“No.”
“More than a thousand a year if they pull out all their regular advertising.”
“It’s tough, Andy. But I don’t know any other way to run a paper.”
“Oh, I’m not kickin’! It ain’t my money. I enjoy it. Maybe he won’t pull out, unless we go after him first.”
“I’m going after him, though, the next raw deal the P.-U. tries to put through.”
“Let’s pray they’ll be good, then,” said Galpin.
Upon receipt of the hand-perfected private secretary’s report, though it was carefully edited to avoid too unbearable offense, Mr. Clark waxed exceedingly wroth. His first intent was to order all future advertising in The Guardian stopped. Passion always had the first word with Montrose Clark, but shrewdness had the last. Shrewdness said, “Wait.” Montrose Clark could be a good waiter. He waited.
Jeremy Robson did n’t. He published on the following day an editorial, “Public Utilities and Public Rights,” stating unequivocally The Guardian’s attitude, which gave deep scandal to President Clark and inspired the darkest misgivings in the mind of the diplomatic Judge Dana. The lawyer hurried around to see his principal.
“What did you do or say to young Robson?” he demanded.
Outraged innocence sat blackly on the presidential brow. “Nothing,” he declared. “He—he sent me an insulting message. He refused to come and see me. I’ll smash him.”