Howard sent a smile of cynical amusement after him, then stared thoughtfully into the mass of papers on his desk for five, ten, fifteen minutes. When his plan was formed he touched the electric button.
“Please tell Mr. King I’d like to see him,” he said to the answering boy.
Mr. King entered with a bundle of legal documents. “I suppose it’s the injunction you want to discuss,” he said. “We’ve got the papers all ready. It’s simply great. Those fellows will be in a corner and will have to give up. They can’t get away from us. The price of coal will drop half a dollar within a week, I’ll bet.”
“I’m afraid you are over sanguine,” Howard said. “I’ve just been going over the matter with my lawyer. But leave the papers with me. And—about the news—be careful what you say. We’ve been going a little strong. I think a little less personal matter would be advisable.”
Mr. King was amazed and looked it. He slowly pulled himself together to say, “All right, Mr. Howard. I think I understand.” He laid the papers down and departed. Outside the door he laughed softly to himself. “Somebody’s been cutting his comb, I guess,” he murmured. “Well, I didn’t think he’d last. New York always gets ‘em when they’re worth while.”
As the door closed behind King, Howard drew out the lowest and deepest drawer of his desk. It was half-filled with long-undisturbed pamphlets and newspaper cuttings. He tossed in the injunction papers. A cloud of dust flew up and settled thickly upon them. He shut the drawer.
He went to the window and looked out over the city—that seductive, that overwhelming expression of wealth and power. “What was it my father wrote me when I told him I was going to New York?” and he recalled almost the exact words—“New York that lures young men from the towns and the farms, and prostitutes them, teaches them to sell themselves with unblushing cheeks for a fee, for an office, for riches, for power.” He shrugged his shoulders, smiled, drew himself up, returned to his desk and was soon absorbed in his work.
The next morning the News-Record’s double-leaded “leader” on the Coal Trust was a discharge of heavy artillery. But it was artillery in retreat. And in the succeeding days, the retreat continued—not precipitate but orderly, masterly.
Ten days after their talk on the “coal conspiracy” Marian greeted him late in the afternoon with “Oh, such a row with Mrs. Mercer!”