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Banneker felt a momentary queer sensation near the pit of his stomach. If the circulation dropped, his income followed it. But could Marrineal be serious? "The fact is we've reached the point where more circulation is a luxury. We're printing an enormous paper, and wood-pulp prices are going up. If we could raise our advertising rates; but Mr.
He wished to see Banneker's face. To his relief it did not look angry or even stern. Rather, it appeared thoughtful. Banneker was considering impartially the matter of his apparel. "What is the matter with my clothes?" he asked. "Why well," began Wickert, unhappy and fumbling with his ideas; "Oh, they're all right." "For a meeting of the Farmers' Alliance." Banneker was smiling good-naturedly.
"Why, she's had her picture published more times than a movie queen. She's the youngest daughter of Cyrus Wrightington, the multi-millionaire philanthropist. Now did you see anything of that kind on the train?" "What does she look like?" asked the cautious Banneker. "She looks like a million dollars!" declared the other with enthusiasm. "She's a killer!
" and I happen to know that it isn't well for that is, she doesn't care to see strangers, particularly from New York." The old man stared. "Are you a gentleman?" he asked with abrupt surprise. "A gentleman?" repeated Banneker, taken aback. "I beg your pardon," said the visitor earnestly. "I meant no offense. You are doubtless quite right. As for any intrusion, I assure you there will be none."
"Perhaps I'm not honest enough or perhaps I'm too cowardly," retorted the gloomy Burt. Banneker smiled. Though the other was nearly two years his senior, he felt immeasurably the elder.
Banneker," he pursued in his suavest tone, "that you will find no place for your peculiar ideas on The Ledger. In fact, I doubt whether you will be doing well either by them or by yourself in going on their staff, holding such views as you do." "Do you? Then I'll tell them beforehand." Mr.
If she could in turn help Banneker to recognition, part of her debt would be paid. As for him, he was interested in, but not greatly expectant of, the Gaines invitation. Still, if he were cast adrift from The Ledger because of activity in the coming police inquiry, there was a possible port in the magazine world. Meantime there pressed the question of a home. Cressey ought to afford help on that.
"Nobody wears the ready-made kind. It's no trick to do it. I'll show you, any time." They fell into friendly talk about the wreck. It was ten-thirty when Banneker finished his much-interrupted writing. Going out to the portable house, he lighted an oil-stove and proceeded to make a molasses pie.
Before taking any step he decided to talk over the general situation with that experienced campaigner, Russell Edmonds. Him and his diminutive pipe he found at Katie's, after most of the diners had left. The veteran nodded when Banneker told him of his having reached what appeared to be a cul-de-sac. "It's about time you quit," said Edmonds vigorously. "You've changed your mind?"
"What's your purpose?" demanded Banneker. "Money?" "I've a very comfortable income," replied Marrineal modestly. "Political advancement? Influence? Want to pull the wires?" persisted the other. "The game. I'm out of employment and tired of it." "And you think I could be of use in your plan? But you don't know much about me."
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