"That's good."

"In a spoon only."

"Ah!" said Roland.

"The doctor says he will not be out for a week. Aubrey is certain it
was that horrible book-maker's men who did it, but of course he can
prove nothing. But his last words to me were, 'Slip it into Percy again
this week.' He has given me one or two things to mention. I don't
understand them, but Aubrey says they will make him wild."

Roland's flesh crept. The idea of making Mr. Pook any wilder than he
appeared to be at present horrified him. Panic gave him strength, and
he addressed Miss March, who was looking more like a modern Joan of Arc
than anything else on earth, firmly.

"Miss March," he said, "I realize that this is a crisis, and that we
must all do all that we can for the paper, and I am ready to do
anything in reason--but I will not slip it into Percy. You have seen
the effects of slipping it into Percy. What he or his minions will do
if we repeat the process I do not care to think."

"You are afraid?"

"Yes," said Roland simply.

Miss March turned on her heel. It was plain that she regarded him as a
worm. Roland did not like being thought a worm, but it was infinitely