"Save your breath," advised Trimmer promptly.
"Ah—I feared it," laughed Minot. "Well then—shall we say eleven o'clock? You are to call—with George Harrowby."
"Eleven it is," said Trimmer. They had reached a little park by the harbor's edge. Trimmer looked at his watch. "And that being all settled, I'll run back to the theater."
"I myself have advised Harrowby to surrender—" Minot began.
"Wise boy. Good night," said Trimmer, moving away.
"Not that I have been particularly impressed by your standing as a publicity man," continued Minot.
Mr. Trimmer stopped in his tracks.
"As a matter of fact," went on Minot. "I never heard of you or any of the things you claim to have advertised, until I came to San Marco."
Mr. Trimmer came slowly back up the grave walk.
"In just what inland hamlet, untouched by telegraph, telephone, newspaper and railroad," he asked, "have you been living?"