“The Guardian is nobody’s organ.”
“I understand. The mouthpiece of our policies, I should have said. The policies and principles you and I stand for, reform and anti-dollar-domination. If I pass that word about The Guardian they’ll take it like the Bible.”
“There might be something in that,” conceded the editor, who knew the almost idolatrous quality of Embree’s following in his own district.
“Make no mistake about it. It’ll mean four or five hundred copies in my own town, and it ought to run to a thousand more in the county outside.”
“That won’t help much in getting local advertising, here in Fenchester.”
“No. But it will help out your foreign advertising.”
“How do you know so much about the newspaper game?” asked the editor, struck by the other’s use of the technical term. “Ever been in it?”
“I study everything that has a bearing on politics in this State. I could pretty nearly tell you how much The Guardian stands to lose this year.”
“Don’t!” said Jeremy, with a wry face.
“Unless you can raise your rates. And I’m showing you the way. Right here in Fenchester, as soon as the common people are satisfied that you really represent their interests, subscriptions will flood you.”