“You’ve no right to use the boards in this city, which I control,” he said, in a calmer tone.
“I wasn’t aware that you controlled any of them,” Demarest returned coolly. “I labored under the impression that they were the property of John Lawford, with whom I made arrangements early yesterday afternoon to post my paper.”
Bryton gasped.
“But I told him not——” he began, and then stopped abruptly.
“Exactly,” put in the actor. “You ordered him to throw me down after he had explicitly agreed to do my work. That’s like you, Bryton. You can’t blame me for taking things into my own hands.”
Bryton’s eyes flashed angrily.
“Much good it will do you!” he snapped. “By noon your stuff will be covered.”
“Just the same, my purpose will have been accomplished,” Demarest smiled tauntingly. “People will have all morning to see the announcements, and then they will wonder why your paper is plastered over them. I shall take care that they find out. I have a friend or two on the New Haven press. You slipped up on the shop windows, didn’t you?”
His voice held a note of malicious satisfaction. The older man gave a sudden start.
“Lawford was to go around after——”