"What is it, dear?" he said looking up.
"I like to see you writing, Milty. You always look so happy."
"Always so happy, dear?"
"Yes. You are happy, are you not?"
"Always." He got up and kissed her. Nevertheless, when he sat down to
his work again, his face was turned a little more to the window.
Another serious incident--to be also kept from the invalid--shortly
followed. The article in the "Clarion" had borne its fruit. The third
day after his resignation a rival paper sharply retorted. "The cowardly
insinuations against the record of a justly honored capitalist," said
the "Pioneer," "although quite in keeping with the brazen 'Clarion,'
might attract the attentions of the slandered party, if it were not
known to his friends as well as himself that it may be traced almost
directly to a cast-off member of his own family, who, it seems, is
reduced to haunting the back doors of certain blatant journals to
dispose of his cheap wares. The slanderer is secure from public exposure
in the superior decency of his relations, who refrain from airing their
family linen upon editorial lines."
This was the journal to which John Milton had hopefully turned for work.
When he read it there seemed but one thing for him to do--and he did
it. Gentle and optimistic as was his nature, he had been brought up in
a community where sincere directness of personal offense was followed by
equally sincere directness of personal redress, and--he challenged the
editor.
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