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The Clarion

"Too ornamental to be useful?"
Suddenly she stamped her foot at him, flaming into a swift exasperation. "You're
laughing at me!" she accused. "I'm going back to my work. I won't stay and be made fun
of." Then, in another and rather a dismayed tone, "Oh, I'm forgetting about your being the
Chief's son."
Hal jumped to his feet. "Please promise to forget it when next we meet," he besought her
with winning courtesy. "You've been a kind little friend and adviser. And I thank you for
what you have said."
"Not at all," she returned lamely, and walked away, her face still crimson.
Returning to the executive suite, the young scion found his father immersed in
technicalities of copy with the second advertising writer.
"Sit down, Boyee," said he. "I'll be through in a few minutes." And he resumed his
discussion of "black-face," "36-point," "indents," "boxes," and so on.
Left to his own devices Hal turned idly to the long table. From the newspaper which the
Reverend Norman Hale had left, there glared up at him in savage black type this
heading:—
CERTINA A FAKE
Religious Editor Shows Up Business and Professional
Methods of Dr. L. André Surtaine
The article was made up of excerpts from a religious weekly's exposé, interspersed with
semi-editorial comment. As he skimmed it, Hal's wrath and loyalty waxed in direct ratio.
Malice was obvious in every line, to the incensed reader. But the cause and purpose were
not so clear. As he looked up, brooding upon it, he caught his father's eye.
"Been reading that slush, Hal?"
"Yes, sir. Of course it's all a pack of lies. But what's the reason for it?"
"Blackmail, son."
"Do they expect to get money out of you this way?"
 
 
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