; and
when Sam entered his office he found also there Walsh, the
foreign editor, with whom he was acquainted only by sight.

Elliott introduced them and told Sam to be seated.

"Ward," he began abruptly, "I'm sorry to lose you, but you've
got to go. It's on account of that story of this morning."

Sam made no sign, but he was deeply hurt. From a paper he had
served so loyally this seemed scurvy treatment. It struck him
also that, considering the spirit in which the story had been
written, it was causing him more kinds of trouble than was
quite fair. The loss of position did not disturb him. In the
last month too many managing editors had tried to steal him
from the REPUBLIC for him to feel anxious as to the future.