balanced a mind ever to feel in the least Napoleonic. "I don't know why," he said after a moment's pause. "It may not be very logical and I daresay I shall live to regret it, but there is something there that tells me"—he pointed a finger ruefully whimsical at the pit of his own stomach—"that at all hazards we have to keep out of this."
"Not 'we,' my friend." The voice of Saul Hartz took him up sharply. "Confine yourself to the first person singular."
"When I say 'we', I mean the Planet newspaper, a thing over and beyond myself."
"Be it so. And for that reason you must stand to your guns. We can carry on, of course, without you. No man is indispensable. But you are by far the ablest person in this office with one exception . . . put that in your pipe and smoke it! . . . and you mustn't think of leaving the ship at such a crisis."
As the Colossus spoke he rose from his chair and with the gesture of an elder brother laid a hand on Gage's shoulder. The elemental simplicity of the man was hard to resist. Bennet Gage had always been susceptible to it. Never had Saul Hartz been more compelling than at this moment. But the issue at stake transcended the personal equation.
A great effort was called for but Gage mustered the tenacity to stand his ground. He idolized the Planet and in spite of headstrong, domineering ways he idolized its owner; but he was face to face now with a
