Carmen returned his smile, but withdrew her hand. “I’ll join you,” she said, “on one condition.”
“Name it!” he eagerly cried.
“That you obey me.”
“Well––and what does that mean?”
“Go; sell that thou hast; and give to the poor. Then come, take up the cross, and follow––my leader.”
He straightened up, and a sneer curled his lips. “I suppose,” he coarsely insinuated, “that you think you now have material for an illuminating essay on my conversation.”
“No,” she said gently. “It is too dark to be illuminating.”
The man’s facial muscles twitched slightly under the sting, but he retained his outward composure. “My dear girl,” he said, “it probably has not occurred to you that the world regards the Express as utterly without excuse for existence. It says, and truly, that a wishy-washy sheet such as it, with its devitalized, strained, and bolted reports of the world’s vivid happenings, deserves to go under from sheer lack of interest. The experiment has been tried before, and has signally failed. Money alone can keep your paper alive. But, say the word, and––”
“And your money, as well as your business ideals, will be ours?” she concluded for him.
He smiled and nodded.