“I refer,” said Wilberton, apparently not noticing Ballantyne’s interruption, “to the unsettled conditions that now exist throughout New York City.
“A class of pirates have sprung up — men called racketeers — and they have commenced to dominate legitimate enterprises, among them the theatrical business.”
BALLANTYNE was on his feet, pounding the table. Stanley Wilberton looked at him in profound surprise. Griscom was shaking with anxiety. The man could not be stopped.
“There’s no racketeering in our business!” he exclaimed. “We’ve had labor troubles — and some of them have been due to scoundrels who have tried to injure us. But those are minor matters. We have found out how to handle them.
“When stage hands and musicians have tried to put over exorbitant demands, we’ve put in talkies — and they’ve been crying for help ever since. Our enterprises are sound — and there’s no racketeering that has ever touched us.
“Most of our problems have been natural ones. We’ve met fair demands — we’ve fought unfair ones. We’ve smashed anything that looked like extortion, and we’ll continue to do so!”
He looked around among his companions for approval. He saw it there, even though the group was silent. Ballantyne looked squarely at Wilberton.
“Have you finished?” questioned the financier.
“Yes.” Ballantyne sat down.
“What you have said is true, Mr.—”