"Well," said the other, sitting back in his chair, "it is pretty good stuff that. Folks always like the pen pictures of men engaged in the skirmish better than the reports of what most of them say." "Yes," said the city editor, "that's so." "Still," said Stratton, "we could cut it off at the last page. Just let me see the last two pages, will you?" These were handed to him, and, running his eye through them, he drew his knife across one of the pages, and put at the bottom the cabalistic mark which indicated the end of the copy. "There! I think I will let it go at that. Old Rickenbeck don't amount to much, anyhow. We'll let him go." "All right," said the city editor. "I think we won't want anything more to-night." [Illustration: "She's pretty as a picture."] Stratton put his hands behind his head, with his fingers interlaced, and leaned back in his chair, placing his heels upon the table before him. A thought-reader, looking at his face, could almost have followed the theme that occupied his mind. Suddenly bringing his feet down with a crash to the floor, he rose and went into the city editor's room. "See here," he said. "Have you looked into that Cincinnati case at all?" "What Cincinnati case?" asked the local editor, looking up. "Why, that woman who is up for poisoning her husband." "Oh yes; we had something of it in the despatches this morning. It's rather out of the local line, you know." "Yes, I know it is. But it isn't out of the paper's line. I tell you that case is going to make a sensation. She's pretty as a picture. Been married only six months, and it seems to be a dead sure thing that she poisoned her husband. That trial's going to make racy reading, especially if they bring in a verdict of guilty." The city editor looked interested. "Want to go down there, George?" "Well, do you know, I think it'll pay." "Let me see, this is the last day of the convention, isn't it? And Clark comes back from his vacation to-morrow. Well, if you think it's worth