“It seems to have been a habit,” remarked Jeremy. “But, gentlemen, A. M. Wymett is no longer The Guardian. His secret rebates do not bind us indefinitely.”
“The courts ’ll have a word to say on that,” declared the combative Ahrens.
“Easy, gentlemen! Let’s be friendly,” purred Matthew Ellison.
“We need n’t go to the courts,” put in Andrew Galpin. “In the cases where rebates were offered, the rate will be raised to a point where it covers the rebates.”
“Where do you come in?” demanded Ahrens.
“As acting advertising manager of The Guardian.”
“What becomes of your ‘one-rate-for-all’ claim?” Turnbull turned upon Jeremy.
“Discarded,” said the owner, promptly accepting Galpin’s strategy.
“Why ain’d I neffer gud any discound?” inquired Bernard Stockmuller, the leading jeweler of the town, in a powerful and plaintive voice.
“Because you never had the sense to stick out for it, Barney,” retorted Betts. “You were easy.”