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Huge buttons appeared with miraculous celerity in the hands of the street venders inscribed, "Call me Bob but Vote for Marrineal" Vainly did Judge Enderby come out with a statement to the press, declaring the whole matter a cheap and nasty fabrication, and challenging The Patriot to cite its authority. The damage already done was irreparable.
Beside the sweating and agonizing business manager, Marrineal looked very cool and tolerant and mildly amused. "If you did that, Mr. Haring, do you appreciate what the result would be? We should have another editorial worse than the first, as soon as Mr. Banneker could think it out. No; you leave this to me. I'll manage it."
Banneker was gathered into the corps intime of Miss Raleigh's supper party, including the author of the play, an elderly first-nighter, two or three dramatic critics, Marrineal, who had drifted in, late, and half a dozen of the company.
"Which is The Patriot's; yours or Mr. Marrineal's? I can't," said Io quaintly, "quite see them coalescing." "I wonder if Marrineal has a soul," mused Banneker. "If he hasn't one of his own, let him keep his hands off yours!" said Io in a flash of feminine jealousy. "He's done enough already with his wretched mills. What shall you do about the attack in The Summons?" "Ignore it.
"Not a tenth enough, I would say, if I owned the paper. Nor are they the right kind of readers." "How would you define them, then?" asked Marrineal, still in that smooth voice. "Small clerks. Race-track followers. People living in that class of tenements which call themselves flats. The more intelligent servants. Totally unimportant people." "Therefore a totally unimportant paper?"
Two years in world travel with a well-accredited tutor seemed to offer an effectual and not too rigorous method of completing the process of mind-formation. Young Marrineal got a great deal out of that trip, though the result should perhaps be set down under the E of Experience rather than that of Erudition.
"Well, if you can spare me fifteen minutes " "Sit down." Banneker swiveled his chair to face the other. "I needn't tell you that the paper is a success; a big success," began Marrineal. "You needn't. But it's always pleasant to hear." "Possibly too big a success. What would you say to letting circulation drop for a while?" "What!"
"In that case," surmised Marrineal, eyeing him with distaste, "I suppose you think that he would equally lose interest in protecting her from The Searchlight." "Well, what's a woman to expect!" said Ives blandly, and took his dismissal for the day. It was only recently that Ives had taken to coming to The Patriot office.
The platform table was arranged for Marrineal in the presiding chair, flanked by Banneker and the mayor: Horace Vanney, Gaines, a judge of the Supreme Court, two city commissioners, and an eminent political boss. The Masters, senior and junior, had been invited, but declined, the latter politely, the former quite otherwise.
"Well, I hope not. It would be rather a right-about, wouldn't it? But Marrineal isn't afraid of a right-about. You know his creed as to his readers: 'The public never remembers. Of course, you realize what Marrineal is after, politically." "No. He's never said a word to me." "Nor to me. But others have. The mayoralty." "For himself?" "Of course. He's quietly building up his machine."
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