won't want to spoil the ship for a ha'porth of tar? In other words, you
would sooner have a happy, well-fed editor running about the place than
a broken-down wreck who might swoon from starvation?"

"But one moment," said Roland. "Are you sure that the present
proprietors will want to sell?"

"Want to sell," cried Mr. Petheram enthusiastically. "Why, if they know
you want to buy, you've as much chance of getting away from them
without the paper as--as--well, I can't think of anything that has such
a poor chance of anything. If you aren't quick on your feet, they'll
cry on your shoulder. Come along, and we'll round them up now."

He struggled into his coat, and gave his hair an impatient brush with a
note-book.

"There's just one other thing," said Roland. "I have been a regular
reader of 'Squibs' for some time, and I particularly admire the way in
which the Woman's Page----"

"You mean you want to reengage the editress? Rather. You couldn't do
better. I was going to suggest it myself. Now, come along quick before
you change your mind or wake up."

Within a very few days of becoming sole proprietor of 'Squibs,' Roland
began to feel much as a man might who, a novice at the art of steering
cars, should find himself at the wheel of a runaway motor. Young Mr.
Petheram had spoken nothing less than the truth when he had said that
he was full of ideas for booming the paper. The infusion of capital
into the business acted on him like a powerful stimulant. He exuded