“Look here!” said Clive, sternly, and refusing to notice the opened door, “what does this mean?”
“It means we don’t want your ads. nor your money.”
“Were you too crowded for space and had to leave the advertisement out?”
“No, we weren’t. We don’t want any dealings with you or the alleged ‘League’ you’re running. That’s all. Ain’t that plain enough?”
“No,” answered Clive, trying to keep cool, “I want a reason.”
“You’ll keep on wanting it, then. I’m boss of this office, and——”
“The real boss? I doubt it. If you were, what reason would you have for turning away paid advertisements? I may do you an injustice, my friend, but I think you’re acting under orders.”
“You’re off!” shouted Gerrett, reddening. “I run this paper as I choose. And I don’t take orders from any man. I——”
“Nor passes? Nor freight rebates on paper rolls, and——”
“D’ye mean to insult me?” bellowed Gerrett, wallowing forward, threatening as a fat black thundercloud. “I’ll have you know——”