"If you call the scheme off, think how they'll get after you! Not only an obscure sheet like the Clarion, but the entire press of the country. Like a pack of hounds. They'll never let the story drop."
This thought gave the old man pause. He scowled at Evan.
Evan was making a pretence of cleaning a palette. "You'd hardly care to venture out in the street after that. You'd be hooted; stoned, perhaps. It's bad enough already. The reason you hired me was to prevent unpleasant experiences. But if every paper in town got after you—well, you couldn't go out except in a closed car."
The old man made a queer noise in his throat, and pulled at his seamy cheek.
Evan went on without appearing to notice him: "It's a swindle, of course, to try to make you out a philanthropist in spite of yourself. They must have a funny sense of humour. But I couldn't help but be struck by the opportunities for the right kind of publicity. You could turn it so easily to your own advantage."
"How do you mean?" he asked.
"Take this philanthropic trust, or whatever they call it; excursions for poor children! Good Lord! Every sob sister on the press would be good for a column once a week. It's up to you to see that the publicity is properly organised. Every time they give an excursion have the stuff sent out. It's cheap at the price, if you ask me. You couldn't buy it at any price. You'll be received with cheers on the street then. No need to hire a body-guard. And you still do more or less business. Think how it would help you in your business!"
The old man was greatly impressed. "Well, I'll think it over," he said. "It's too much money. I'll offer to compromise with Verplanck on half."
Evan saw that even this was an immense concession. "Talk it over with Mr. George," he said.
"Oh, George is a fool!"