BRISTOW, the editor of the Northfield Breeze, bore physical evidence of the fact that he was of the fighting, two-fisted type. His shoulders were broad, his eyes were gray, his chin was square, and his wiry hair grew close to his head. He was the kind of boy you could count on to have decided opinions and a decided way of expressing them.
Bristow, at the moment, was scowling. He had in his hands a copy of the Morning Herald. The scowl grew as he read a story on the first page which bore this heading in big type: "Sloan's Family Fattens on City's Park Pay Roll. Commissioner of Parks and Playgrounds Took Care of Relatives at Public Expense."
Bristow squared his shoulders pugnaciously as he finished reading, and slapped one open hand against the print. "I admit, Praska, that this is good newspaper work. I admit that exposing a man who has used a public position of trust to enrich himself or friends is a useful service. I'm with you on that all the way. I believe that if a news-
