As a man of multifarious and varied interests, and all of them important, Mr. Blake was a reasonably busy man. Before now ordinary newspaper men had found it extremely hard to see Mr. Blake. But Mr. Foxman was no ordinary newspaper man; he was the managing editor of The Clarion, a paper of standing and influence, even if it didn’t happen to be a money-maker at present. Across a marble-pillared, brass-grilled barrier Mr. Foxman sent in his card to Mr. Blake and, with the card, the word that Mr. Foxman desired to see Mr. Blake upon pressing and immediate business. He was not kept waiting for long. An office boy turned him over to a clerk and the clerk in turn turned him over to a secretary, and presently, having [342] been ushered through two outer rooms, Mr. Foxman, quite at his ease, was sitting in Mr. Blake’s private office, while Mr. Blake read through the galley proofs of Singlebury’s story to which the caller had invited his attention.
The gentleman’s face, as he read on, gave no index to the feelings of the gentleman. Anyhow, Mr. Blake’s face was more of a manifest than an index; its expression summed up conclusions rather than surmises. As a veteran player—and a highly successful one—in the biggest and most chancy game in the world, Mr. Blake was fortunate in having what lesser gamesters call a poker face. Betraying neither surprise, chagrin nor indignation, he read the article through to the last paragraph of the last column. Then carefully he put the crumpled sheets down on his big desk, leaned back in his chair, made a wedge of his two hands by matching finger tip to finger tip, aimed the point of the wedge directly at Mr. Foxman, and looked with a steadfast eye at his visitor. His visitor looked back at him quite as steadily, and for a moment or two nothing was said.
“Well, Mr. Foxman?” remarked Mr. Blake at length. There was a mild speculation in his inflection—nothing more.
“Well, Mr. Blake?” replied the other in the same casual tone.
“I suppose we needn’t waste any time sparring about,” said Mr. Blake. “I gather that [343] your idea is to publish this—this attack, in your paper?”
“That, Mr. Blake, is exactly my idea, unless”—and for just a moment Mr. Foxman paused—“unless something should transpire to cause me to change my mind.”
“I believe you told me when you came in that at this moment you are in absolute control of the columns and the policy of The Clarion?”
“I am—absolutely.”
“And might it be proper for me to ask when you contemplate printing this article—in what issue?” Mr. Blake was very polite, but no more so than Mr. Foxman. Each was taking the cue for his pose from the other.
“It is a perfectly proper question, Mr. Blake,” said Mr. Foxman. “I may decide to print it day after to-morrow morning. In the event of certain contingencies I might print it to-morrow morning, and again on the other hand”—once more he spoke with deliberate slowness—“I might see my way clear to suppressing it altogether. It all depends, Mr. Blake.”