"I came in to see you about merging the Brightlight Electric Company with the Consolidated, Mr. Burnit," said Mr. Sharpe in a chatty tone, laying his hat, cane and gloves upon Bobby's desk and seating himself comfortably.

From his face there was no doubt in Mr. Sharpe's mind that this was a mere matter of an interview with a satisfactory termination, for Mr.

Sharpe had done business with Bobby before; but something had happened to Bobby in the meantime.

"When I get ready for a merger of the Brightlight with the Consolidated I'll tell you about it; and also I'll tell you the terms," Bobby advised him with a snap, and for the first time Mr.

Sharpe noted what a good jaw Bobby had.

"I should think," hesitated Sharpe, "that in the present condition of the Brightlight almost any terms would be attractive to you. You have no private consumers now, and your contract for city lighting, which you can not evade except by bankruptcy, is losing you money."

"If that were news to me it would be quite startling," responded Bobby, "but you see, Mr. Sharpe, I am quite well acquainted with the facts myself. Also, I have a strong suspicion that you tampered with my plant; that your hired agents cut my wires, ruined my dynamos and destroyed the efficiency of my service generally."

"You will find it very difficult to prove that, Mr. Burnit," said Sharpe, with a sternness which could not quite conceal a lurking smile.

"I'm beginning to like difficulty," retorted Bobby. "I do not mind telling you that I was never angry before in my life, and I'm surprised to find myself enjoying the sensation."

Bobby was still more astonished to find himself laying his fist tensely upon his desk. The lurking smile was now gone entirely from Mr. Sharpe's face.

"I must admit, Mr. Burnit, that your affairs have turned out rather unfortunately," he said, "but I think that they might be remedied for you a bit, perhaps. Suppose you go and see Stone."

"I do not care to see Mr. Stone," said Bobby.

"But he wants to see you," persisted Sharpe. "In fact, he told me so this morning. I'm quite sure you would find it to your advantage to drop over there."

"I shall never enter Mr. Stone's office until he has vacated it for good," said Bobby; "then I might be induced to come over and break up the furniture. If Stone wants to see me I'm keeping fairly regular office hours here."

"It is not Mr. Stone's habit to go to other people," bluffed Sharpe, growing somewhat nervous; for it was one of Stone's traits not to forgive the failure of a mission. He had no use for extenuating circ.u.mstances, He never looked at anything in this world but results.

Bobby took down the receiver of his house telephone.

"I'd like to speak to Mr. Jolter, please," said he.

Sharpe rose to go.

"Just wait a moment, Mr. Sharpe," said Bobby peremptorily, and Sharpe stopped. "Jolter," he directed crisply, turning again to the 'phone, "kindly step into my office, will you?"

A moment later, while Sharpe stood wondering, Jolter came in, and grinned as he noted Bobby's visitor.

"Mr. Jolter," asked Bobby, "have we a good portrait of Mr. Sharpe?"

Jolter, still grinning, stated that they had.

"Have a three-column half-tone made of it for this evening's _Bulletin_."

Sharpe fairly spluttered.

"Mr. Burnit, if you print my picture in the _Bulletin_ connected with anything derogatory, I'll--I'll--"

Bobby waited politely for a moment.

"Go ahead, Mr. Sharpe," said he. "I'm interested to know just what you will do, because we're going to print the picture, connected with something quite derogatory. Now finish your threat."

Sharpe gazed at him a moment, speechless with rage, and then stamped from the office.

Jolter, quietly chuckling, turned to Bobby.

"I guess you'll do," he commented. "If you last long enough you'll win."

"Thanks," said Bobby dryly, and then he smiled. "Say, Jolter," he added, "it's bully fun being angry. I'm just beginning to realize what I have been missing all these years. Go ahead with Sharpe's picture and print anything you please about him. I guess you can secure enough material without going out of the office, and if you can't I'll supply you with some."

Jolter looked at his watch and hurried for the door. Minutes were precious if he wanted to get that Sharpe cut made in time for the afternoon edition. At the door, however, he turned a bit anxiously.

"I suppose you carry a gun, don't you?"

"By no means," said Bobby. "Never owned one."

"I'd advise you to get a good one at once," and Jolter hurried away.

That evening's edition of the _Bulletin_ contained a beautiful half-tone of Mr. Sharpe. Above it was printed: "The _Bulletin's_ Rogues' Gallery," and beneath was the caption: "Hadn't this man better go, too?"

CHAPTER XXIV

EDITOR BURNIT DISCOVERS THAT HE IS FIGHTING AN ENTIRE CITY INSTEAD OF ONE MAN

At four o'clock of that same day Mr. Brown came in, and Mr. Brown was grinning. In the last three days a grin had become the trade-mark of the office, for the staff of the _Bulletin_ was enjoying itself as never before in all its history.

"Stone's in my office," said Brown. "Wants to see you."

Bobby was interestedly leafing over the pages of the _Bulletin_. He looked leisurely at his watch and yawned.

"Tell Mr. Stone that I am busy, but that I will receive him in fifteen minutes," he directed, whereupon Mr. Brown, appreciating the joke, grinned still more expansively and withdrew.

Bobby, as calmly as he could, went on with his perusal of the _Bulletin_. To deny that he was somewhat tense over the coming interview would be foolish. Never had a quarter of an hour dragged so slowly, but he waited it out, with five minutes more on top of it, and then he telephoned to Brown to know if Stone was still there. He was relieved to find that he was.

"Tell him to come in," he ordered.

If Stone was inwardly fuming when he entered the room he gave no indication of it. His heavy face bore only his habitually sullen expression, his heavy-lidded eyes bore only their usual somberness, his heavy brow had in it no crease other than those that time had graven there. With the deliberateness peculiar to him he planted his heavy body in a big arm-chair opposite to Bobby, without removing his hat.

"I don't believe in beating around the bush, Mr. Burnit," said he, with a glance over his shoulder to make sure that the door was closed.

"Of course you're after something. What do you want?"

Bobby looked at him in wonder. He had heard much of Stone's bluntness, and now he was fascinated by it. Nevertheless, he did not forget his own viewpoint.

"Oh, I don't want much," he observed pleasantly, "only just your scalp; yours and the scalps of a few others who gave me my education, from Silas Trimmer up and down. I think one of the things that aggravated me most was the recent elevation of Trimmer to the chairmanship of your waterworks commission. Trivial as it was, this probably had as much to do with my sudden determination to wipe you out, as your having the Brightlight's poles removed from Market Street."