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Outside the gaunt box of the station, Io, from the saddle sent forth her resonant, young call: "Oh, Ban!" "'Tis the voice of the Butterfly; hear her declare, 'I've come down to the earth; I am tired of the air'" chanted Banneker's voice in cheerful paraphrase. "Light and preen your wings, Butterfly." Their tone was that of comrades without a shade of anything deeper. "Busy?" asked Io. "Just now.
"Aim high! Aim high! The great prizes in journalism are few. They are, in any line of endeavor. And the apprenticeship is hard." Herbert Cressey's clumsy but involuntary protest reasserted itself in Banneker's mind. "I wish you would tell me frankly, Mr. Vanney, whether reporting is considered undignified and that sort of thing?" "Reporters can be a nuisance," replied Mr. Vanney fervently.
Circulation had gone up as water rises in a tube under irresistible pressure from beneath. Nothing like it had ever been known in local journalism. Barring some set-back, within four years of the time when Banneker's introductory editorial appeared, the paper would have eclipsed all former records.
"Pack up your things, then, and I'll bring an extra horse from the town. I'll be back in an hour." The girl went up to Banneker's room, and got her few belongings together. Descending she found the agent busy among his papers. He put them aside and came out to her. "Your telegram ought to get off from Williams sometime to-morrow," he said. "That will be time enough," she answered.
To try to take Io out through the forest, practically trackless, in that weather, or across the channeled desert, would be too grave a risk. To all intents and purposes they were marooned on an island with no reasonable chance of exit except! To Banneker's feverishly searching mind reverted a local legend.
Not only was the purchaser of The Patriot apprised of Banneker's professional career in detail, but he knew of his former employment, and also of his membership in The Retreat, which he regarded with perplexity and admiration. Marrineal was skilled at ascertainments. He made a specialty of knowing all about people. "With Mr.
"Because it's Banneker's." "Why?" "He's the guest with the gun." Mallory jumped in his chair. "Banneker!" he exclaimed. "Oh, hell!" he added disconsolately. "Takes the shine out of the story, doesn't it?" observed Burt with a malicious smile. One of the anomalous superstitions of newspaperdom is that nothing which happens to a reporter in the line of his work is or can be "big news."
Into the editorial which was to constitute the declaration of Errol Banneker's independence went much thinking, and little writing. The pronunciamento of the strikers, prefaced by a few words of explanation, and followed by some ringing sentences as to the universal right to a fair field, was enough. At the top of the column the words of Milton, in small, bold print.
"The Ledger does not recognize conditional resignation." "Very well." Banneker's smile was as sunny and untroubled as a baby's. "I suppose you appreciate that some one must cover this kind of news." "Yes. It will have to be some one else." The faintest, fleeting suspicion of a frown troubled the Brahminical calm of Mr. Greenough's brow, only to pass into unwrinkled blandness.
She half emerged from her possession with a strange feeling that the little craft was being irresistibly drawn forward and downward in what was now a suction rather than a current. At the same time she felt the spring and thrust of Banneker's muscles, straining at the oars. She dipped a hand into the water. It ridged high around her wrists with a startling pressure. What was happening?
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