disapproval in language that made the hardened printers' towel in the
composing room shrink.

McCrasky's great point was that the local pages of the paper should
have a strong moral influence on the community. He knocked the sporting
editor speechless by telling him that they would have no more reports
of prize-fights. Poor Murren went back to the local room, sat down at
his table and buried his head in his hands. Every man on a local staff
naturally thinks the paper is published mainly to give his department a
show, and Murren considered a fight to a finish as being of more real
importance to the world than a presidential election. The rest of the
boys tried to cheer him up. "A fine state of things," said Murren
bitterly. "Think of the scrap next week between the California Duffer
and Pigeon Billy and no report of it in the Argus! Imagine the walk-
over for the other papers. What in thunder does he think people want to
read?"

But there was another surprise in store for the boys. McCrasky
assembled them all in his room and held forth to them. He suddenly
sprung a question on the criminal reporter--so suddenly that Thompson,
taken unawares, almost spoke the truth.

"Do you know of any gambling houses in this city?"

Thompson caught his breath and glanced quickly at Murren.

"No," he said at last. "I don't, but perhaps the religious editor does.
Better ask him."

The religious editor smiled and removed his corn-cob pipe.