Banneker's, eh? And to whom was Mr. Banneker responsible? Mr. Marrineal, alone? All right! They would see Mr. Marrineal. Mr. Haring was sorry, but Mr. Marrineal was out of town. Well, in that case, Banneker. They'd trust themselves to show him which foot he got off on. Oh, Mr. Banneker wasn't there, either.
No; nor for the woman in the home. Banneker thought of young Smith of the yacht and the coming millions, with a newspaper waiting to drop into his hands. He wished he could have that newspaper any newspaper, for a year. He'd make the man in the street sit up and read his editorials. Yes, and the woman in the home. Why not the boy and the girl in school, also?
"Pretty well," answered Banneker. "It read better than I expected." "It always does, until you get old in the business. How would you like a New York job on the strength of it?" Banneker stared. "You mean that I could get on a paper just by writing that?" "I didn't say so. Though I've known poorer stuff land more experienced men." "More experienced; that's the point, isn't it?
"He did it, and, when it was too late, he tried to stop it." "To stop it?" She looked her startled query at him. "How do you know that?" "Last week," explained Edmonds, "Judge Enderby's partner sent for me. He had been going over some papers and had come upon a telegram from Banneker urging Enderby not to leave without seeing him.
To her indignant escort she declared that it couldn't have hurt them to wait a jiffy; that she had had a most amusing conversation; that Mr. "But he's Io's passion-in-the-desert right enough," said the irreverent Miss Forbes. Banneker sat long over his cooling coffee.
You weren't at The Retreat." "Working, also." "And the week before that? Nobody's seen so much " "Working. Working. Working." "I stopped in at your roost and your new man told me you were away and might be gone indefinitely. Funny chap, your new man. Mysterious sort of manner. Where'd you pick him up?" "Oh, Lord! Hainer!" exclaimed Banneker appreciatively. "Well, he told the truth."
Miss Camilla could doubtless give him that. But would she? How much did she understand? Why had she turned so unhelpful? Banneker sat with his problem half through a searing night; and the other half of the night he spent in writing. But not to Io. At noon Camilla Van Arsdale rode up to the station. "Are you ill, Ban?" was her greeting, as soon as she saw his face. "No, Miss Camilla.
Banneker is an ardent advocate of abstinence, 'Down with the Demon Rum! The columns of The Patriot reek with whiskey ads. The same with tobacco." "But, Cousin Billy, you don't believe that a newspaper should shut out liquor and tobacco advertisements, do you?" The lawyer smiled patiently. "Come back on the track, Io," he invited. "That isn't the point.
"Well, what have you found, my boy?" the financier began. "A good many things that ought to be changed," answered Banneker bluntly. "Quite probably. No institution is perfect." "The mills are pretty rotten. You pay your people too little " "Where do you get that idea?" "From the way they live." "My dear boy; if we paid them twice as much, they'd live the same way.
"Some woman taught him," said Banneker. She threw him a fairy kiss. "Why haven't we 'The Voices' here! You should read to me.... Do you ever wish we were back in the desert?" "We shall be, some day." She shuddered a little, involuntarily. "There's a sense of recall, isn't there! Do you still love it?" "It's the beginning of the Road to Happiness," he said. "The place where I first saw you."