He sat down. A hum of surprise went about the table. Some one started applause: the effort was abortive. It was no occasion for empty courtesies. This was business!
“Talks straight,” remarked Betts, of Kelter & Betts, dry goods, in a loud whisper, to his neighbor Arthur Turnbull, of the Emporium.
“Bluff,” opined Turnbull.
“Get up and call it,” suggested A. Friedland, proprietor of the Big Shop who had overheard.
“Let Ellison do the talking,” returned Turnbull. “He’s president of our association.”
Obedient to several suggestions, Matthew Ellison, head of Ellison Brothers’ department store and president of the Retailers’ Association, reared his ample form, and smiled his conscientious smile, from above a graying chin whisker, upon the assembled feasters. In a long and rambling talk which Andrew Galpin would have fairly slaughtered with an editorial blue pencil, Mr. Ellison referred to Jeremy something more than two dozen times as “our esteemed young friend” and at least a dozen as “my dear young friend”; both of which were equally accurate and sincere. The gist of his speech, so far as any one present could grasp it, seemed to indicate a guarded agnosticism concerning the announced policy of the paper. Upon the heels of the windy compliment with which he closed, Adolph Ahrens, junior partner and advertising manager of the Great Northwestern Stores, popped up. Mr. Ahrens was a young, blackish, combative-jawed man with twitchy eyes.
“This don’t go,” he said belligerently. “I’ve got a letter in my files, stipulating a rebate, that’s as good as a contract.”
“Signed by?” queried Jeremy suggestively.
“Signed by The Guardian, per A. M. Wymett.”
“So have I,” declared Turnbull, and was echoed by Lehn, of Stormont & Lehn, Betts, and half a dozen more.