He picked up Queed's article and glanced again at the astonishing words,
words which, invested with the _Post's_ enormous prestige, simply kicked
and cuffed the party to its ruin. A wave of resentment against his
assistant swept through the editor's mind. This was what came of
trusting anything to anybody else. If you wanted to be sure that things
were done right, do them yourself. Because he had allowed Queed a little
rope, that young man had industriously gathered in almost enough to
hang, not himself, for he was nothing, but the _Post_ and its editor.
However, there was no use crying over spilt milk. What was done was
done. Fortunately, the _Post's_ general position was sound; had not the
editor himself dictated it? If the expression of that position in cold
type had been gradually carried by a subordinate to a more and more
violent extreme, to an intemperance of utterance which closely
approached insanity, what was it the editor's duty to do? Obviously to
take charge himself and swing the position back to a safe and sane mean,
exactly where he had placed it to begin with.
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