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This calm, sane, cheerful view of him as a living being, a present figure in his old field of action. The casual mention in an early letter that all of Miss Van Arsdale's reading and most of her writing was done through the nurse or Banneker, mainly the latter, though she was mastering the art of touch-writing on the typewriter.
The thin and bespectacled reporter shook hands with Banneker. "Well, Mr. Man," he observed. "You've made a hit with that story of yours even before it's got into print." "Did you bring me a copy of the paper?" Gardner grinned. "You seem to think Sunday specials are set up and printed overnight. Wait a couple of weeks." "But they're going to publish it?" "Surest thing you know.
He wondered whether he was expected to sit tight at his desk. Or had he the freedom of the office? Characteristically choosing the more active assumption, he found his way to the current newspaper files. They were like old friends. "Mr. Banneker." An office boy was at his elbow. "Mr. Greenough wants you."
Banneker spoke only because the elderly member had walked over to the window, and he saw that he must be discovered in another moment. Out of the astonished silence came the elderly member's voice, gentle and firm. "Are you the visitor we have been so frankly discussing?" "I assume so." "Isn't it rather unfortunate that you did not make your presence known sooner?"
Then the impromptu party began to disperse, Eyre going away with the dancer, after coming to bid Banneker good-night, with a look of veiled curiosity and interest which its object could not interpret.
"All of which doesn't sound much like mud-eating, Pop." "I've done my bit of that in my time, too. I've had jobs to do that a self-respecting swill-hustler wouldn't touch. I've sworn I wouldn't do 'em. And I've done 'em, rather than lose my job. Just as young Banneker will, when the test comes." "I'll bet he won't," said Tommy Burt.
Banneker made an unobtrusive addition to his packing. "They'll have to move fast to catch me," he observed. "Two of us together won't be molested. But if you're alone, be careful. The police in that precinct are no good. They're either afraid or they stand in with the gang."
Gordon wanted, Banneker strove conscientiously to be funny with these human moles, who, having twelve hours of freedom for sunshine and air, elected to spend half of it in a hole bigger, deeper, and more oppressive than any to which their noisome job called them. The result was five painfully mangled sheets which presently went to the floor, torn in strips.
"Don't fence with me," struck in Banneker sharply. "You know what one." Major Bussey swept his gaze around the room for help or inspiration. The sight of the burly ex-policeman, stricken and shifting his weight from one foot to the other, disconcerted him sadly; but he plucked up courage to say: "The facts are well authent " Again Banneker cut him short. "Facts!
But Tertius Marrineal and his business manager, a shrewd and practical gentleman named Haring, had done a vast deal of expert figuring, as a result of which the owner strolled into his editor's office one noon with his casual air of having nothing else to do, and pleasantly inquired: "Busy?" "If I weren't, I wouldn't be worth much," returned Banneker, in a cheerful tone.
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